Connection Part I: A Dystopian Novel (Perfectible Animals Book 2), Page 3

  Shy felt her pain. He himself had had a very liberal upbringing and even still, being Homo novus had been difficult. He was surprised that Salina had turned out as she had. It certainly attested to the strength of nature over nurture. Although he suspected there were probably plenty of Homo novus who hadn’t turned out like her in similar circumstances, and it attested more to her strength of will and character than anything else.

  “You must have had some pretty special parents,” Shy said.

  “Yes, they were great,” Salina said. “They taught me to always believe in myself, and they accepted me for who I was. I guess what really mattered, though, was that deep down I knew they really loved me. I think that’s all any kid needs.”

  “Probably,” Shy said. “Although a good education certainly helps as well. Do you think we can convince this priest to let us continue?”

  “Maybe. We might have to make a deal with them, allow them to give virtual sermons. I think they’re already losing a lot of popularity—they might be happy to consider something which gives them a little more street cred with the young ones.”

  Salina took Shy back to his hotel and Shy invited her up to his room. She hesitated for a moment, then she took his arm and hugged it, letting herself be led by him.

  Shy always liked v-sex, but there was something incredibly satisfying and soul-enriching about being with a real, live person and feeling the warmth of their body, the wetness of their mouth, the urgency of their tongue, and the energy that seemed to flow between them as they made love together.

  Once they were both fully satiated, Salina said to him, “It’s so nice to have someone who understands me. I could never do that with any of the local boys. I’d be considered a total slut. Or worse—they’d want to marry me!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  OVER THE NEXT several weeks, Sarah collected results from a multitude of tests being run on the sick patients and sent them back to her team in Melbourne. So far, nobody outside of the test group had gotten sick, but given the timeline that this disease seemed to work on, with a latency period of almost exactly twenty years from the time of birth, Sarah knew it was only a matter of months. As soon as wealthy westerners started to get sick from this, the pressure to find a cure—already high—was going to reach a frenzy.

  That afternoon, Sarah received a call from her boss, Gordon Jones, director of the CSIRO.

  “Any progress yet?”

  Sarah pictured him, his lanky frame, well-trimmed beard and grey eyes. Pity he was married, and even more of a pity that Juliette, his wife, was such a babe. The opportunity for a lab romance between her and Gordon had presented itself on many occasions, and she was pretty sure the attraction between them was mutual. Although she wasn’t as classically beautiful as Juliette, she liked to imagine she had a kind of sassy sexiness that Juliette lacked.

  “Nothing. This thing is a horror show, Gordon. Call me a creationist or a cynical bitch, but this thing has been put here by design. I’m sure of it. The precision with which it works is frightening.”

  “Any deaths yet?”

  “Not yet. But a few are pretty close. Another few weeks at the most.”

  There was a silence for a few moments. Sarah could hear Gordon’s breath on the other end of the line.

  “Were you modified?” he said at last.

  “Yes. Of course. You?”

  “Same. Juliette, too.”

  Sarah wanted to tell him how frightened she was. How every day as she looked at the patients in those beds she couldn’t help thinking how this was going to be her in six month’s time, her and almost every other living person on this planet. What good was fear, though? What was the point of even thinking about it? Focus on solutions, Sarah. Not on problems. Her therapist had repeated this to her over and over again after Derek had died.

  “Have you managed to get hold of Michael Khan yet?” she asked Gordon.

  “Getting through army bureaucracy is like trying to get out of a level 4 lab.”

  “Why do you think they’re stalling?”

  “I don’t know. Although I have my suspicions.”

  Sarah couldn’t stop herself from releasing a little nervous laugh as she guessed at Gordon’s meaning. The Australian military, having sole access to Michael Khan, would almost certainly want to keep him to itself for as long as possible. Finding the key to curing a disease that was infecting almost the entire world population would give it unprecedented power.

  That afternoon, Madeleine came into Sarah’s lab.

  “I think I might have found something that might interest you,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Sarah looked up from the rows of data she had been staring at for hours.

  “You know how you suggested we compare the original modifications with the amended version?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s an interesting string on the thirteenth chromosome that might be worth investigating. I’ve gone through all the notes relating to all the sequences on that particular chromosome but can’t find anything relating to this one.”

  “Michael was always so careful in annotating everything.”

  “Exactly.”

  Over the last few weeks, as she had read through page after page of his notes, Sarah felt like she had gotten to know Michael well. The level of detail and the incredibly well-structured explanations for everything he did, with hyperlinks between all the different layers, was phenomenal just by itself.

  “So what do you think? Do you think the notes were removed? Are there any notes written by the team who made the amendments?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t think that Michael would have neglected to make notes on this. And I don’t think that the notes have been tampered with since. I’ve checked the earliest records of them which were seized at the time Michael was arrested, and there’s nothing there either.”

  “So? What happened to them?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe something else they did created a protein which re-arranged things here.”

  “Or maybe someone else was responsible for that particular sequence,” Sarah said, her mind putting together a few vague notions that had been bothering her over the last few weeks as she studied this thing.

  She thought about how the Homo novus modifications had been released to the world via the black market, soon after Michael Khan’s incarceration. From China to Africa, for a couple of dollars, people who wanted healthy children could buy a pill that would make not only their children but they themselves resistant to many known diseases. People were skeptical at first, but as news got out that the pills seemed to work, more and more started taking them. Nobody knew for sure, but estimates were that up to twenty thousand children had been born Homo novus.

  But then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the illegal pills went off the market. Gronome had come up with an alternative: the exact same benefits to the immune system, without the risks associated with having your children’s behavior modified as well. Who wanted friendly, compliant, cooperative children who would bend to the will of anyone? And, on her bad days, watching as Shy shut himself away in his room all day, jacked into virtual reality because real reality was too difficult for him to bear, Sarah couldn’t blame them.

  So, what had happened? What had happened between the time Michael was arrested and the time the Homo novus pills were available on the market? Who was producing them? Distributing them? Apparently there was a secret organization behind it, but it was never caught. Michael himself had always claimed that he knew nothing. But someone had distributed them, and what they had done to them in the interim, while Michael was safely locked away, was anyone’s guess.

  “Sarah? Are you okay?” Madeleine was looking at her, her round eyes and almond-shaped mouth curling backwards in shock.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking, that’s all.” Sarah explained her theory to Madeleine.

  “The only problem with that,” Madele
ine said, “is that those particular genes exist on both the Homo novus genome and the adapted genome. So if they really do have something to do with it, then why aren’t the Homo novus children getting sick?”

  “Maybe some of the genes responsible for their behavioral changes are actually serving a double function,” Sarah said. “Maybe they appear to be only causing behavioral changes, but they are actually stopping this disease, whatever it is, from expressing itself.”

  “You could be right,” Madeleine said. “There are plenty of precedents for that kind of thing.”

  Sarah went back to her hotel room that night with her mind abuzz. What if someone else had messed around with the Homo novus genome before releasing it to the world? It did seem very strange that everyone who got sick did so almost exactly twenty years after being modified, almost as if some kind of genetic clock were at work, just waiting for the alarm to go off.

  But why? Maybe whoever had released the Homo novus genome had anticipated that somebody else would come up with a version of their immune system modifications that didn't contain the behavioral modifications, and those people wanted to make sure that in the end it would be Homo novus who took over the world. A shiver went down Sarah’s spine as she thought about the cold, calculated intelligence of the person who could have decided something like that. Who would allow something like that to happen? A sociopath, for sure. But were they right?

  When Sarah got back to the hotel, she called Shy. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in my room.”

  “Do you want to go out for some dinner?”

  “I’m busy. But you can come up if you like.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some dinner?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She sighed and then went up to his room. Inside, her son was lying on his bed, the curtains closed. He had obviously just been jacked in to v-space.

  “You don’t feel like getting out, Shy? You can spend time in v-space anytime. We’re in Guatemala.”

  “I have been out. I went out yesterday. I even met a girl.”

  “Yeah? What’s her name?”

  “Salina.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “I wouldn’t be hanging around with her if she weren’t,” he said.

  “A real girlfriend at last.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “It’s about time you found yourself a woman. You’re hardly going to have virtual babies, are you?”

  “Who said I’m going to have babies at all? And besides, what’s wrong with virtual babies?”

  “They actually exist?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh my God. What is happening to the world? We’ll all be virtual, soon. At least that way I suppose we won’t destroy the planet. Anyway, come down and have some dinner with me. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I’m not sure. This morning, maybe. I ordered room service.”

  They went downstairs to the hotel restaurant. Sarah looked out the window just as the sun was setting across the lake.

  Sarah told Shy about her work, and then about her frustration at not being able to meet the man who had originally created the Homo novus genome, Michael Khan.

  “If you ever do meet him, can you ask him where my brother is?” Shy said. “I’d still like to meet him one day.”

  When Sarah and John had first adopted Shy, Annie had told them that Shy had a twin brother—a boy named Harvey who was identical to Shy in every way except that he hadn’t been modified. He had been created as a control subject to see the extent of the changes in behavior caused by the modifications. Sarah had passed this information on to Shy when he was old enough. They had both tried to find Harvey, but by then Annie Khan was dead and Michael was locked in prison. Since nobody could get to him, they had never found out where Harvey was.

  “Of course I will,” Sarah said, and reached across the table and took her son’s hand. “So tell me about this girl, anyway. Is she Homo novus?”

  “Yes. I met her in Youtopia.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s trying to give local school kids access to Youtopia so that they can use the educational facilities.”

  “Who owns the network around here?”

  “A company called Mexitel.”

  “And they’re open to that?”

  “Not really. But Salina’s got a plan worked out.”

  Sarah watched as her son’s eyes dilated slightly and his face flushed. He was obviously attracted to this girl, and she was suddenly worried about what would happen if he got too attached to her. Sarah knew Homo novus sex lives were different from Homo sapiens, but she presumed they could still fall in love. And what would happen then? He would either want to stay over here, something she could never allow, or he would get incredibly depressed when it was time to go home.

  “You be careful, Shy. I don’t want you getting mixed up in any local disputes. We have no idea how things work over here.”

  “It’s fine, Mum. Really. Salina’s a smart girl.”

  “Yes, well, be careful, Shy.”

  Sarah suddenly wondered what to do. Should she send him home before he got too attached? She could hardly go home herself. Maybe she would just have to let it run its course, like any mother. She closed her eyes and took a few deep and slow breaths, as her therapist had instructed her to do whenever she started getting into a state like this.

  “Are you okay?” Shy reached across the table and took her hand.

  Opening her eyes and staring into his, Sarah felt the most overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude.

  “I’m fine,” she said, although she couldn’t contain a few tears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MICHAEL WALKED SLOWLY around the prison yard, listening to the other prisoners playing basketball, arguing, or talking in low voices as they did deals they thought the officers didn’t know about. Occasionally he stopped, looking up at the blue sky above him, the only glimpse of something natural he ever got. And then he continued on again, forcing his body to move in order to ward off the aches and pains that would plague him otherwise.

  “Hey, Khan, you want to play a round of canasta?” Burt, one of the brighter inmates—an ex-stockbroker—called over to him. Burt was sitting at a table with Gray and Lee.

  “No, not today, Burt. Thanks anyway.”

  Today was the one day of the year that Michael hated most, the one day that his desire to continue living reached rock bottom and the razor blade he had hidden under his bed, taped to the underside of the steel slats, called his name even louder than it usually did. Maybe tonight he’d even pull it out, run it gently down his skin, dream for a moment about what it would be like to no longer inhabit this physical body.

  Just then, the bell rang, and the guards opened up the gates on the far side of the courtyard. Their ten minutes of free time a day were over and it was time to get back to work.

  For the first couple of years, living in prison hadn’t been so bad. The prisoners had most of their time to themselves, and Michael had read, written and kept up with daily affairs. Annie had come to visit him often, and even Dylan, Sophie, Justin, Masanori and Yolanda had come to visit on occasions.

  But then things had changed for the worse. Someone in the government realized what a great waste of money it was paying for people’s accommodation in prison, and decided to start making them pay for their upkeep. Because a lot of the inmates were of lower than average intelligence, the type of work they were required to do was of the most mind-numbing, labor intensive variety imaginable. A factory was built next to the prison. Each day the inmates were led in there to perform tasks that were better suited to robots.

  Eventually, robots had taken over all the manual work, and so the prison executives were forced to find new uses for their prisoners. It was then that karma really had caught up with Michael, when he and the other prisoners were exposed to round after round of experimental drugs.

  This month they were expe
rimenting with a drug that was supposed to entirely remove the need for sleep. Geneticists had long ago reduced sleep hours down to zero in newborns, but as yet hadn’t come up with a somatic modification that did the same thing in people already born. Apart from that, people seemed to consider that the ability to choose whether to sleep or not was preferable to being permanently wired one way or the other. So, Michael, along with forty other prisoners, hadn’t slept in nineteen days.

  Michael walked over toward the gate leading back inside. From there, he and the other prisoners in his trial group were led down a corridor to the old factory, which had now been converted into a medical research center.

  Michael walked over to a chair against the wall and sat down. Bill, another of the prisoners in his group, and one of the only people in here who Michael could even come close to calling a friend, sat next to him.

  “Feeling okay, buddy?” Bill said, putting a hand on his thigh.

  “Not too bad. How about you?”

  “I’m okay. Listen, I know today’s a hard day for you. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay? If you need me.”

  “Thanks.” Michael nodded his head.

  “Do you want to talk about her?”

  “No. Not really.” Michael took a deep breath, trying to stop tears from rising up to his eyes. He didn’t want the other prisoners to think he was weak. In here it was a dog fight. Although he was far from being at the top of the pack, the others offered him a kind of respect and left him alone.

  “Okay. Well, just say the word if you do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bill nodded. “So, this drug’s pretty weird, isn’t it? Have you had any of those hallucinations yet?”

  “No, not yet. How about you? Still getting them?”

  “Fuck yeah, man. Not that they’re unpleasant in any way. Just kind of trippy, you know what I mean?” Bill had suddenly reverted from a middle-aged ex-banker to a teenage pothead.

  “It’s probably the lack of dreaming. Without the release they provide, your body is probably trying to find that even in a waking state.”