Retinal scanning software, version 4.3.1
Patent number: 700658
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Description: Neural binary insertion code for real-time retinal imaging. Requires functional harvest implant chip as power source to perform binary inversion; see Report 34, section A for potential side effects.
Internal MRI memo, quoted in The Last Bastion of the Anthropocene, Ester Akintola, the final UN Secretary General.
Derek fumbled for his alarm, the floor lights brightening as the jarring noise abated. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he padded into the bathroom. A gaunt face greeted him in the mirror. Every day the same. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Except now something had shifted. For starters, his room smelled different; Fang’s presence lingered from the night before. He felt the dynamic between them had changed but would she have her mask back on today as if yesterday had never happened? He hoped not. He needed a friend here. Someone to talk to. He’d seen his own tiredness and fear mirrored on Fang’s face as she sat rigid on the edge of his bed. Out of her element but willing to try and forge a new alliance. Perhaps it was time to trust her.
Derek splashed water on his face and reached for his toothbrush. Somewhere deep in the military complex, Catherine was being held prisoner, but were circumstances really any different for him and Fang? Neither of them were allowed to leave the compound or have any contact with the outside world. Vulcan insisted it was for their own safety, given the solstice was only months away and global order was crumbling. According to the Chief Director, HAARP was the safest place on the planet, except it didn’t feel safe.
A wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. Derek clutched the sink. Look what I have done to the people I called friends. He hated himself, hated his weakness. Vulcan was ruthless, but he was right – outside of HAARP, there was no guarantee of survival. Not with the power Vulcan now wielded. Derek turned away from his reflection. I can’t change the past. I have to make the best of the current situation, starting with Fang. She’s the only one I can trust; my only way out.
Derek pushed open the command centre door. The room buzzed like NASA mission control on steroids. Technicians sat at their stations, intent on their monitors. Snack detritus and stained coffee mugs delineated the night shift about to clock off from the fresh-faced newcomers. Derek climbed the stairs to the central hub, his heart hammering in his chest. Pausing halfway, Derek looked at the enormous central screen that flicked from feed to feed, Fang’s words echoing in his mind. Real-time control. Onscreen, soldiers drilled against dummies and sprinted around obstacle courses with their partner animals.
Derek palmed on the monitor and scanned the latest updates. No word on Robyn. The knot of tension in his chest loosened. So she was still safe, somewhere. Or dead, a little voice suggested. Maybe even long dead. It had been over three months since Robyn attacked the MRI compound in Bulgaria. He had to believe she was alive.
Derek pushed the thoughts away and skimmed the drills and active missions data. Most of the technicians monitored the training drills, but Alpha team oversaw a converger mission in progress. Vulcan’s hand-picked favourites formed an elite crack squad for dangerous missions. Derek clicked on a smirking image of Mikey and pulled up the live retinal feed from his lion. The footage bounced as Mikey ran. Derek caught a glimpse of Daniel and his bear to the right. The pre-dawn darkness swallowed the convergers in their dark bodysuits but the lion’s natural night vision showed everything as if it were full daylight.
“Who’s on Alpha team?” Derek said into his headset.
“That’d be us.” A group of technicians raised their hands. “They’re en route but have not yet made contact. We’re on it.”
“Roger that,” Derek replied. He pulled up the mission information and his stomach churned in dismay.
Mikey held up a fist and his team stopped. The two-storey weatherboard house looked neglected, the lawn too high, but a small vegetable garden down the side held new seedlings. A shiny pink bike was leaning against the fence. His lion prowled forward, head up, and sniffed the air. Mikey detected the scent of grass, linen and flesh. His lion huffed, impatient. Mikey ignored him and scanned the street. No lights penetrated the darkness. Power rationing had been in force for weeks now. Good.
He turned to the girl behind him and gave the command. She knelt on the path and released a tiny scorpion, which skittered under the solid door. Moments later, the door clicked open, and the scorpion scuttled back to the girl’s outstretched hands. She tucked it into the lining of her jacket and grinned.
Inside, the hallway was neat. Men’s dress shoes and tiny gumboots lined up by the door. A vase of fresh-picked flowers stood on a narrow table. Mikey unholstered his blaster and signalled to Daniel. Together, they crept upstairs, pausing on the landing. Mikey nudged open the door. The dull yellow light of his blaster illuminated the sleeping figures on a bed. Mikey didn’t hesitate. He raised the weapon and fired two electroshock bursts in quick succession. Daniel stepped inside and checked the bodies for signs of life. Satisfied, he gave Mikey the thumbs-up. In less than a minute, they were back on the street, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
“Mission complete,” echoed in Derek’s headset. The bluntness of Mikey’s words sent chills down his spine. He re-read the briefing notes and pulled up the footage logs, skimming through the statistics, revolted by the normality of it all. Around the globe, Vulcan had systematically executed those who refused to comply with his vision – dozens of government leaders and military leaders assassinated. They were not innocent people – tinpot despots, corrupt government officials and terrorists among them. With the major league of nations destroyed, resistance had crumbled. Even the few commentators who had joined Hypatia online reached consensus: the shadowy leader of the MRI was on a trajectory to become the supreme commander on Earth. And Derek had sat back and watched it all unfold. Surely this had never been the MRI’s intention or mandate. The previous Chief Director, Miranda, cannot have planned or foreseen this outcome.
His mind snagged on a hazy memory. Derek looked up from his screen: Fang’s office, the day of the attack on the Bulgaria compound. There had been something in a folder, something important. Derek listened to the tech chatter through his headset and scanned the command centre. Images of deep jungle, desert dunes and deserted buildings. He tried to recall the memory but it eluded him. Derek shook his head and returned his attention to his monitor where gigabytes of biomonitoring statistics waited for him. Data to crunch, reports to file. He pulled up the statistics program and buried himself in work, soon absorbed in a world view from the perspective of bears and killer whales. A glimpse of what it must be like to be bonded with those majestic animals. It made him sick to his stomach. Vulcan had imposed slavery on innocent children and animals. Corrupting the convergent bond was an aberration of nature. And the end result? Murder.
Derek rested his forehead on the desk. When the time came, he would be responsible for manipulating the lives of more children and animals. At Vulcan’s command, Derek would simply push a button; no less guilty than those who did the actual killing.
Gunfire erupted on the main screen and Derek’s head snapped up. Actual gunfire. With growing horror, he watched a line of soldiers collapse under a combined bear-human attack. Real people, not training dummies. Bloody claws flashed and chilling grunts echoed around the command centre. Above the staccato of gunfire, terrified screams pierced the speakers. Derek turned away from the limp mangled bodies splattered across the screen.
Around him, fingers danced on keyboards, and the technicians’ chatter swelled. “We got a hot one; damping down the signal.”
“Geez, how did you not see that guy?”
“Bloody idiots …”
Bile hit the back of Derek’s throat. Frightened people were dying, struck down by monstrous beasts. Derek sank into his chair. Biomonitoring statistics flashed onscreen; hundreds of individual heartbeats. Real heartbeats, real death.
An alarm sounded. The technicians fell silent and listened to the new instructions being relayed over their headsets. Derek grappled for his own, only catching the end of Vulcan’s announcement: “… gone rogue, interfering with operations. Incapacitate their soldiers and terminate the assets.”
He looked up at the main screen. The video feeds went dark then rebooted.
“Omega team, have you got a lock on that contingent coming up the rear?”
“GPS is kicking in now. I got it.”
“Beta, can you take the flank?”
“Roger that.”
“Get ready. On my mark.”
Onscreen, a group of bears and their soldier partners froze, eyes wide. As one, the soldiers clapped their hands to the base of their skulls, their faces contorting in pain. An image of Ariana spasming under a powerful electrical current flashed through Derek’s mind. Just as quickly, the soldiers straightened, their faces deadpan.
“Bring them around, now! The rest of the contingent won’t be expecting an attack from their own soldiers.”
Derek’s headset crackled as the technician teams responded. The realisation dawned. They’re controlling them through the harvest implant chips. Derek could not bear to watch the bloody destruction. Everything Fang feared is happening. Finally, when everything fell quiet, he dared to look at the screen. Confused and bewildered, the chipped soldier-animal pairs wandered among their fallen comrades.
“Is the final current charge ready?”
“Ready.”
“Three, two, one.”
Dozens of heartbeats flatlined on Derek’s monitor. Soldiers and bears keeled over in a wave of death.
“And that is how you bankrupt an alliance of nations,” came Vulcan over the headset. The technicians whooped for joy and high-fived one another. They didn’t understand the terrible truth. But Derek knew. This was no hyper-realistic video game.
Derek propelled himself out of his chair and strode into the corridor. He needed to find Fang.
She was in the lab, surrounded by racks of crimson vials. One glance at his numb expression and she peeled off her gloves with a snap. “Cafeteria,” she said. “I’m desperate for coffee.”
They said nothing on their way to the canteen. Fang steered Derek to an empty table then poured them each a coffee from the percolator. She put a mug in front of Derek. “What is it?”
Derek stared at the black coffee, the nausea rising in his gut. “Vulcan’s moved on from training drills. I’ve just watched him take control of human-animal pairs he sold to other armies. He obliterated everyone.”
Fang rubbed her temples. “Shit.”
His anger surged. “That’s all you’ve got? Shit?”
“What do you want me to do? Stroll in there and countermand Vulcan’s orders?” Fang hissed, eyes flashing. “We’re stuck in a compound in the middle of the wilderness. Our options are limited.” Fang scrunched her eyes shut, her worst fear realised. Her work had given Vulcan this power to kill. She slumped over her coffee. “I hoped we’d have more time to find a solution.”
A group of scientists from the lab entered the cafeteria and milled by the percolator. Two waved in their direction.
Derek waved back with a fake smile. “What are we going to do?”
“Survive,” Fang said, throwing a forced smile at the scientists as they sat down.
Derek drank his coffee, ignoring the annoying buzz of conversation around him. He had to get back. Someone would report his absence. Vulcan would not be happy to find him absent from his command post at such a crucial time. Vulcan the puppet master forcing Derek to dance at the end of his strings.