James Knapp - The Silent Army

You’re in luck tonight, he said.

How is that?

Tonight will not be quiet.

He walked into the darkness, and I followed. The door creaked closed behind us.

He led me down a cinderblock corridor, to an old wooden door at the halfway point. At the far end was another heavy door, a slit of light underneath. In the hall, I could smell rubbing alcohol and human body odor. Lev pushed open the wooden door and stepped through.

Inside was a musty storage area. Boxes had been stacked up along the far wall, but had since been pushed aside. In the space between them was a heavy door, made of thick, shielded metal. A security scanner was mounted there, its lens glowing a soft red.

Lev stooped slightly and placed one eye to the lens, which flickered and turned to green. The door opened silently, and a huff of humid air blew over me. Through the metal door, I saw sheets of plastic. The eyes of revivors stared from along the walls there. I heard the hum of electronics inside, and heavy, scraping footsteps.

I’d heard groupings of revivors called nests and, on one occasion, hives. The terms were meant to be derogatory, but there was some truth to them. I found a certain comfort in these places, the stillness and the quiet. In life, I might have called the feeling cozy. The vibrations of their hearts and the faint smell of decomp inhibitor had become familiar and safe to me.

Lev and I found empty spots along the wall, and watched the figures move behind the plastic as we tuned to each other, out of the common communications pool, to share our thoughts in silence.

What do you think of the upgrade? Lev asked me.

I like the different voices, I said, even if I can’t understand them. It’s hard for me to explain.

I sense hundreds of them, Lev said.

Yes, me too.

Like tuning to a common pool, but larger.

Yes.

I like the sound, too, he said. I think they’re a promise of something greater .

Across the room, his eyes jittered rapidly in tune, I knew, with my own. I thought that was a good way of putting it; the whispers were a promise. A new community about to wake.

Where do they come from? I asked.

You’ll see for yourself tonight.

Fawkes said they might be dreaming.

He’s being poetic. I think it’s subconscious bleed-back from wired humans who are still alive.

Do you know that for a fact?

No, but it’s what I think.

Before Lev was made into a revivor, I eventually learned, he had been an engineer. His knowledge was put to use by his captors, before he was turned and packaged with the rest. He’d fought in Orikhiv for close to two years, before its collapse, when he was impounded. Later, he would end up on the black market.

Can I ask you something about Orikhiv?

Orikhiv no longer exists.

But it did when you were there.

Yes.

When you were first brought here, you were refitted.

Yes.

You had a ghrelin inhibitor installed.

His eyes continued to move like moonlit blurs. We’d talked about many things over the years, but never talked about this.

Why do you ask now?

I’ve wondered for a long time.

But why now?

We won’t see the end of Fawkes’s assault plan. If we do, we’ll be impounded and destroyed.

Lev didn’t deny those things.

What do you want to know?

Did you feed on human flesh?

Yes.

Did you try to stop yourself?

No. At the time, I saw nothing wrong with it.

But you feel differently now?

It’s easy to feel differently with the inhibitor installed.

Do you think it’s wrong?

I think it’s unnecessary. Tell me what your interest is in this.

These hundreds of new voices. Revivors created outside of Heinlein won’t have the inhibitor.

Maybe not.

Will they feed?

I can’t speak for them. Without the inhibitor, I would guess, that eventually, yes.

Fawkes is going to use nuclear weapons.

Yes. Across the room, I saw his eyes stop moving.

Won’t that—

You’re moving into dangerous territory, Faye.

Before I could answer him, a yellow light blinked on over the door frame. A broadcast message appeared:

Subject isolated and ready for transfer.

Forget that, Faye , Lev said. That line of reasoning is dangerous. Just stick to the plan.

The door opened silently, and two revivors stepped away from the wall. One was a female who wore contact lenses that doused the light in her eyes. She was dressed up like a nurse. The other was a big male. He picked up a long, thin aluminum rod from a hook on the ceiling. Lev moved in behind the two.

Come on, he said to me, and I tailed them back out into the hallway. They’re going to bring one in now. If he gets free, then stop him. Otherwise, stay clear of the path between the doors.

The overhead lights came on. I turned left, toward the end of the corridor, and saw the door there open. A human doctor in a white coat stood there, his hands guiding a man who appeared homeless. He ushered him through and into the hallway where the revivor nurse was waiting for him. The homeless man looked unsure.

“The examination room is down the hall,” he whispered to the patient. “Nurse Westgate will show you the way. I’ll be in to see you shortly.”

Some of the disquiet left the patient’s eyes, but it didn’t last for long. The nurse had moved between him and the way out, and then the door swung shut and he heard the latch click. He stared, not understanding, as the noise suppressors mounted there turned on and emitted a low hum.

“Who are you?” he asked the revivor with the metal rod. His eyes widened as he watched a loop of plastic cord extend from the end to form a noose. “What’s going on?”

The nurse grabbed him from behind. He struggled, but the other one had reached them. It looped the noose over his head and pulled tight, choking off his scream.

The revivor heaved the rod, slamming the man into the cinderblock wall. It used it to guide him down the hall toward us, while the man pulled at the cord around his neck.

“Stay calm,” the nurse revivor said, but the man was beyond that. Eyes bulging and teeth bared, he struggled harder. He fell to the floor and rolled, twisting the noose tighter around his neck.

“Careful,” Lev called. The man was flopping madly on the floor now.

The revivor who held him loosened the cord and tried to untwist the leash. When he did, the man on the floor kicked forward and the rod slipped from the revivor’s hands. The man stumbled down the hall, the leash jutting behind him. He’d spotted the exit sign, back behind me.

He closed the distance between us, then tacked left to try and shove his way past me. Before he could make it, I stuck out one leg, catching him at the ankle. The rod clipped my cheek as he crashed to the floor.

The others were moving down the hall toward us. The man had slipped his fingers under the cord and was struggling to his feet. Blood and adrenaline pulsed through his body, so that I could almost feel the heat of him. He was beyond any thought; he was being driven now by pure instinct, a hardwired imperative to survive. The energy of it was captivating.

Faye, stop him.

Before he could get back up, I stepped in close behind him and grabbed the rod. I heaved it forward, and his skull struck the floor. Blood dotted the dingy tile in a trail as I swung him back around.