View from Ararat (10 page)

If no one was interested in the fact that thirty thousand people had been locked away behind fences for over a month, maybe they might be interested in what it was like to be one of the people ordered to keep them there.

Do you know why they have been quarantined?

What are your orders should anyone try to escape?

How do you feel about being asked to keep people imprisoned who, as far as you know, have done absolutely nothing to deserve it?

I ran the idea by Abbey Simeon, who thought about it for around thirty seconds and then smiled.

‘Not bad, Natassia,' he said. ‘We'll make a reporter out of you yet.'

This was high praise indeed, coming from the old man. Sometimes I wish he'd lived to see his prediction come true.

I got a crew together, made a few calls, and headed off for the old Wieta Reserve to do the interviews. By the time we got there, it was approaching evening. We were on the eastern side of the camp. I wanted some shots of sunset through the wire of the fences, with the silhouettes of the makeshift buildings stark and forbidding against the orange sky. Which was why I was there when all hell broke loose.

Amanda Kostas, probably the most famous reporter in the history of Deucalion's news industry, once said that being a great reporter is a combination of a keen eye for a story and an ability to think on your feet and keep talking when the bombs start going off.

‘Of course,' she added, ‘it helps if you're lucky enough to be in the wrong place at exactly the right time, with a microphone and a camera somewhere in the vicinity.'

For Amanda Kostas, the ‘place' was New Geneva, and the ‘time' was the morning that marked the downfall of Dimitri Gaston, and the birth of a new world-order.

For me, the ‘place' was a hastily constructed holding camp on the flatlands outside of Edison, and the ‘time' was a hundred years later, at the beginning of the end of that same world-order.

The crew was still setting up, and I was doing some ‘prelims' with a few of the guards, explaining what we would be doing, the kind of questions I'd be asking, when the squad-leader's communicator, which was strapped to his belt, suddenly went crazy.

I heard a few meaningless code-phrases, and the colour drained from his face.

He looked at me and said, ‘You'll have to clear the area, ma'am. Immediately.' Then he turned away and began yelling orders to his squad, who spread out in a line facing the fence and brought their weapons up to the ‘ready' position. That was when I heard the flyers arriving.

As we moved back to where we were ordered, I could see the flyers landing in a circle around the compound. The Security forces deployed efficiently and soon the place was surrounded.

As the cameras took everything in, I began writing my opening statement in my head:

At dusk today the skies above the old Elokoi Reserve of Wieta, on the flatlands only a few kilometres from Edison itself, were filled with troop-carriers delivering a veritable army of fully armed Security operatives to positions surrounding the quarantine camp. Surely it is time the government stopped trying to keep us in the dark about what exactly is taking place at the Wieta holding compound . . .

RAMÓN'S STORY

By the time we got back that evening, it was too late.

As we approached through the stand of Capyjou, I could sense that something was wrong. I pulled up short and Élita stumbled into my back.

‘Sorry,' she began. ‘My mind was back at the cave. I—'

‘What is it?' Maija interrupted. She was whispering and she sounded concerned.

Moving forward, she peered between the fronds of the foul-smelling plants, and as I joined her, I found myself staring at the backs of thirty or forty Security operatives, who stood facing away from us towards the fence, maybe five or six metres back from the wire.

‘Ramón . . .' Élita began, but I cut her off.

‘Shh.' I was concentrating on the scene. Maija wasn't the only one who was concerned.

It was just past dusk and the last rays were disappearing from the western sky behind us. But the fence-line was as bright as noon. Portable lighting towers stood all around the perimeter of the camp. Nothing could move within 15 metres of the fence on either side without being seen.

I looked back at the line of uniformed men and women. They were all armed, which was nothing unusual for Security personnel, but they were holding their weapons at the ready, which was very unusual. This was Deucalion, not Puerto Limon.

Suddenly the man closest to us in the cordon tensed and his hands tightened on his weapon. I followed the line of his gaze and saw the approaching group – men, women and children walking in a straight line towards the fence.

The squad-leader shouted something that I couldn't quite pick up, and the men brought their weapons up to firing position. I saw the man in front of me slip the safety catch off. He was just a teenager, no older than I was, and his face was set hard. But his eyes flicked from side to side nervously, and he was swallowing and trembling uncontrollably.

‘Stop where you are!'

Even the squad-leader's voice sounded young, but there was a desperate authority in his tone. For a moment the approaching group faltered.

‘What are you going to do?' shouted a huge man at the front of the group. ‘Shoot us? What did we do?'

‘My orders are to stop you leaving the camp – in any way necessary. We cannot risk . . .' His voice broke, and he shuffled slightly from foot to foot, regaining his composure. ‘We cannot allow anyone out beyond the quarantine area until we are certain it is safe.'

‘Safe?' The man laughed. ‘Do I
look
sick? Do any of us?'

‘I'm not a doctor.' Suddenly the squad-leader sounded stronger and his opponent could sense it. The big man allowed his gaze to wander along the row of armed Security standing ready, waiting for instructions, and I saw him breathe deeply – whether through fear or determination, I don't know.

The squad-leader tried again. ‘You all heard the President's address and you've all been briefed already. There are a small number of confirmed cases of a rare, dangerous and highly contagious disease in the isolation ward of the camp infirmary. We don't know who else is affected, but we cannot risk a widespread epidemic that we may not have the ability to control.'

‘And what about
us
? What are we supposed to do? Because I tell you, we aren't going to just sit here and wait to—'

‘What you are supposed to
do
, sir, is go back to your quarters and stay there, until we can work out what to do for you. It would be safer if you were to avoid congregating in groups, and stay inside. But whatever you decide . . .' His pause was threatening. All traces of nervousness had suddenly disappeared, as years of training took over. ‘None of you will get past that fence alive. I have my orders.'

‘Orders?' A woman at the back of the growing crowd shouted the word like a curse. She was holding a small child up above the heads of the others. ‘And what about my daughter? Would you shoot
her
? Is that in your
orders
?'

The squad-leader swallowed but remained strong. ‘My orders say that no one leaves. Man, woman . . . or child.' He took a couple of steps towards the fence, then stopped. ‘There are over thirty-eight million people living on Deucalion. We just can't take the risk . . .' He trailed off and stared at the child, until the woman lowered her from sight behind the row of protesters.

The group seemed to shrink, as the seriousness of what was happening began to sink in. They stood confused, looking at each other, unable to move.

Then two men broke from the group, running for the fence. The squad-leader caught the movement, turned, and in a single motion drew his weapon and fired.

I'm not much on weaponry, but I knew it was a pulse-laser. I just had no idea that anything you could hold in your hand could be that powerful.

The single red pulse melted a small neat hole in the wire of the fence, and the ground in front of the two men exploded, throwing up a plume of soil and small stones. The pair slid to a stop. They looked terrified, like wild animals in the spotlight, waiting for the final shot.

The Security man said nothing. He just stood there with his gun levelled at one of the men and sighed.

But the action had the desired effect. Both the would-be escapees made their way back towards the waiting group, and other members of the group began to slowly disperse, drifting off in the direction of their huts.

I looked at Élita and Maija. No words were necessary. There was no way to sneak back into the camp, and after what we had just heard and seen, revealing ourselves had ceased to be an option. I jerked my head backwards, they nodded their understanding and we began to slide quietly away from the illuminated area surrounding the fences.

The sky had lost its final glow and the moons had not yet risen, so it was pitch black among the broad-leafed plants. We moved slowly west, away from the camp, and we didn't stop until we had covered at least a kilometre. Then we sat and waited for moonrise.

We didn't say anything. What could we possibly say that would make any sense of what we'd just seen and heard?

Finally the two moons slid over the horizon – first Pyrrha, then Pandora. They were both full, we were in for what the Elokoi called a ‘hunter's sky', where the reflected glow from the moons lights up the land almost as bright as day.

I stared up at them. We had a long way to go. We'd need all the light we could get.

‘My parents are going to be sick with worry.' Maija spoke the words as much to herself as to either of us.

‘They've got damned good reason to be,' I replied. I didn't want to scare her any more than necessary, but it was too late for false comfort. We had to get moving in case they sent out patrols. We wouldn't last a minute if the heat-seekers spotted us.

‘Come on,' I said, and I wondered if I sounded as scared as I felt.

I touched Élita on the shoulder, and ran the backs of my fingers down Maija's cheek. Then I turned and headed off in the direction of the cave.

Maija trailed behind, and I paused, waiting for her to catch up, sliding a supporting arm around her.

Élita caught my eye for a moment and I attempted a weak encouraging smile.

It didn't work.

For a moment longer she delayed, looking back in the direction of the camp. It was out of sight behind the vegetation and a low soil ridge, but the white glare of the perimeter lights gave an aura to the horizon that bleached out the stars.

‘None of you will get past that fence alive . . .'

I heard the young squad-leader's voice, and I saw the sweat on his forehead.

‘None of you . . .'

At that moment I suddenly thought of Nelson and Gra
ç
ia. They weren't our real parents, but we loved them just the same. And they loved us like we were their own flesh.

What were the odds of that?

I mean, what were we when they adopted us? Just a couple of slum-kids. Not exactly a prize catch in the used-kid market.

It was only at the last minute that we had been included at all. When the ‘Save the Children' people finally convinced my mother's old employer to sponsor us, there were just a few days left to arrange the adoption and the passage, but Nelson and Gra
ç
ia Rios were keen to take us on. They had no kids of their own, and they were starting a new life anyway, so why not?

We had a new family. And a new future. And they had the children that fate – and a badly shielded nuclear shuttle-engine – had denied them.

But they'd never tried to take the place of our parents. They were far too smart for that. They even insisted that we keep our own name. Santos. Out parents' name. Our last link to them. To our past.

They understood what a name means. Continuity. An identity. A connection with all that is gone – good and bad – even as the unknown future beckons.

Nelson and Gra
ç
ia were there for us, an adult presence in a sometimes confusing existence. And in return we provided something that had always been missing from their own lives.

And now we were separated – by far more than a couple of kilometres and a cordon of Security troops.

And for the first time since my parents died, I was truly scared.

I looked directly up to where the sky was still black and the stars twinkled faintly.

Which one of those tiny pinpoints of light was Sol, my home star? Could I even see it from this distance?

Suddenly I felt very small and alone.

I turned and made my way west, leading the others.

PART TWO

INCUBUS

That which God writes on thy forehead,

thou wilt come to it.

The Koran

Never look behind you.

Something may be gaining on you.

Satchel Paige

10

Without Words

Carmody Island

Inland Sea (Eastern Region)

15/1/203 Standard

LOEF

For once the flyer is early. Loef runs across the open area beside the rec-building and around the corner of the communal dining hall. In front of him the narrow street leads down towards the field where the flyers come in. He accelerates, dodging a group of students who are leaving the dining hall, punchboards in hand, talking among themselves and almost unaware of his presence, until he is past them. He flashes an apology back to them as he slides around the corner.

From the far side of the landing field he can feel her fear. The flyer touched down a minute or so ago, and now the doors are open. And Kaeba stands beside one of the landing-struts, scared and out-of-place, waiting to be guided.

–
You should have gone to Al-Tiina to collect her yourself
. The thought surfaces as he watches her. She is terrified . . .

–
Calm!
He sends the thought gently.
I am here. There is no danger. Nothing to fear. You are among friends.

Kaeba looks up, catching sight of him across the field.

–
Loef!

He can taste the relief in her tone, as he closes the gap between them. Then finally he is with her.

–
Saliba, small one.
He leans forward and touches foreheads.
Welcome to Caarmody
.

–
Saliba, kinbrother
, she replies.
You learn from the humans. You are late.

–
It is you who are early.
He reaches out a hand to touch her face.
I have felt your absence many times.

–
Then it is good that I have come. Kinmother Raatal wishes you health, and sends the hope that you are learning all that you desired.

–
I am, Kaeba. And so much more. They are strange creatures, but not unknowable, and Juuls is . . .

‘Saliba, Kaeba. Welcome. I meant to be here to meet you, but the flyer was early. Did you have a good flight?'

Jules has arrived without a sound, and Loef turns in surprise as he speaks.

Kaeba moves forward and Jules bends down to touch foreheads – a sign of kinship.

–
It is good to see my kinbrother's truefriend again. Especially in a strange place. I regret that I am not well taught in the human wordspeech. It is one of the things I have hope of learning while I am here.

–
But not the only thing, I believe.

Jules watches the young Elokoi's face. If she is surprised at his improved grasp of the mind-speech, he cannot read it in her expression, but from the intent way she looks at him he senses her interest.

–
Loef tells me that you come to study the Thoughtsongs with Cael.

–
Cael is the greatest of the living Tellers. Ciiv says that I have learned all that she can teach me, and that I must learn from the great ones while I am young, if I am to follow in their Calling. She would have invited Cael to stay at Al-Tiina, to teach me when his time here was finished for the season, but Loef was on the island already and could watch over me, so there was no reason to wait so long.

–
But you must wait until tomorrow, at least.

Loef touches her shoulder and gently guides her towards the residentials.

–
Come, we will show you where we sleep
. . .

For a moment Jules stands and watches them as they make their way back across the landing-field.

Genetic Research Laboratory

Carmody Island

Inland Sea (Eastern Region)

15/1/203 Standard

KAZ'S STORY

I think I'd expected the request. The way things were going in Edison, and after the developments in the camp, it was a reasonable bet that Charlie would be making ‘contingency plans'.

But that didn't mean it was an ideal solution.

‘I don't know, Charlie,' I began. ‘We usually stick pretty much to ourselves. You know that. It's safer that way. Something like this could draw a lot of attention to the island . . .' I watched my cousin's face in the view-screen. ‘There'd be no worry if it was just you, but Galen isn't . . .'

‘One of us?' Charlie finished off my thought. She brushed her hair back from her face and leaned in towards the pick-up. ‘Look, I know it's a risk, Kaz, but . . . Well, you have to know him. Galen's the last one we'd have to worry about. Hell, it's not like we've never told anyone. And you know I wouldn't consider it unless there was an emergency. But we have to be prepared.

‘You've seen the data, Kaz. If CRIOS escapes from the camp, it'll be just about impossible to keep it out of Edison – or anywhere else on the mainland. Carmody's about the only place outside of the major population centres that's set up for the kind of data-crunching we're going to need to beat this thing. And it's already ether-linked to the labs here and in New G. What do you say?'

For a moment I sat silently, staring at her expectant face on the screen in front of me.

We'd grown up together and shared everything, until they'd accepted her at the Institute in Edison. I missed her smile – and her mind. It wasn't working my shifts in the med-centre on the island that got on top of me. I could handle that. It was the Research programs I could have used her help with. She always had a way of looking at problems that went straight to the core.

Which was exactly what she was doing now. Why wait for the roof to fall in before you looked for an alternative shelter?

She was waiting for an answer.

‘Look, I'm only a spear-thrower around here. I'll run it by Hoskins and see what he thinks.' I paused again. I had to ask the question. ‘Charlie, do you think it'll really . . .? I mean . . .'

‘Galen reckons it's not “if” but “when”. We don't know nearly enough about this thing, so how in hell are we going to keep it controlled? If those bastards at GHO hadn't been so damned keen to keep a lid on it at the start, there might have been some hope. We might have a cure already. Or some way of fighting it, at least. But we've got squat – and it's spreading through the camp like a bloody bushfire.'

‘So what do you intend to do?'

Again Charlie pushed at her hair. ‘What
can
we do? We just have to keep going over what little we've got, until someone has a brainwave.'

‘Mind if I have a go? I mean, I haven't got your—'

‘At this stage, Kaz, I'd accept help from the ghost of Dimitri Gaston. You've got all the files we received from Hansen already. I downloaded them for Hoskins to look at last week. If you like, I'll send you what Galen and I have been working on. It may give you somewhere to start. But don't let it limit you. If you want to try a new tack, go ahead. We don't seem to be getting all that far. You know, cous, I never could figure out why you didn't try Edison. You'd have done great here.'

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before answering. It was something I'd considered myself a thousand times.

‘Maybe . . .' I began. ‘I guess I just never liked crowds. Besides, there's lots to do here. We've got the best Research set-up outside of Edison, and what we still don't know about hybrid genetics could fill the Central Desert. I keep busy.'

Charlie smiled, but it was unconvincing. She looked exhausted, and so much older than she'd looked just a few weeks earlier.

‘Well, get ready to get a whole lot busier. And please try to convince Hoskins. The way this is shaping up, it's going to get a damned sight worse before it stands a chance of getting better.'

She broke the connection and I was left staring at an empty screen.

CHARLIE'S STORY

Carmody Island is about three and a half thousand clicks from Edison, and almost the same distance from New Geneva. About the only place it's remotely close to is the Elokoi state of Vaana, which, at its nearest point, is about 500 clicks to the east, and isn't exactly a high-density population area anyway.

Except for the Martinez Oasis, which is stuck out somewhere in the middle of the Great Central Desert, Carmody is the most remote piece of inhabited real estate on the entire planet – and that includes the isolated mining towns of the Fringes. So when you think about it, if you imagined the most unlikely place to find a top-flight school and one of the most amazing laboratory set-ups on the whole of Deucalion, Carmody Island would have to be it.

The oddness of it had probably crossed the minds of a lot of people at the Academy in Edison, when such a high proportion of its intake in specialist disciplines like genetics and biochemistry, as well as significant numbers in areas like law and government, came from the island.

But wondering was about as far as it went. I guess they figured that if people wanted to go to the trouble of sending their kids to a fancy boarding school on an island thousands of k's from anywhere, where they probably had a whole lot fewer distractions, they deserved any results they might achieve.

I doubt if Galen had given it a second thought, which explained why he wasn't exactly receptive when I raised the issue.

‘How can you even
think
of leaving here?' he asked, turning his chair to face me. I'd dropped the bombshell while I was standing behind him massaging his neck. I guess I figured he'd be more amenable in that position. ‘Shit, Charlie. We're having enough trouble doing the job here, with all the staff and facilities of Edison Research at our beck and bloody call. How do you expect to get it done on a freaking
island
?'

‘Don't go completely feral on me, Galen,' I replied, stepping back a pace or two. I was prepared for his reaction. I'd known him too long to expect anything else. ‘It's a last resort, but it's not as crazy as it sounds. Not if you know the story of the place.'

Time for the history lesson.

I pulled a chair around, and sat backwards on it, facing him. I was nervous. I took a deep breath. As I took hold of his hand, I noticed I was trembling slightly.

‘What do you know about the
Icarus Project
?'

‘Icarus?' He didn't have a clue and I knew it. It was just my opening gambit. A rhetorical question. I'd learned more than just biology from Parmantier.

He waited. I swallowed, then launched in.

‘About a hundred and fifty years ago, on Earth, some scientists undertook a top-secret and highly illegal genetic-hybrid experiment . . .'

‘Icarus?' He can't help it. Even when he's totally in the dark, he still has to be involved in the conversation. It's an ego thing.

I just looked at him. It was our unspoken signal.

‘Go on,' he said. ‘I'll just shut up.'

‘Thank you, Galen. This is going to be tough enough, without you second-guessing in the middle of every sentence.'

I wasn't angry. It was the nerves talking. I took a deep breath.

‘When the first settlers arrived here from Earth, the Native Species Protection Legislation hadn't been enacted. Anyway in those days they couldn't send the empty C-ships back through the warp, like they do today, and when they returned it on auto-pilot, they put a couple of Elokoi into stasis and sent them back with it. No one considered the ‘creatures' to be part of a civilised race, and at that stage no one even suspected that they were telepathic.

‘Unfortunately, the freeze-sleep, while it shut off the other body-functions, didn't shut off the Elokoi's telepathic capacity. They spent the best part of fifty years stuck inside a comatose body, without a single physical sensation, surrounded by the silent emptiness of the universe, unable to do anything but think. Of course, when they were released, they were totally and irreversibly insane, and they remained catatonic until they wasted away and died.'

He nodded. Nothing new in all that. It was one of the first examples they gave in the freshman medico-scientific ethics lectures. He didn't say anything though. He could tell I was just warming up.

‘Of course,' I went on, ‘by that stage word had come back to Earth, via the shuttles, of the Elokoi's particular “talent”.

‘The thing is, the creatures were dead but their genetic material was very much alive. And although it was illegal and totally unethical, a group of Researchers in the Seoul Genetic Research Facility managed to isolate the group of gene complexes responsible for the Elokoi's telepathic ability . . . And they spliced them into human chromosomes—'

‘Human? But that's—'

‘Against the law? It's against everything, but they did it anyway. They produced about fifty children, using paid surrogates to bring them to full term, but before the children could grow up the project was uncovered. The Researchers were canned, and orders were put out for the kids to be found and terminated . . . Destroyed.'

‘But . . .'

‘But?'

He attempted a weak smile. ‘There has to be a “but”, Charlie. If there's no “but”, there's no point to the story. So?'

I smiled back. At least he'd managed to get me to unwind slightly. But what was about to come was the key. To a lot more than just this story.

‘So,' I continued, ‘let me ask you a curly one. An experiment is unethical – and illegal – and you discover it. So, what do you do with the fifty or so kids produced as a result. Remember, they're all under five, obviously functional, and perhaps possessed of a unique talent that could be either a boon or a curse to all humankind. Do you kill them, as you've been ordered, or do you hatch a plan to spirit them away to safety? What would you do?'

He looked at me for a moment, then hedged. ‘I wouldn't have created them in the first place.'

I stood up and shoved my hands into my pockets, looking down on him.

‘That's not the issue, and you know it. It's a right-to-life issue. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the original experiment, you now have a group of kids who exist through no fault of their own. Do they have any
less
right to be alive because they are the result of an illegal act? Does a child of a rape victim deserve to die because of the crime of its father? Do these children forfeit their right to exist because a few of their genes are different? They
do
exist, Galen. They
are
there. And you have to make a decision. So . . . what do you do?'