‘Surely the computer is smart enough to detect when the sleeping quarters are being occupied.’
The officer’s face reddened. ‘Normally, sir, but the computers on board this ship are designed to save power, not to detect life on-board.’
‘So, when the computer knocked out the oxygen to that section, the sensors locked the units so we couldn’t escape?’
‘Not quite, sir. The sensors assumed they were unoccupied and lockdown was initiated to prevent tampering with unused units, sir.’
‘Good to know we’re in such safe hands.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He shook his head at the officer. ‘If it wasn’t for your officers, we would have all suffocated in there. Please thank them for me. I didn’t manage to get a good look at their faces, so I don’t know who they were.’
‘Sir?’
‘Your officers,’ said Bill.
The senior officer stared at him, before answering in his best military tone. ‘Of course, sir. Immediately.’
A stab of pain shot through his tenderised elbow and he winced.
‘Do you need medical help, sir?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Bill began the walk back to his sleeping quarters. He didn’t trust doctors. ‘You’d probably only try to harvest my organs for donation.’
24
Tucked into a darkened doorway, Stephen and Anton watched the exchange between the official and Bill Taggart.
‘Would they really try to harvest that human’s organs?’ said Anton.
‘We know they are killers, so anything’s possible.’ Stephen stared after the investigator as he walked away.
‘I’m glad you decided to help those people in the end.’
‘I was this close to ignoring their screams.’ Stephen held his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.
‘I don’t believe that. You’re nothing like the other Indigenes.’
‘But I have every reason to be.’
Anton’s brow creased. ‘Are the humans as bad as you say they are? Pierre’s opinion seems to differ.’
‘Pierre is practical. He prefers the option with the least carnage.’
‘Seems like we should wait to see what we find out before judging them.’
Stephen smirked. ‘You sound like Pierre.’
‘Well, he isn’t an elder for nothing.’
‘The very fact that they are human bothers me.’
‘No matter what they are, we can’t treat them as immediate enemies. It would make us no different to them.’
‘But we are like them,’ said Stephen.
Anton gestured after Bill. ‘He’s alone now. Why don’t we just approach him? Demand answers about why they are investigating us?’
‘No, I’m not ready for that yet. Besides, we can’t be sure if we can trust him. I think we should wait until we get to Earth.’
‘But what if we lose him? We don’t know where he’s going.’
‘We will soon enough. When we reach their planet, we can track him.’
A memory of the district’s Evolvers came to Stephen’s mind—they had also been tracked by the humans. It had been an error on some Indigenes’ part to allow their young to hunt without supervision. Their choices had revealed their race’s existence to the humans. Central Council’s perfect democratic society was showing signs of wear.
Stephen had also been hunting that night and had not been aware of two Evolvers’ dangerous proximity to the city border. They all heard the wolf baying in the distance, but the animal was on the back foot. The wolf was cornered somewhere and would be an easy kill.
They hadn’t accounted for the humans’ proximity to the wolf. The light from a single torch had stopped Stephen in his tracks. His hunting party of six watched on as two Evolvers had been moments away from being discovered.
The young pair had continued to taunt and tease the wolf. One Evolver danced and diverted the animal’s attention. The other curled his spine into a crouched hunting stance and kept his bloodthirsty eyes on the prey. The wolf stilled. A blood-curdling screech emanated from the dancing Evolver. The other, still low to the ground, revealed a set of teeth strong enough to rip the wolf in half.
The wolf snarled, low and guttural. It flashed its razor-sharp teeth; a prelude to a frenzied attack. The animal leaned back on its haunches, its muscles shaking with tension.
Stephen noticed the approaching human stop as soon as his light exposed the truth. The smell of iron filled his nose. The Evolvers shook with excitement as a crimson waterfall of blood spilled from the wolf’s neck.
As soon as the first Evolver had been surrounded, Stephen grabbed the second one and ran.
Stephen’s ragged breathing broke him out of his thoughts. He tilted his head back and pulled out the three sections of the filtration device. He pulled the spare set off his belt and adjusted the larger part at the back of his throat with his finger. He wiped down the depleted sections and placed each one in the recharger unit that also hung from his belt.
Anton waited for him to finish before speaking again. ‘So, how are we supposed to get off this ship without being noticed?’
‘The same way we got on. Will the chips work at the exit point?’
‘In theory they should. Disembarkation should be straight forward enough,’ Anton said. ‘As for getting around the planet... Well, I haven’t figured out how we’re going to manage that just yet.’
25
An endless list of documents appeared on Laura’s monitor, including various memos between the World Government and its subsidiaries about security matters. While some issues were minor, others might become serious if not dealt with.
A new folder blinked on her monitor. Laura stared at it. Booth numbers and names flashed up beside files and disappeared: booth one, her frenemy in booth ten, booth sixteen. She contemplated leaving it. But it sat separately to the regular feed. What if she was expected to open it?
She carried on with the list of regular files.
Twenty minutes later, the folder icon was still winking at her. She considered asking if others could also see the file, but that would break the cardinal rule: don’t speak to anyone. Heads remained low and impassive. Dozens of fingers glided over touch-activated monitors. The room felt constrictive all of a sudden. She logged downtime for a bathroom break through her monitor. A clock flashed up on-screen and a two-minute countdown commenced.
In the bathroom down the hall, she splashed cold water on her face, allowing it to drip down her neck where it soaked into her collar. She leaned against the steel-top counter and stared at her face in the mirror. Her blonde hair, which had started the day as a neat ponytail, was now a mess. She took it down and tidied it up. Her green eyes were missing their usual sparkle. Her skin was more pale than usual. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame. She’d lost weight recently, and it didn’t suit her.
Laura leaned towards the mirror, trying to remember why she had come to work for ESC in the first place. She was tired, both physically and emotionally. She was holding out for a place on a transfer list to Exilon 5; that was why she was here. But the longer she worked in Level Five, the further that goal seemed to drift away. When she felt low, a vitamin D shot usually pulled her out of her funk. But she wasn’t quite at that point yet.
Laura patted her face dry with a paper towel and went back to her workstation. The folder was still there. She continued to ignore it, and instead, randomly selected a file from the list that was increasing the longer she sat there.
As Laura processed the other files, the ominous folder continued to flash. Why hadn’t anyone else processed it?
She clicked on it. A folder labelled ‘Private’ opened to show nine documents, all with the security tag 732-554-ITF-TGT. A number of them had the prefix “to be re-filed” attached.
She opened the first document and scanned the contents. The name Bill Taggart repeated throughout. She guessed that the TGT on the security tag stood for his name. ITF, it explained in the documen
t, stood for International Task Force. She read on. Words like “Exilon 5”, “investigation” and “meeting” caught her attention as she scoured the document for the clearance level. The document appeared to be a preliminary report sent a week ago. About two-thirds in, she found the hidden clearance level. She closed the file, tagged it and ran it through re-encryption.
She opened the files sequentially. The documents labelled “for re-filing” contained both video recordings and notes. She was unsure how to file a document with more than one element. Should she process the components separately or together?
‘Video and text together in the same file,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘Do I tag together or separately?’ Her pulse raced. She hadn’t planned on breaking the cardinal rule.
All noises stopped and the silence filled the room. She pushed up from the desk and looked around her. The woman from booth sixteen who handled Level Eight information was staring at her.
‘Together,’ said Sixteen.
‘Thanks.’ Laura dropped back down into her seat. She tagged the two files without reading the text. She had found the clearance attached to the video file, simply titled “Examination”.
It wasn’t until she had opened the sixth document in the list of nine—labelled “to be re-filed – 732-554-ITF-TGT”—that she began to pay closer attention. Inside, the files had a different name: “Autopsy of Species 31”. Her eyes widened.
She started to put everything in the files together. The words “Exilon 5”, “investigator” and “meeting” developed context, but she was unsure of how “meeting” connected with anything. A meeting with whom? Species 31, perhaps? Did the alien autopsy pre-empt a meeting? What if the meeting hadn’t gone according to plan?
As she speed-read the document, she was tempted to labour over the contents, but she didn’t need the hassle from Brett, her new overseer. Key phrases rose to the surface: “translucent skin”, “photosensitive eyes”, “discovery of object lodged in back of throat and nasal cavity”.
What am I looking at?
Laura re-read the information until the words didn’t make any sense. She straightened up in her chair and looked over the top of her booth. Sixteen was the only one watching her.
Laura flushed red and looked at her monitor.
Her brief glimpse into a darker side of Level Five came as a surprise. There was no way this information had been conveyed publicly. She would have heard something already if it had been. The warnings from the beady-eyed man rang true. What we retain can get you killed in an instant. So learn the rules fast.
She still had no idea what the other rules were.
Laura didn’t know if she was in any danger, having seen the Taggart files. But they had been left for her to process; they had sent her the information freely. Surely the files were innocent enough? In the back of her mind, something nagged at her to be careful.
She ignored it.
Driven on by an insatiable curiosity, she opened the remaining files.
26
Daphne Gilchrist sat alone in her glass-walled office on Level Seven. The tint on the windows was set to maximum. She watched the people outside going about their business. It was how she liked to operate: always hidden, always watching.
Leaning forward in her plush leather chair, she looked into her monitor and listened as a female doctor stationed on Exilon 5 showed her close-ups of a replicated identity chip, which was three times the size of a flat pinhead. Stellar wave technology developed by the World Government’s subsidiaries maintained a crisp and clear communication link between the planets.
‘As you can see, Daphne, it is a highly advanced design.’
Daphne stilled at the doctor’s casual use of her first name.
‘Please address me in the right fashion, doctor. That’s Ms. Gilchrist to you.’ Only Charles Deighton was on a first-name basis with her, and that was because he truly frightened her.
The doctor took the warning in her stride and Daphne seethed beneath her icy exterior. She enjoyed instilling fear, and somehow this female doctor she’d never met had rattled her. Women were complicated, and often manipulative. Men were more likely to understand her iron-fisted approach.
‘If you looked at an original chip and a security chip side by side, you would see they both have an inbuilt communication thread so they can talk to each other.’ Daphne watched as the doctor tapped the active thread on the replica chip with a minuscule pointer. The thread squirmed under the microscope as if it were alive. ‘This replica is mirrored after an identity chip. The thread here is composed of nerve receptor molecules, which normally receive signals from a cell. The security chip’s thread has the same molecular structure, except it has extra molecules called ligands that act as agonists. The agonists stimulate the receptor to send signal information, using the cells as a go-between.’
Daphne combed her lacquered nails through her red hair. She watched the doctor with a visible level of disdain as she spoke. The woman’s dark hair was gently pulled back from her face and tied into a loose bun. Blue eyes, that placed her high up the genetic transfer list complemented her soft-looking face. She reminded Daphne of Isla Taggart.
‘Shall I continue?’
Daphne snapped out of her daydream. She waved for her to carry on.
‘The original and security chips will also work independently of each other. The identity chip is the first to be implanted at birth. The thread remains dormant until the recipient receives a security chip. Once that happens their connection is live. Equally, if you remove one, they both revert to their original state and can work as single units. But without two original chips present, they can’t be activated together, as the unique connection no longer exists. Unfortunately, you need to activate a pair simultaneously to see if the connection has been severed.’
‘Did the host try to leave the planet? Is that how the replicated chip was discovered?’
‘No. Bob Harris presented with an infection yesterday.’
Naming her patient made the doctor too emotional. Daphne wished it had been a male doctor who’d discovered the anomaly. Men wanted to be told what to do and when to do it. Women’s emotional involvement in matters usually caused problems. It was where Isla Taggart had tripped up. If only she had left well enough alone.
Daphne shook her head; she would never be tripped up in the same way. With no living family outside the ESC’s glass confine, there was little for her to get emotional about. Men knew that her mind was quick and to the point. Plus, she could pull out the female card when necessary. It always seemed to be needed at some point.
‘Did he try to remove it?’ said Daphne.
‘He said he didn’t. The chip is developed out of his DNA and has been designed to become part of his body, completely and utterly compatible in every way. For the most part, it remains inert. He said he hadn’t tried tampering with it, either. Apart from yearly upgrades due to changes in his work status and living arrangements, he’d forgotten he even had it, until a month ago.’ The doctor paused before continuing. ‘He was in a lot of discomfort, poor guy. Didn’t see it coming.’
There it was again: the emotional response.
‘And?’ Daphne said, trying to pick up the pace of the conversation.
‘Well, the microchip is an integrated circuit device encased in a polymer compound. The compound is created by taking a DNA sample from a baby, then mixing it with the liquid solution. As you know, the identity chip is then inserted under the skin of the left thumb. As the human body grows, the chip adapts to the host. The silicone breaks down over time, releasing a compound that partially solidifies the saline, holding the chip in place. Over time, the DNA polymer and saline fuse, providing the final housing over the circuitry. It’s entirely natural and, in practice, identity chips never need replacing, just updating, which can be done with a simple tweak.’
Daphne’s time on the call was limited but the doctor wasn’t in a hurry.
‘The security chip is developed fr
om a section of the identity chip. It’s the DNA marker that makes them so unique. If one or both chips were removed from a host, they wouldn’t work in another human. It is, therefore, pointless to sell them on the black market, as is currently happening. The public’s general lack of knowledge is the reason the market remains so lucrative.’
‘So, it was stolen?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t make sense to replace it with something else; the chip is tamper-proof and will eventually destroy itself if physically removed. Replacements shouldn’t work. That’s why this replication model is so amazing.’ The doctor produced side-by-side images of an original and replicated chip. Daphne saw no difference.
‘It even has a similar thread like the original one,’ said the doctor. ‘And it works. Can you believe it? Whoever designed this knows a lot about genetronics.’
‘What about the replication? How was it discovered?’
‘The replication is superb,’ said the doctor. ‘Aside from being able to attach itself to the host’s DNA, it works as if it’s the real chip. As I’ve already explained, the originals must be activated simultaneously to see the problem. Fortunately for us, Bob Harris has a rare condition.’
‘How is that fortunate?’
‘Bob has a super-charged immune system that rejects the presence of foreign matter. He will never get sick. Only a handful of humans have this affliction.’
‘Knowing your area of expertise, Doctor, can I go so far as to assume you are under-qualified at this point to brief me on genetic anomalies?’
The doctor’s credentials registered her as a nurse. It was her field training in scientific studies that had accredited her with the title of doctor. It was why she was on Exilon 5.
‘Actually, I’m more than qualified to advise you on the subject. I studied anatomy extensively before turning my attention purely to the sciences.’
Daphne waved her hand for the doctor to continue. She was not impressed by this woman.
‘His unique immune system means he’s protected from the most aggressive medical conditions that still exist, rare as they are. The original chip bonded to his internal network because there was DNA present in the chip. When his DNA is removed from the equation, his system will recognise the object as foreign. That’s what happened here. His body fought the invasion and turned it into an infectious mass because the chip had nowhere to go.’