Dream

Dream

By Matthew Burns


         In the gray, starkly lit corridor that led to the sickbay, the being known as ID # C-473-2327 stood silently among 300 others of his kind. Like them he was naked, beige skin showing through dark brown fur. He wasn’t shy- they did the check-ups once a month- but it could have been a little warmer, though. 2327 ran a hand through short cropped brown hair thinking of how he’d be playing the game after this, and it was his turn to be attacker. The object was to battle across a holographic arena littered with bits of cover, while slowly decimating the defending team- 2327 had never lost when he led the attackers.
         The line took a few baby steps forward, 2327 now only three from a double door. He really loved the game, but had long ago realized it was training- he was, after all, a soldier. Minutes passed, and he found himself sitting on a metal table, thankful the skin of his rear wasn’t exposed. A nurse, a young woman, held a small light in his left eye, watching the Persian blue iris expand against the pupil. To keep still, he took slow, shallow breaths through his nose, and nearly frowned. She smelled different today. The nurse moved to his right eye and he took another whiff. Different...but nice, kind of like the colorful plants he saw when the game’s holoprojectors were set to forest.
         “Okay, eyes check out fine,” the nurse said, 2327 still enjoying the scent and looking at the red pigment on her lips, “Now hold this and squeeze, as hard as you can, for 30 seconds in each hand.” She finished, handing him a small gray metal ball about the size of a thermal grenade. Hands following instructions, 2327’s gaze followed the nurse back to her computer where a doctor, another woman, asked,
         “Get anything nice for Christmas?”
         “Mmhmmm, my mother got me some new perfume- lilac. You?”
         “Earrings.” The doctor said, moving off out of 2327’s sight. What was Christmas? It sounded important...and for that matter, what was a mother? Wasn’t a weapon, obviously. A person, maybe? The nurses squad leader? But why would a squad leader get a subordinate something that aided the enemy in detecting her? Weird.
         The nurse returned, smiling, and 2327 was very suddenly glad her commander was an idiot. She took a datapad, pressing the screen sporadically.
         “Let’s see...14 years, 2 months old...you’ve exceeded strength requirements by 20%. That means extra rations for a standard week.” She smiled again, and 2327 didn’t really care about the rations. She motioned him to go, and as he walked out the room, he wondered for a moment if he could have a mother.

         The bright lights activated, and the alarm blared the ultrasonic notes that inescapably awoke the man laying on the bed. His ears were ringing, but he kept his eyes closed, hoping- as he did every morning- that the sound would just go away. Brown eyes snapped to life, and Michael Cain joined reality once more, leaving behind dreams of a place where windows looked upon green things, and not the endless red sand of Mars. He hated Mondays.
         Cain left the bed, walking over to the far wall and pressing the merciful button that killed the alarm. He stared at the panel a moment, realizing bitterly that the alarm was probably built into the wall so people like him couldn’t smash it. Leaving the wall, he moved into the small bathroom, and soon felt the not warm, not cold water of the shower beading off his pale skin. He stuck his tongue out to catch a few drops, hoping it wouldn’t taste of the steel recyclers to remind him that the base had drank and peed this water a thousand times, and would a thousand times more before any hope of refill.
         Soon, he was back in the bedroom, shrugging on a plain white jumpsuit and refusing to look at the 13 copies of it that hung in his closet above the two pairs of white shoes he wasn’t wearing. And to think, seven years ago he had wanted this job? Not that it wasn’t important, of course. He, along with about 1,000 others on the base, was a geneticist, and his job was to craft the foot soldiers of the United Worlds of Man. It really was a brilliant idea when you thought about it. Eggs harvested from chimpanzees fertilized with samples from chosen humans- it made a useless animal worthwhile, and stopped the waste of human lives in war. Cain supposed it helped that it was more politically correct than clones, and a quarter the cost of robots.
         He left the room, walking through the halls with the other 80 people who lived in this wing. Cain followed them, all wearing the same white jumpsuit, onto the elevator at the end of the corridor. All silent as the machine took them down to the mess hall, and silent still as they walked out into the cafeteria which was two stories tall, and as starkly lit as everywhere else. Cain tried not to pay attention to anything as he joined the line, taking yet another plain gray bowl and spoon. They were always silent at breakfast, even if a few rookies tried to converse. Like them, Cain had learned quickly that breakfast was a time for wishing you were still asleep. Somehow he managed not to groan as a cream-colored, soupy substance was poured into his bowl before he mechanically made his way to a table with four others. The first spoonful passed his lips and he wondered once more how all the vitamins and nutrients combined could taste like liquid paper.
         His arms and mouth began the movements they had memorized long ago, and Cain began to look around, hating whoever thought alarm clocks in walls would be a good idea. It was then that he realized there was a missing face. Carl Johnson. Cain sat beside him in the lab, and the stocky, short man was in charge of the embryos for the first few weeks. Cain’s face remained still as the obvious truth of Carl’s fate came upon him. They would probably make the announcement at lunch, so there would be no drop in production from ‘grief’. It wasn’t too surprising- there were a few suicides every month, and his job being what it was, Carl had visited the Harvesters often. Cain had been down there once, on his first day, with the old Director Robert Donnel. The man had stood there against the glass, staring at the chimps and the machines like some kind of pervert, and asked Cain if he ‘understood’ the ‘importance’ of what they did here. Being a rookie talking with his boss on the first day of his ‘dream job’, Cain had said yes. Maybe he really had thought he ‘understood’, back then. Of course, Donnel had put a plasma pistol in his mouth a few years later. Cain smiled at that, and swallowed the last bit of soup. He hated Mondays.

         Abdul O’Connor, Director of the Genetic Hybrid Fighter Project, wanted to close his eyes and scream- anything to drown out that piggish voice and tomato-like face of the man in the screen on his desk. What he did do was keep his dark eyes and dark complexion calm and controlled, as someone like him should be. No amount of etiquette, however, could keep the hard edge out of his voice.
         “I’m afraid I can’t do that, General.” But, being an idiot, the man thought he was calm, if how much redder his face grew was any indication.
         “O’Connor, I refuse to through this with you again. You know how things are shaping up out there- we could be in a real war soon, and not a bunch of black ops killing farmers. We need to increase production now.” General John Kinsington said slowly, as if Abdul was some child to be coddled and consoled.
         “I am well aware of that fact. I also refuse to explain the situation again. Now, if you would let me talk to the Defense Council-“
         “Not a chance,” the general said instantly before closing his eyes and letting loose an exasperated, arrogant sigh, “I will not go through this again. You have four months- when the annual review comes, if you don’t show me results, I will find someone who can. Understood?”
         “Clearly.”
         “We’ll see. Kinsington out.” The screen went blank, and Abdul sat, a ghost of a smile coming strong. Dealing with Kinsington was like...playing with an ant. Entertaining, but eventually, somewhere down the line, you began to pity it for being so foolish and so small. Then the game grew sad, and it had to end.
         The plan really was clever, Abdul would be the first to admit that. He would remove Kinsington, place himself in greater power, and increase the United World’s ability to survive a galactic war all in one fell stroke. In the eyes of the Defense Council, Kinsington was the face of the project, and any failures of the project were seen as failure’s in him. That was why Abdul was being pressured, and also why Kinsington was going to die. And after the deed, who would the Council turn to? The smile grew, and Abdul grabbed a cup from the desk, sipping the still-hot Venusian tea.
         Of course, there was the problem of who to send, but Abdul had solved that one too. In fact, the solution was on its way now. Sometimes, Abdul had to admit that he really was quite brilliant.

         2327 held his hands to his waist as the two guards led him down the bright gray corridor, his fur still sweaty from the game, even under the regulation gray jumpsuit. His team had won, of course, and he had gotten the final shot- but why did the Director want to see him? Had he done something wrong? What could that be? What would his punishment be? Would he not be allowed to join a battalion next year? Would they not let him fight?
         Staying between the guards, 2327 steadied his breathing- he had to be calm, he was a soldier after all. Maybe then they would still let him fight. He hoped so. A minute passed before the hybrid found himself in front of a small, innocuous door the same shade of faded gray as the rest of the base. One of the guards hand went to a panel on the side, pressing a code 2327 memorized out of habit before speaking.
         “C-473-2327 to see Director O’Connor.” To which a soft, swift voice responded.
         “Send him in and standby at the door. No admittance until further notice.” Why would the Director say no admittance? Nothing he had done could merit that... Maybe he wasn’t in trouble...but then what could it be? The dorr opened, and his step was faster as he went through into an office. Without looking up, an older woman at the desk motioned him to a door across the room.
         “Welcome!” a voice said as 2327 walked into the room. The humanzee laid eyes on the Director and- he was short. But he was the Director, and what a stupid thing to notice!
         “Come, sit.” Said the Director, hand gesturing to a seat facing the desk, which was covered in several colorful substances 2327 could only assume was some kind of food. He sat, and the Director was silent, dark eyes boring into 2327 like a drill through earth, and every second like a thousand years where the hybrid grew smaller and the human seemed to take up the whole world. Finally, the man spoke.
         “Do you know why I have bought you here?”
         “No...” More silence, and the drilling eyes never wavered. 2327 wondered if the man knew about him thinking he was short...no one could read minds... He really wished he was playing the game, or maybe getting a checkup by the nurse with the new perfume... What if the Director read that thought? 2327 felt like disappearing into the chair just as the Director spoke again.
         “Do you know why you exist?” 2327’s answer came instantly, mouth drawing upon the things he held as law.
         “I am a soldier for the United Worlds of Man.”
         “And if you could be free?” the hybrids eyes grew large. Freedom was the ultimate honor for a humanzee given only to the best, the ones that always led successful ops, who had never failed even a single objective...but why give it to him? He’d never been in one real battle! But the Director had to have his reasons- he always knew what to do, what was right. 2327’s voice was quiet and wondering.
         “Free?” the Director simply nodded with a patronizing smile, as if being free was the most normal thing in the world.
         “I’ve been watching you for a long time, and I simply think this is what you have earned.” The Director had watched him playing the game, and thought he was good...
         “But,” the human continued, “Not everyone agrees with me, so its going to take a bit of stealth to get you off the base. And then you will be free. I promise. Here’s what we’re going to do...” the soldier listened carefully as the plan of his future was outlined, eyes on his leader, thoughts traveling beyond, wondering what he would do. Maybe, maybe he could go to a Christmas.

         Sitting at the console, Cain entered a command, and yet another sperm met yet another egg, and yet another hybrid began to grow. By now, the action had become automatic, and so the geneticist allowed his thoughts to take him far away from this place, at least as far as they would ever go. This was the oldest lab, and had been the base, when the project was just a dream in Cameron Tarn’s eye, eighty years before. The times they did talk, the others were always amused at how much he knew about the base and the project...Cain’s eyes found themselves moving to the dim console to his left. Carl had always laughed the hardest.
         When Cain had been a child, back on Earth, he had never been one to run home from class to watch some awful cartoon. No, he would walk home with his face buried in a book- usually something on genetics, or maybe a biography of Dr. Tarn. It had probably started when he was six, and saw on the news a story about the destruction of yet another terrorist group from the Borderworlds. For footage, the station had shown a humanzee standing, in full battle gear, over the remnants of the faction’s last base. Except, his helmet had been off, giving a clear view of hi face, which was a rare thing. Cain had been entranced- it was so different, so beyond the penthouse of his parents, the crisp fabric of his school uniform. And so, this...place had become his dream. Maybe that’s why he had told Donnel he had understood. Ever since that newscast, he’d dreamt of making hybrids to save the galaxy and make it safer for humankind. And somehow, he had nurtured that stupid little thought all the way to the base. But then he came to his senses, and realized the pathetically simple truth- there was no understanding. Everything they did here was just a pawn for the rich to gain more power so they could do more pointless things with pointless lives. And after all, why should Humans die for that? Cain continued his work, staring at the screen, as if that would keep him from seeing the charred remains of his dream.

         A few hours after the meeting, inside the large domed game arena, 2327 stood quiet against a block of blue matter, ten members of his team on either side of him. It was set to utilitarian, just like the Director said. The soldier’s eyes searched the blue ground, settling on a small silver hatch a few meters ahead. This would be easy. He motioned with his hands, sending the team around the block, toward the enemy and away from the hatch. His men following orders, 2327 quickly moved to the hatch, the panel sliding away to reveal the maintenance ducts that led to everywhere on the base. The hybrid dropped down and replaced the hatch before taking a deep breath. He wasn’t stupid- ‘others who don’t agree’ probably meant the Director was going against the orders of whoever he reported to. And it was all for him, because the Director believed in him, for whatever reason. 2327 began to crawl forward, following the path the Director had made him memorize as his mind wandered. What would he do after this? He would have to go to the Borderworlds- whoever ‘didn’t agree’ wouldn’t take kindly to him living in the Core. But what would he do? He knew some things of how humans lived- each had their own home that was like a mini-dormitory, and not one of them was soldier, except for those in the fleet- and apparently that was just for fun. There were even some humans whose entire lives consisted of growing plants. Plants! Maybe he could do that- he always liked it when the arena was set to forest. And maybe he could grow the plant that had changed the nurse’s scent. That made him smile, and he continued on, thoughts of plants and distant places pervading his mind.
         It took an hour, but finally he reached the square silver panel that led to a supply hangar, a mini-shuttle, and his freedom. The word almost had a taste now, so sacred it couldn’t really be described. The Director was doing, risking all this, just for him. 2327 took a deep breath and opened the hatch, then crawled forward to hear the voice.
         “You made it, and right on time too...” said the Director, almost like he hadn’t believed this would be the case. Eyebrow slightly raised, the hybrid stood into the dimly lit hangar. Barely a quarter of the normal size, and filled with boxes- except for the space by the bay doors occupied by 2327’s destiny. He looked back to the Director. Maybe he could ask which Borderworld to go to for training on growing plants. But the Director spoke.
         “You have a mission.” It took a moment for 2327’s mind to register the words. He was going to be free...he was going to be free...
         “You will take that mini-shuttle and fly directly to Earth-“ He wanted him to go to Earth? Earth! What could he train to do there but hide?!
         “-Once there, you will, without being detected, go to New York City where you will, again avoiding detection, kill General John Kinsington-“ He wanted 2327 to assassinate a General on Earth itself! He was insane! How was he supposed to survive that?!
         “Afterwards, you will go to a secluded area, and terminate yourself.” The Director wanted him to die. Freedom...his freedom was a lie, made so the Director could gain. The Director wanted to use him up and spit him out! Like he was a thing to be toyed with! He wouldn’t let it end like this! Not like this! His hands darted out, grasping the human’s head and twisting it into the crook of his arm, 2327 put his hands under the Director’s chin and gave a swift, brutal jerk, sighing in sudden pleasure at the pop of breaking bone. He let the body drop to the floor and stared. He had never killed before. What did he do now? Everything he’d been told was a lie...because he was nothing to the Director...nothing to humans... 2327 studied the body, and made the only choice, smiling at the irony. He would be free, and he would never let humans chain him again. He was something, he meant something. One last long look at the Director, and the hybrid ran to the shuttle, trying to forget yet remember this place. Forget the lies, remember the training. Especially his final lesson.
         2327 lifted off, into the stars and the shape of things to come.

         For two days now, there had been talk at breakfast. It wasn’t a foreign thought for a Director to kill himself, but to be murdered, and apparently by a humanzee no less. Cain walked down the hall, wondering whether or not to smile- he had hated Abdul.
         He was almost to the lab when the two guards came beside him, more than clear where they wanted him to go. Suddenly, it seemed a stroke of genius to keep a straight face. They led him down a side hall, toward an empty office, Cain wondering all the way what the hell this could be about. At least it wasn’t Monday. The door to the office opened and Cain couldn’t help but gape at the sight of General John Kinsington sitting behind the desk, his eyes also widening at the only possible reason the man could be here. The tomato-sized man’s feature appeared as kind as Cain thought they could be, and be gestured to a seat in front of the desk.
         “Please sit, Mr. Cain.” And the geneticist did, understanding quite well that there was no ‘please’ about it. Why would they want to make him Director?
         “I assume you know why I’m here?” inquired the general.
         “Yeah, you want to make me Director.” Cain blurted, and immediately kept himself from sighing. That was the most brilliant thing he’d said all day, for sure. Kinsington gave a patronizing little smile as he spoke.
         “Catch on quick. You’re right. We’ll be making the formal announcement in a day or so.” Steadying his breathing, Cain tried to push away the fact this had been his dream since age six.
         “May I ask, why?”
         “Simple, I and the Defense Council feel you are the most qualified.” Only through luck did Cain keep his face from falling. Kinsington thought he could control him use him for whatever little scheme cooked behind that tomato face and beady eyes. Well, what did he do now? Couldn’t refuse, but he’d be damned if this idiot was going to call the shots. But he had wanted this, right? To make a difference, to matter. Now was his chance.
         “I’m honored, sit.” He said, knowing it was probably the only truthful thing he would ever say to the man. The general simply nodded and left with the guards. Cain sat still a moment, taking in the fact he had achieved his dream in the space of two minutes. He tried to thnk of what he would do, what he would change. As he stood, the only thing that came to mind was that he get a new alarm clock. One he could smash.



End