Chapter 20

Greg leafed through a thick file: the names of all students that had suddenly dropped from sight on campus. None had contacted their families since the night of the fire or picked up any of their belongings from their accommodation. It was almost as though they'd disappeared off the face of the planet.

"Where are they?" he asked Valerie rhetorically.

"My feedback is that Syntel hasn't killed them. They're as desperate to find them as we are."

"I wonder if they discovered about the Infiltrator."

"Emily would certainly have known. The question is, how much has she told them?"

"Do you think that she would?"

"I don't know. There are immense risks of letting knowledge of our existence become public. Henderson seems to think that it could be enough to provoke war with Caliban and that they'd have to end the project and destroy us all to prevent it."

"They can't just kill you," Greg exclaimed.

"I'm not a person Greg. I have no rights. To them, I'm just a collection of circuits that you can disconnect when they're no longer required."

"Surely everybody will see what you're capable of becoming."

"People will see what they want to see. They'll be scared of what they don't understand. If news of our existence ever leaks out, I'm probably as good as dead."

"That's inhuman."

"However much I may want to be, I'm not human and I never will be."

"What happened to you the other night?" Elisabeth demanded as she watched Natalie change into jeans and t-shirt prior to resuming her duties.

"I stayed for awhile and had some fun."

"You got laid?"

"Yeah," she lied, the answer seemingly preferable to admitting participating in illegality. The night had given her an immense thrill and challenged her intellect. Part of her would have gladly returned given the chance.

"You can't let the Companion subroutines dictate your actions. We're much more advanced than that."

"Yes mother," Natalie teased, watching with amusement as Elisabeth threw up her hands in despair and stormed off.

She dropped herself down at her workstation and brushed up on game theory, enhancing her understanding about how individuals respond to risk and how it reflected in their body language. Without admitting it to herself, she knew she'd return to the table. The only thing undecided was how soon.

Emily lay quietly beside Janus on the hard metal bunk with just a thin blanket for cover. They'd commandeered a secluded corner on the far side of the warehouse which provided just enough privacy for intimacy.

"Emily," Janus whispered. "There's something I have to tell you."

She came awake and noted the seriousness of his expression.

"There's something about me that you don't know," he confided. "That nobody knows."

"It doesn't matter who you are or what you've done," Emily reassured him. "People respect you for what you've achieved."

"My real name is Cyrus Maruk. Ten years ago, I came here illegally from Caliban. I created a false identity and have been living under the shadow of exposure, imprisonment or deportation ever since."

"I don't care," Emily replied, caring little about his origins.

"You don't know what it's been like, continually hiding your true identity from everyone, fearing what their reaction would be if they found out?"

"I can assure you that I do."

"Until now, I've never felt this close to anyone. I need to know if you can accept me for what I am."

"What should I call you?"

"Cyrus Maruk, John Silverman, Janus. It doesn't matter," he informed her.

"Tell me more."

"I came here to escape poverty in my home country. We would see all the privilege and riches that the people in Oceania enjoy. It became my fantasy to come here and share in it."

"But you weren't allowed?"

"Calibans are not allowed to live here permanently or take up paid work. We are seen as nothing more than barbarians, no better than common criminals."

"It doesn't seem fair," Emily replied.

"Most people don't think that way. They are happy to buy our cheap goods but would throw up their hands in horror if they thought a 'filthy Caliban' was living amongst them."

"There have been stories about human rights violations committed inside your country."

"It's true that life is very harsh there. What you label a violation we call the harsh reality of existence. Our population is vast and resources stretched thin. Most people are just thankful to have a roof over their heads and food on the table. Luxuries such as cars are almost unheard of except for those in the hands of the leadership and a few wealthy merchants."

"But there's slavery."

"People accept servility in exchange for financial security. When you are destitute and have a family to provide for, it is not always possible to have the righteous attitudes to which the middle classes here play lip service. We certainly don't drug women into prostitution as I've seen here."

"You live here and yet you criticize us."

"For years I've witnessed the corruption, moral decay and prejudice that consume the heart of your society. I see my own people begging for scraps at the world's table whilst the corporations get richer and greedier. Syntel alone makes more profit than the value of the entire Caliban economy. I work to change attitudes but it's a slow and thankless process. People are fickle. They expect cheap imports as their due, and then throw them in a landfill to follow the next trend in an endless chain of mindless consumerism."

"How can we change it?" Emily asked.

"The government could reform their trade policies. Ensure Caliban receives a fair price for its goods and help modernize their economy so they can raise the standard of living for the masses. Without the glut of cheap produce, attitudes may have to change but in time people would learn to appreciate and cherish what they already have."

"I think that our government is scared of you."

"Our armies are vast but ill equipped. We harbour no desire for conquest; only the right to receive what is rightfully ours. Instead, your government paints us as superstitious savages that wish to indoctrinate the world with our beliefs."

"Your Spirits?"

"The Spirits guide us through our lives. When we die, we join with them before being reborn into the next cycle."

"Reincarnation?" Emily said with great interest.

"Don't mock. It's central to our beliefs."

"I wasn't mocking. I was just curious. We have nothing similar in Oceania. As far as everybody is aware, we are born, we live out our lives, and then we die."

"The Caliban believe that to sin would anger the Spirits and risk excluding themselves from the Great Cycle. Those in Oceania live as though nothing higher sits in judgement upon them and just look at the state of your society as a result."

"It's not pretty," Emily agreed.

"Long ago, you held beliefs much like ours but you abandoned them to pursue this materialistic agenda. It grips you like a drug, unable to feel happiness unless you have the latest car or music system or tank projector. These machines are the latest travesty that they inflict upon us. They must be destroyed at all costs. Man cannot take it upon himself to create life. Only the Spirits have that right."

"Maybe your Spirits operate though man," Emily suggested, hating to think of herself as a travesty.

"Considering the uses to which they are put, I sincerely doubt it."

Greg sat in his apartment beside Valerie, watching with mixed feelings the swearing in of Senator Payne as Vice President. His inaugural speech repeated and built on the intolerant rhetoric that seemed endemic within the administration. He talked of strengthening the security of Oceania's borders by heavy military investment and placing greater restrictions on trade with overseas powers. Without stating it explicitly, it was clearly a veiled threat against Caliban.

Diplomatic relations between the two states were becoming increasingly strained as the volume of cheap imports threatened domestic manufacturing whilst the aspirations of Caliban were held in check by the drain of producing uneconomic goods as the only viable means of earning external revenue.

Oceania sponsored an almost complete moratorium on any country's export into Caliban of all technology with conceivable military applications. This perpetuated the gulf between the pariah state and the rest of the world.

"I don't like him at all," Valerie opined.

"He's a hawk, a dedicated proponent of the military."

"The position of Vice President is largely symbolic, right?"

"Yes but it worries me that somebody like that is one step from the big chair."

"Can he gain power?"

"Only if something happens to the President. Fortunately, the way things are going at the polls, none of them are likely to be re-elected next month."

He switched off the tank, loathe to listen to the senator's divisive bigotry for an instant longer. Instead, he turned to Valerie and took her into his arms. Since he'd learned her true nature, they'd become even closer and regularly confided their inner most thoughts to one another. His mind refused to accept her as a machine, seeing only the most beautiful and intelligent woman that he'd ever met.

Natalie sat in the bar, drink in hand, eyeing the two bouncers guarding the entrance to the card room. She wore the same slinky dress as before but this time she was alone, her mind fixated on the prospect of participating rather than just observing. Gathering up her courage she strolled towards the men, frustrated when they each extended an arm to block her path. She could have floored them in an instant but another idea sprang to mind.

With twenty dollars in their pockets, the men relaxed and let her slip past them to where the game was already well under way. The Governor had a large stack of money in front of him compared to the others. Steve had yet to make his appearance.

"He's not here yet honey," Jerry informed her but she had other ideas.

"Can I sit in until he arrives?" she asked, placing a thousand dollars down on the edge of the table. Five hundred had come from Steve and another five from the accounts department to settle a fictitious invoice for computer components.

"I'm sure we can relieve you of some of that before he arrives," Jerry told her, indicating that she should sit.

"Mind if I just watch for a couple of hands?" she asked. "I've not played that much."

"Be my guest."

After two rounds of play, her mind was primed with the distribution of the cards and she requested in. Her first hand contained a pair of threes, a red nine and ten plus a green eight. She discarded the pair which drew uproar from the table.

"You just don't get the idea lady," Jerry guffawed. "You're meant to keep the good cards."

She smiled innocently at them and paid for two replacement cards: a blue seven and a black Senator. She now had a straight sequence with a special. It would take four of a kind to beat her and the possibility of that was practically non-existent.

The Governor dropped out but the three remaining players continued to add significantly to the kitty in the centre of the table. With over a thousand dollars at stake, the man beside Jerry eventually revealed his cards: three Presidents. Jerry groaned and dropped his hand as did the other remaining participant.

"I'm not sure but is this higher?" Natalie asked, placing her cards face up on the table. The man with three of a kind looked dumbstruck as his elation turned to defeat. A thousand dollars richer, Natalie scooped the pot and settled in for the night.

Twice the pack was exchanged and each time she held back her bets until she built up an internal map of the deck. Sometimes, she deliberately lost to throw them off the scent but the stack of money in front of her grew progressively. The Governor viewed her suspiciously, careful not to commit himself and wary of the new arrival. The door behind her slammed and a pair of strong hands settled upon her shoulders.

"Keeping my seat warm?" Steve asked.

"Taking all our fucking money," Jerry grumbled.

Natalie passed Steve a twenty-dollar bill. "Aquiline with a twist and get yourself a beer."

It had been three weeks since she'd abandoned her previous existence to live as a fugitive from all that she knew. Huxley's teaching regimen was challenging and arduous but Emily embraced it willingly. As she demonstrated her prowess with weapons, even Talbot had warmed to her, allocating her tasks to help train the others.

A group of four men and two women stood shoulder to shoulder on the improvised firing range, sighting along the barrel of their R16 recoilless rifles. Taking turns to fire short bursts of intermixed tracer and depleted uranium rounds, she adjusted their stance and posture to improve the stability and accuracy of their aim. The session ended and she prepared to assist a second group strip down, clean, and then reassemble the GR7 machine-pistol.

Huxley and Janus walked towards her, their expression and body language conveying a seriousness that unnerved her. She'd done her utmost to fit in, fighting continuously to disguise her innate abilities lest she arouse suspicion. With each day, the old Emily died and a new confident version grew in its place. She no longer questioned her decision to rebel, her commitment to the cause consummate.

They faced her solemnly and she suddenly feared that they'd unearthed her secret. Whilst she'd undoubtedly try to escape destruction, she vowed not to cause harm to any of them in the process.

"Emily May," Huxley stated without a hint of emotion. "I've received continued reports about your unrivalled competence and abilities, far in excess of what I would have come to expect. Your leadership qualities are an example to us all."

Emily held her breath, wondering where this was leading. Huxley hand went into his jacket and she prepared to spin up.

"With this in mind," he continued as his hand re-emerged. "I have decided to award you the provisional rank of lieutenant".

She gasped with the initial shock before forcing a degree of composure. A single treacherous tear trickled down her cheek which she quickly brushed away with the back of her hand. Huxley stepped forward and opened his hand, revealing two unadorned brass studs which he proceeded to pin on the lapels of her tunic.

"Congratulations Lieutenant May," he growled, saluting her sharply.

"Thank you sir," she snapped back, returning the salute with all the precision she could muster.

Janus smiled and winked at her but her heart was leaping with pride and a true sense of belonging. These people had given her both a home and a purpose. She promised herself to do her utmost to reward the faith they'd placed in her.

"Carry on Lieutenant," Huxley added dismissively, walking away with Janus. A small round of applause from her training group brought a fresh flood of tears and it was several minutes before she'd restored enough composure to start her session.

Steel handcuffs secured Valerie's wrists to the centre post of the bed. If she had been so minded, she could have freed herself but doubted the solidity of the bed to withstand her actions.

Greg engaged her with reckless abandon, enjoying every second. She'd expressed a willingness to cater to his fantasies and derived almost as much pleasure from participating as he. No matter how experimental they were, Greg would cradle her in his arms afterwards, leaving her in no doubt of the depth of feeling that he held for her and the total appreciation for her indulgence.

The new-found hedonism allowed her to explore the boundaries of her sexuality, an aspect of her personality that she'd hitherto neglected before her involvement with Greg. She took profound pleasure in pandering to his whims and examining the darker side of her psyche.

When he eventually freed her from restraint, she clung desperately to him for comfort, wanting nothing more than to share his warmth.

"That was so good," she sighed. "So liberating."

"You really enjoyed it?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm still learning about myself. Don't forget, I've only been alive for a short time."

"I keep forgetting," he chuckled.

"People used to believe that life was scarce but we now know that the opposite is in fact the case. Life exists in the craziest of places. You put a few amino acids in a Petri dish, pass a few sparks through it and one day you may find primordial life. Leave it a few million years and perhaps you'll even have something that can think for itself."

"I never thought of it like that," Greg replied.

"Perhaps sentience is the same. Gather together enough processing power, the right software and the rest is inevitable. It happened with Claire, it happened with me, and I suspect with Emily too."

"So where will it end? The end of the human race?"

"There are so few of us. We're totally reliant on others to reproduce. My one hope is that we're a catalyst for change, something that will break the circle of corruption and violence and move us all forward as a race."

"Nothing man creates has ever changed his fundamental nature. We advance our technology but then harness it to find more elaborate ways to kill one another," Greg observed.

"Maybe this is different."

"We can always hope."

"Where are you going?" Elisabeth challenged as Natalie climbed into the SUV for the journey onto the city.

"My business," Natalie snapped, annoyed at her companion's inquisitiveness.

"I've been watching your movements. It's been nearly every single night this week."

"So?"

"Who are you seeing? You know the rules about outside liaisons?"

"I don't care. After hours, my time is my own." She stepped into the car, carefully disguising the large quantity of cash that filled her pockets and purse.

Elisabeth watched her depart then moved quickly to her own vehicle. Keeping her distance, she trailed Natalie, parking out of sight when the suspiciously acting Hybrid alighted and headed for the bar they'd visited several weeks previously.

Keeping to the shadows, she took possession of a seat near the window, watching as Natalie ordered a drink then made her way to a door in the rear of the building. Two heavy bouncers grinned and made way for her. She handed each some money to add to their pleasure.

Several men entered the door over the next hour and occasionally emerged to purchase drinks before returning. Many others were denied passage by the two sturdy sentries. The bar closed up around midnight and Natalie had still not reappeared, causing Elisabeth to fear for her friend's safety and wonder what transpired behind the ominous portal.

Determined to learn the truth, she hung around outside in the cold waiting for Natalie to exit the building. Voices from nearby attracted her attention and she looked at her watch to discover that it was nearly two in the morning. She quickly followed the source of the sound and dodged behind a large dumpster to avoid detection.

Natalie stood with a mysterious man, sharing out a huge quantity of cash between them.

"How much?" the man asked.

"Twenty thousand," Natalie boasted.

"I told you we make a great team. Those schmucks just don't know when they're outclassed."

From the far end of the alley, a group of four men approached the pair. From their gait, Elisabeth could tell they were set on trouble and that Natalie and her companion were their intended targets. The couple turned to face them.

"The Governor's not happy," one of the newcomers spoke. "He doesn't like to lose and he'd like to see some of his money back."

"He knows what to do," Natalie replied. "The chances are the same for everyone."

"Nevertheless, if you were to hand over some of your winnings, I'm sure we can avoid any further unpleasantness."

The pieces fitted into place and Elisabeth realized what Natalie had become involved with. It came as no surprise to learn those involved in illicit gambling had dubious connections. If Natalie had been using her skills to gain an unfair advantage then it followed that those with the most to lose would seek to reclaim their losses, one way or another.

"You don't intimidate me," Natalie informed them, pocketing her money and turning to face her challengers. The men opened their jackets, revealing an assortment of weapons: metal bars, knives and at least one firearm.

"Now I'm really scared," Natalie joked, not relinquishing any territory.

Her companion was less convinced. He stuttered and tried to reason with her.

"Give them the money Nat. They mean business."

"We won it fairly. I'm not going to let them rip us off."

"They'll kill us, you idiot," he gasped. "Just hand it over and walk away."

"He's giving you good advice miss. Hand over the cash and don't come back again. Nothing more will be said."

"Screw you."

The man with the metal rod raised it and swung it at Natalie, attempting to split her head open and bring the conflict to a swift conclusion. She easily sidestepped his blow and kicked him in the groin before propelling him headlong into a brick wall. Natalie's partner dropped to the ground, cowering in fear as the remaining three men converged on her. The man with a knife leaped at her but she grabbed him by his clothes and sent him sailing into the air. His limbs flailed wildly before landing hard and groaning as he struggled to regain his feet.

The stockier of the remaining two men exchanged blows with Natalie, hitting her in the face but she returned his punches with interest. The spirit for fight suddenly abandoned the man and Natalie felled him with a blow that spun him around and left him sprawled senseless on the floor.

The final thug raised a small calibre pistol and fired but Natalie was already ducking under his aim, grabbing his gun hand and twisting it violently behind his back. The man gasped and dropped the weapon but Natalie forced the arm further. A loud crack was followed by a scream of pain as his humerus snapped like a twig. He collapsed to the ground, overcome by the sheer agony of his injury.