Implant Page 5

  He must not look at their faces.

  He must just keep walking.

  Fixing his eyes on the tower ahead, he put one foot in front of the other firmly. They were dead. They weren’t going to hurt him. Just keep walking.

  Forward. Left, right, left, right, towards the tower.

  No—don’t look at them—

  His gaze drifted to a face as he passed it. It was white in the moonlight, and the eyes were shut. He saw no wounds, but a trickle of blood in the corner of the mouth had dried into a flaking red-brown streak that pooled on the hard ground. Gordon judged the boy to be even younger than himself. The dead hands still clutched an old-fashioned western carbine to the body—

  No. Don’t look.

  Keep moving.

  They’re dead. Ignore them.

  The bodies gradually ended, leaving the reddish ground bare. As he passed the last one he let out a long exhale, realizing only then that he’d taken shallow breaths the entire time. He paused, wiped his moist forehead with his sleeve, and started forward again.

  There was no wind. Only hot, dry air pressing in on him as he walked. Crickets chirped, and his boots scuffed along the dirt.

  What would he say when he got there? He wasn’t ready to tell the truth about who he was or why he was here. Not until he knew who to trust. And if he was going to lie, it would be best to have something prepared ahead of time.

  He started concocting a story, murmuring to himself as he walked among the corpses.

  Weariness settled deeper into his bones with every step. As he approached the tower, he saw a silver ladder gleaming in the dim light, stretching about thirty feet up.

  He was already tired when he reached it. He stared up at the little cabin.

  He hated ladders. He had always hated heights, but now it was worse, because climbing exhausted him.

  But it was the only way up. Feeling heavier than usual, he gripped the rungs and started climbing.

  By the time he reached the top, he could hardly move. His vision wavered and his hand shook as he grabbed the platform and pulled himself up weakly, aching in every cell. He let himself collapse onto the cool metal surface. He was too tired to think.

  The scratching of a metal door against a rough wood floor startled him and he jerked away, but didn’t have the strength to stand. The light from inside the small structure flooded the platform, blinding him.

  “Well,” said a man’s voice. “What do we have here?”

  Gordon gripped the metal pillar next to him and dragged himself to his feet. He kept blinking in the light. The man’s figure, complete with large black gun, was silhouetted in the doorway, but the clean-shaven features were just visible in the shadows.

  “I got lost,” he recited. “And I heard someone talking about guard towers—is this a guard tower?”

  “Yes…” The man’s thin, dark eyebrows went up, but he stood aside. “Come in.”

  Gordon stumbled into the small wooden room and immediately seemed to enter another world. A compact air conditioner stood against one wall. An overstuffed green armchair sat in front of it, and there was even a fluffy rug on the floor between the two. A wooden table with two small brown chairs sat under a window, and a doorway led the way into a simple kitchenette.

  The man closed the door once Gordon was inside, and lowered the weapon he’d been holding. “I have to ask questions, of course.”

  Gordon nodded. His skin felt devoid of blood.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re tired. Please.” The man gestured towards the air conditioner.

  “Thank you.” Gordon didn’t think he should take the only chair, so he settled himself on the rug. He unbent in the cool, synthetic breeze.

  “Where are you from?” the man asked, standing behind the chair instead of sitting in it.

  “I’m from Hillston,” he replied, trying not to answer too quickly. “My father was killed, and I was on my way to my uncle in New York. I got lost though.”

  The man nodded with such kind sympathy that Gordon felt a little guilty.

  Not guilty enough to tell the truth, of course.

  “Well, I’ll take you to headquarters tomorrow. Somebody should be able to help you find your uncle from there.”

  What would he do then, when there was no uncle to find? If he could just use that time to figure who to trust—maybe then he could tell them the whole story.

  The thought of Doc and Neil back at the rebel base deepened his twinge of guilt.

  “For now,” the man said, taking a step backwards, “I think we should both get some sleep. Somebody’s coming to relieve me at six tomorrow, and I’m heading back to the Academy. You can come along, Mr….?”

  “Gordon Baumgartner.” Neil had said he was recorded by history as having the first Implant. He didn’t know how commonly known the history was, but better safe than sorry, right? He pulled himself up and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

  “Tanner Robinson,” the man said. He laid his gun on the chair. “I’ll get you some blankets—you’ll have to make a bed on the floor.”

  *****

  Tanner woke him before six the next morning. Gordon sighed and stretched, letting the lymph release into his vessels, wishing his sleep had refreshed him more. But with dreams full of Implants and rebels and childbirth and war, there wasn’t much chance of that. Not to mention waking up every hour or so and wondering where he was.

  He rolled out of bed, took the protein drink Tanner offered, then followed his new guide down the ladder to the hard, littered, quiet battlefield, where the sun was just casting its first bloodshot rays over the scene.

  There was already another guard at the foot of the ladder, a tall, broad-shouldered woman in a black jumpsuit with wisps of blond hair escaping from under a black cap. She nodded at Tanner as he reached the ground.

  “Nothing to report?”

  Tanner shook his head. “Just someone who lost their way… I’m taking him back to headquarters. All clear otherwise.”

  The woman nodded brusquely and glanced at Gordon as he stepped off the bottommost rung. She said nothing.

  “Hope it’s uneventful for you,” Tanner said, walking towards a black jeep a few yards away. Gordon glanced at the woman’s face again, then hurried to catch up.

  Without any instruction, Tanner climbed into the jeep and put his hands on the wheel, then waited for Gordon to sit next to him. He turned the key in the ignition, fixed his eyes straight ahead, and started towards a blue bubble in the distance.

  Long, eerie shadows reached towards them from the bodies as they drove past. Gordon shivered, hung onto the side of the car, and sipped his drink, wincing at the sickly sweet aftertaste.

  “What will happen to them?” he asked as the jeep swerved to avoid a corpse.

  “The Burial Squad will be around in about an hour to take care of them.” Tanner didn’t turn to look. He just kept his eyes on the growing dome.

  “The burial squad?” Gordon tried not to look at a mutilated body on his right.

  “Of course. The Academy sends out a team to bury all the dead after a battle.”

  “Including the rebels?”

  Tanner nodded. “They won’t come out of their holes to take care of their own casualties, so we have to do it.”

  They drove on in silence, and Gordon forced himself to focus on the force-field ahead as it grew. As they approached, the buildings inside came into focus. He’d been expecting the shiny white artistry of the Academy he knew. Instead, this cluster of buildings was industrial; a dull, dirty-brown color without individuality from building to building. Large, brown rectangles. That was all.

  “Tell me more about the Academy,” he begged. “I—my parents didn’t tell me much, and I wasn’t in school.” It was the simplest way he could think to explain his ignorance, especially since he didn’t know enough about the world to know how information was supposed to be passed around.

  The man cocked his head. “You must be close to twenty—d
on’t you remember getting an Implant?”

  “Of—course.” Treading on dangerous ground now—at what age should he have gotten one?

  “I suppose living out in the country you didn’t get one as early?”

  “No,” Gordon agreed, thinking fast. “Dad… wasn’t sure about them at first.”

  “A lot of people weren’t…” Tanner let his voice trail off for a moment, then began again. “It’s actually fairly simple. Even before the new Head took over the Implants were very widespread. The initial testing was so promising that it was only a few years before everyone with cancer had them. But by that time government funding helped them start to find other uses—diabetes, autoimmune diseases, Parkinson’s, you name it. People were lined up to get them at every clinic and hospital in the country. Of course, other countries wanted in on it. It took awhile for the politics to settle, but when they finally did, the Implants became mandatory.”

  It was basic information, but enough to make Gordon’s eyes widen. What kind of politics had there been, and how had they been “settled”?

  There was too much he didn’t know. He was kicking himself now for not getting more information from Neil before setting out on his own.

  “And what about the rebels?” he asked.

  Tanner gripped the steering wheel tighter. “There were always a few troublemakers, hiding out, avoiding us, but they were harmless until that Dr. Neil Crater came along. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of him—he’s the ringleader. We finally caught him and got him Implanted a few months ago… but he got away with our force-field blueprints and set up a base for himself and a couple hundred of the other rebels. They’re crazy, really. A handful of fugitives against the rest of the world?”

  Gordon bit his lip. Only people with something important to fight for could hold out against such odds…

  He thought of the baby who’d been born the day before and ventured another question. “I know you have everybody Implanted, but—I mean, there… well, there are always… new people. How do you…?”

  Tanner nodded. “It’s really not that hard. We have the medical records of every person on the planet at our fingertips. We know when a baby is born. We can easily find and Implant them. Most people don’t resist.”

  Gordon thought again about Amy and little Theresa, and frowned. “Why are the rebels so opposed to the Implants, anyway?”

  Tanner shrugged. “I’ve never understood it. I mean, we’ve conquered cancer and dozens of other diseases that killed so many people for centuries… I mean… yes, there’s a danger. But we have to take extreme measures, if we’re going to really eliminate all disease.”

  The buildings were close now, close enough for Gordon to see people through the pale blue dome, even with the morning sun in his eyes. The buildings were sturdy and tall, and as identical as they’d looked from a distance. There were twelve of them, and the closest had the words “Academy of Sciences” on it in blocky, industrial letters.

  The buildings were connected by concrete corridors that ran across the ground from one to another.

  Everyone he could see inside was dressed mostly in black. Either in coveralls like Tanner’s, or button-down shirts and slacks, with a few in business suits. The pace and posture of each person struck him as professionally relaxed—as if they were at ease, but ready to stiffen into high gear at a moment’s notice.

  “Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to storm the rebel base,” he said aloud as they reached the dome and parked the jeep in a row of others like it. “I mean, anyone can enter, right?”

  Tanner turned to look at him. “Not anymore. Somehow they rigged it where anyone passing through without some kind of extra chip they’ve designed gets his Implant detonated. We… lost several men before we figured that out.” He furrowed his brows, casting his eyes in shadow.

  Gordon shivered, then braced himself for the electric buzz as they stepped through the barrier. It zapped over him, then passed. So that was why he hadn’t encountered any guards on his way out. And of course nothing would happen to him—he had no Implant.

  But—in that case, why wouldn’t Doc and Neil let Amy and the baby stay there?

  Tanner unwittingly answered his question. “Of course, we are working on a way to bypass that. But it’s not our top priority. The Head isn’t too concerned about them as long as they stay in their miserable hole. We can kill them as soon as any of them step out.”

  As they approached the large doors to the first building, Gordon asked one last question. “You keep mentioning the Head—who is that?”

  Tanner lowered his voice. “Nobody really knows. Well, nobody except a man we call Doc, and Dagny Dalton. Those are the Head’s two right hand men. Nobody else knows his name or anything about him.”

  There was no chance for further questioning, because they stepped into the Academy at that moment.

  Gordon was struck by the similarities and differences from the Academy he knew. It was drab and industrialized, and smaller, but with the same basic layout. The desks were still on his right, windows still lined the entire space, and a long row of benches still ran across the middle of the room. But the benches were hard, cold metal, the window panes were straight and dull, and the desks were rusty and manned by silent dark-suits.

  It more than bordered on dreary.

  “Sol,” Tanner called in the direction of the desks, and beckoned for Gordon to follow him.

  “Who’s this?” the man addressed as “Sol” asked, looking at Gordon. He was short and thin, with slicked-back red hair and a sharp nose.

  “This is Mr. Baumgartner, he’s trying to get to his uncle in New York. I thought you might help him find out where his uncle is, if he’s still alive?”

  Sol nodded. “It’ll have to wait until I finish up this paperwork.”

  “Stick with me till he’s ready,” Tanner suggested rather than ordered. Gordon nodded, feeling his insides tighten, then opened his mouth to ask to talk privately, when he heard a yell from outside.

  Tanner snapped to attention as a too-loud voice crackled over the intercom. “B-security officers to section F please, B-security officers to section F.”

  Tanner gripped Gordon’s arm and waved in the direction from which the yell had come. “That’s me… stick close to me, please.” Letting go again, he started off, retaining his stiff, military bearing. Gordon ran after him.

  When they’d exited the building, Gordon saw a man in normal, civilian clothes being held at each elbow by two Academy guards. More guards rushed to the spot. Two men stood in front of the newcomer with their backs to Gordon, one in a pressed black suit and the other holding a bundle in his arms.

  The suited one spoke in a deep, monotone voice as Tanner and Gordon approached and stood behind him. “There was no such agreement. Every citizen has a duty. We thank you for fulfilling your duty, and that gratitude will be the extent of your payment.”

  The civilian’s face grew red, and he strained against the hands gripping his arms. “Do you know what I risked to bring her to you?”

  “I have no doubt that you have risked greatly,” the flat voice said. “But our policy does not change.” He turned, as if dismissing the man, and faced Gordon and Tanner.

  He stood taller than those around him, and had the muscular structure of a bulldog, but those were his only distinguishing features. His hair was black and chopped short, his suit was plain black, and he wore dark glasses that prevented his eyes from being seen. His face held no expression as he spoke. “Mr. Robinson, escort our visitor out.”

  “Yes sir.” With a sidelong glance at Gordon, Tanner hurried to take the man away.

  “Who are you?” asked the man with the dark glasses, his voice as expressionless as his face.

  “Gordon Baumgartner,” Gordon stammered. “I’m—I’m—my father died, and I’m trying to get to my uncle.”

  The man’s face did not change. “I am Dagny Dalton.” He did not offer his hand. “Who was your father?”

  “
He…” Gordon began, feeling his face grow cold with draining blood.

  “Sir,” came another voice, “what should I do with her?”

  Gordon turned to look. The man with the bundle had turned around, allowing a better view of the object.

  A newborn baby.

  Gordon stared. The baby slept in the black-suited man’s arms, but he had no doubt of the recognition that leapt in his heart.

  Theresa.

  “Take her to the operating room,” said Dagny Dalton.

  “Yes sir.”

  Gordon’s gaze was glued to the baby as the man moved out of sight into the building.

  The operating room.

  His heart numbed. He pictured Amy’s pale face, blond hair falling into her eyes as she held her child. He remembered Ray’s dead face outside the field.

  His fists clenched.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Dagny Dalton turned to him. “I beg your pardon?”

  Neil and Doc were right. This wasn’t okay.

  This was wrong.

  “Mr. Harding?”

  Gordon glanced at Dagny Dalton’s expressionless face, then jerked to the left and ran towards the force-field barrier.

  If he didn’t do something to stop this, nobody could.

  Dagny Dalton didn’t take this idly. Gordon heard Tanner cry, “What are you doing?” and he dared to look over his shoulder.

  Dagny Dalton was pulling one of the black boxes out of his coat pocket.

  Adrenaline surged through him. He had no Implant—but Dagny didn’t know that. Nobody but Doc and Neil and maybe a few other rebels did. He didn’t want anyone else to find out.

  He remembered Ray zig-zagging on the battlefield the day before. There must have been a reason—maybe it was harder to lock onto a signal that way? Without taking time to reason it out, he began moving back and forth, a few yards one way and a few yards the other way. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to explain why he wasn’t dropping dead.

  “Get him,” Dagny Dalton said, raising his voice without expression. Gordon didn’t look back again. He just gritted his teeth and kept running.