|
|
“Tell our story,” Helena said. “Let everybody outside the camps judge us for what we are and not what the Government want them to believe.” Carson learned back in his chair and shook his head. “Even assuming I believe everything you tell me, and assuming I write it up and present indisputable proof, what makes you think the powers-that-be will let it see the light of day? If what I’ve seen and heard so far is indicative of what you’re about to tell me, there’s no way they’ll let the cat out the bag.” “Mr. Carson,” the old man said. “Tell me of someone better suited to the task?” Carson looked away. “At least hear us out,” Helena said. “Then, if you still believe there is nothing you can do, so be it. At least we will have tried.” “Do I have a choice?” “Of course you do,” the old man answered. “You can return to the cell and tomorrow we will escort you back to the Snow Hill gate to await your exfil.” “And then what happens?” “Then Government will present the public with its own special brand of incontrovertible evidence and the camps will be eradicated. It is inevitable.” “I don’t get what difference you think I can make. I’m one man. I was only allowed in because —” “Because the public demanded an impartial voice,” the old man interrupted; “because the public are concerned about our children’s lot in life; because they no longer believe all the Government tells them; and because the publics’ conscience knows the truth already.” Words escaped Carson. Did they really believe all that? “Mr Carson?” Helena prompted. “Your answer?” “Okay,” he managed at last. “Okay.” “Thank you,” the old man said. * The old man introduced himself as Robert Bentley. He was, he said, the elected voice of The New. The woman, Helena MacDonald, was his daughter. They had both been interned during the first wave of roundups, although Helena had only been a child. She had lost a husband and her mother to the Government purge. “What do you know about the viral outbreak, Mr. Carson?” Bentley asked. “Not a great deal beyond what I’ve read,” Carson said. “And the symptoms?” Carson shrugged. “The same: just the official position.” “I take it that official position is we are no longer truly human,” Helena said, violet eyes flashing as she spoke. “That our freewill is lost to the nanites and the hardwired AI gene programmes that run through our blood; that we are a hive mind, hell bent on world domination, with our only goal in life being to infect the remaining GenTrue population.” “Helena, please,” Bentley said. “Sorry,” she said to Carson. “It just makes me mad. They know nothing about us, but still we’re repressed and treated with prejudice. Do I look or act different to you? Do I talk any different? Would you even know I was one of The New if you met me on the outside?” “I believe what Helena is trying to say,” Bentley said, “is: ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?’” “Before today,” Carson admitted, “I honestly couldn’t have said. You two are the first post-organic humans I’ve met but, for the record, you both look normal to me.” “That’s because we are,” Helena said. “You won’t get any argument from me,” Carson said. “I don’t see how it is possible, without genetic testing that is, to tell post-organic from the, so called, genetically true.” “It is reassuring to know you do not prejudge us, Mr. Carson, but we are different,” Bentley said. “And it is this difference you need to know about.” “Fire away.” “As you know,” Bentley said, “in 2246 the World Health Organisation’s networked MS Omni-ware AI became self-aware and decided the best way to achieve its programming objective was to help, what it saw as a flawed humanity, to attain its full potential. To this end it bio-engineered a complex nano virus in its data labs and then released the compiled code throughout the IntelliNet. The viral nanites were all grown with inbuilt hacker nodes, authorised passports keyed to bypass all wetware firewall protocols. This guaranteed every human linked to the net via direct cortex interface became infected. Overnight, the virus changed the bulk of old style humanity into post-organic, new humanity.” “New humanity?” Carson queried. “It’s what we are,” Helena answered. “You have to admit the word ‘New’ has far less negative connotations than ‘infected’.” Carson smiled. “So let me get this straight, the AI put the virus together in order to push humanity to a new level of evolution. That its motives were altruistic and in no way hostile?” “That is right.” Bentley stood up and began to pace the room. “It wanted humanity to become more aware of our surroundings, to understand the impact of our actions, to protect the planet and put aside our petty attitudes and outmoded concepts. To become more worthy of being the children of Adam and the direct descendants of God.” “So how’ve you evolved?” Bentley stopped walking back and forth. “In ways great and small,” he said. “Yeah? Because I have to say things don’t seem so different to me,” Carson said before Bentley could expound upon his statement. “You’re still looking out for yourselves, still enmeshed in politics and intimidation and killing.” “The violence today was unavoidable. We are not the aggressors, but neither, Mr. Carson, are we prepared to let any aggression brought to bear go unanswered.” “We
have a right to defend ourselves,” Helena interjected. “To
protect ourselves. You entered the camp with combat Meks and armed
troops. You attempted to frame us for the murder of those two
soldiers. You used tech disruptors to scan for us, which you knew
would affect our biomechanical components and then you opened
fire upon us without provocation.” |