by Ian R. Faulkner

“And what good do you think I can do? Assuming I can even publish, how will it help you short term, or even at all?”

“It will help because it will allay peoples’ fears. They will also understand why we had to leave the camps.”

“Leave the camps? You plan to escape?”

“Our agenda has always been to leave, albeit we had not planned on going quite so soon, but, with such an aggressive stance from the Government, the decision to wait and proceed in our own time has been taken from us.”

“How?” Carson said. “Where?”

“The where is easy part of all this,” Bentley said. “We plan to simply mingle and merge into the world population; to hide amongst the you like Poe’s purloined letter. Then, once the people accept us and the Government is forced to acknowledge us, we will reveal our presence.

“The how you have seen for yourself and is something we have only learnt to do since the last viral update.”

“What makes you think the people will accept you?” Carson asked.

“The people will accept us because of you, Mr. Carson, and because their sympathy and humanity will win them over to our cause. Once we have public opinion on our side the tyrant’s hand will be forced to yield.”

“And you’re sure you’re not being overconfident or naïve again?”

“Perhaps,” Bentley responded, “but what other choice do we have?”

“Will you help us?” Helena asked Carson.

Carson thought they were either the most misguided optimists in history or downright crazy, but, if nothing else, at the least he would have one hell of a story.

“Why not,” he said. “Why the hell not.”

*

The guard took Carson back to the cell.

“Well?” demanded Coombs as soon as the door banged shut.

“Good to have you back,” Carson said, ignoring Coombs and addressing his comment to Keemut who was at last awake. “Kolly was worried about you.”

“Thank you, Sir, although I do not believe I have been away,” Keemut said straight-faced.

Carson laughed. “It’s an expression Keemut. Means I’m glad you’re unhurt.”

“Cut the shit, Carson,” Coombs said, as he grabbed Carson’s arms and pushed him against the wall. “What did they want with you? What did you tell them?”
“Hey! What the hell’s wrong with you?” Carson knocked Coombs’ hands away and glared at the officer until Coombs backed up a step.

“Thank you so much,” Carson said. He had seriously had enough of the man.

“Listen carefully,” Coombs growled, “we haven’t got time for your holier-than-thou attitude right now. I need to know what’s going on if we’re to have a chance of coming through this unchanged.”

“They wanted to know why we were here,” Carson said in a quiet, resigned voice. He was still angry as hell, and Coombs was still in his face, but Carson had noticed Kolly stand up and move towards them, a nervous expression on his face, and the last thing Carson wanted was for the Sim to intervene and end up on the receiving end of soldier’s ire.

“And what did you tell them?”

“The truth,” Carson said.

“Which truth?”

“Sorry, is there more than one?”

Coombs slammed his fist into Carson’s stomach. The punch doubled Carson over and forced him to his knees. The pain was excruciating. All the air in his lungs had gone, expelled with the force of the blow. He couldn’t draw breath. A string of spittle hung down from his mouth and it took all Carson’s willpower to stop from vomiting all over Coombs’s boots.

“Step back, Sim” he heard Coombs bark. Then Carson was lifted up and slammed once more into the wall.

“What. Did. You. Tell them?” Coombs spat, face livid.

Carson didn’t know if he would be able to talk, but guessed from the look in Coombs’s eyes that the man would kill him if he didn’t try.

“Nothing,” he managed, after what felt an eternity. “I gave them nothing.”

Coombs grunted and dropped Carson. “Let’s hope so,” he said and stalked away to the far side of the room. His eyes’ fixed on the door. “I wouldn’t like to think you had betrayed your species for a free pass.”

“They plan to let us all go in the morning, you jackass,” he said. “They have no plans to harm us.”

“Yeah, right,” Coombs said, looking back at Carson, unblinking. “As if they’ll let us just walk out of here unmolested after wiping the floor with my men like that.”

“Why not? They just want to be left alone.”

“Oh, they’ll be left alone alright. Once I’m out of here, I’ll make damn sure no one even fucking remembers them.”

Carson saw no purpose in talking to the man. He would never be able to convince Coombs of the truth of the situation; he would never believe what Carson had been told by Bentley and his daughter. The man was a hard-line True Gen purest and would see only the threat in the camp and its people.

When the cell door opened, Carson felt drained.

The atmosphere in the room had been fraught with tension and hostility. Coombs had spent the time hunkered down with the Keemut and, although their voices had been too low for Carson to overhear, he could guess the gist of the discussion from Coombs’s body language. The man was obviously planning something and the thought of it scared Carson.

Cuffed at gunpoint with plastic restraint bracelets they were led out into the street by an escort of insurgent troops.