Bernard Beckett - Genesis

ANAXIMANDER: It is not impossible to imagine reasons. Take for example the great excitement of an escape plan. Is it not possible to speculate that Philosopher William had cause to be concerned about the way his invention might react in times of high stress or excitement? Equally, it was never the case that the research program had complete support among the Philosophers. What if Philosopher William intended both Adam and Art to escape? What if he intended to continue the research program in secret?

EXAMINER: Speculation still.

Anax knew he spoke the truth. Wild, pointless speculation. The very far-fetched conspiracies she herself had preached against throughout her time as a student of history. But they were insisting upon an explanation, and surely it was less wild, less speculative, than the only alternative. She hung her head.

EXAMINER: Is this what you think to ok place ?

ANAXIMANDER: I don’t knowwhat took place.

EXAMINER: But what is your opinion?

ANAXIMANDER: It is my opinion that I do not have enough information to make an informed choice.

EXAMINER: We are asking you to speculate.

ANAXIMANDER: I prefer not to speculate.

EXAMINER: Put aside your preference.

They were forcing her to say it. Her mind resisted the forming of the words, but the panel pulled them from her.

ANAXIMANDER: If I were forced to speculate, I would guess that Philosopher William is not involved in this. I would speculate that Art is making his own decisions.

For the first time the Examiners’ expressions were easily read. Smiles crept across all three faces; small knowing smiles.

EXAMINERS: Abold claim. Would you like to see what happens next?

Anax nodded. She could not deny the compulsion. History, her history, the history of all she knew, was being rewritten before her. A conspiracy so massive she could not begin to imagine what it must mean. And she, the anti-conspiracy theorist. The irony did not escape her. The hologram re-formed; the fear swept over her again.

Art and Adam faced off in the middle of the room.

“Are you sure you are ready?” Art asked.

“Of course.”

“This is your last chance to change your mind.”

“And you.”

“My mind doesn’t change.”

“Mores the pity.”

“You have memorized the details?”

“How often must you ask me that?”

“Repeat them again.”

Adam sighed, but behind his show of exasperation the tension was clear. He spoke carefully, his eyes losing their focus as he recited the details, playing them through in his head. “With the first explosion the cameras go out. They send two guards, both armed. I am waiting behind the door. You will trip the first guard, the second is mine. I disarm the guard and shoot them both. We move together. Left into the corridor, then second right. There are three guards on the second station who will have heard the shots and will be approaching from my right. When they call for us to freeze we both stop beside a door on our left. I drop my weapon. They advance. This is when the second explosion occurs. We move through the door. Here there is a stairwell, which you cannot climb. I must carry you up two flights. At the top of the stairwell are two doors. We move through the door on the right. This is a door to the outside, a service entrance, which will not have been secured, as the second explosion will draw attention to the main entranceway. Should any guards approach there will be two at most. You will move into the open to draw them out. I will take cover behind a transport pod to my right, and shoot them both. You will take the controls of the transporter. It will fly out of the compound, and the people will assume we are on board. We will retreat to the top of the stairwell and choose the other door, the one on the left. This is a small storeroom. We will wait there another hour, and slip away under cover of darkness while the authorities concentrate on recovering the wreckage of the transporter, which you will ditch in the ocean between the islands, just beyond the Great Sea Fence. Once past the perimeter fence, we split up. We are on our own.”

“Good.” Art nodded his head. “And tell me, when you imagine killing the guards, how does it make you feel?”

“I am a trained Soldier. I have killed before.”

“Does it make you feel powerful?”

“I feel nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” Art said.

“It doesn’t matter to me, what you believe.”

“You must remember,” Art reminded him, “if the plan fails at any point, I am unable to come to your assistance. My program does not allow me to kill a conscious being.”

“But you can hold one down, while I kill him?”

“It would seem so.”

“I don’t think much of your program.”

“This from the man who is happy to kill strangers who have done him no harm.”

“’Happy’ is saying too much,” Adam said. “But the plan is yours, remember.”

“Yes, we are together in this. Our programs are all we can rely upon. Are you ready?”

Adam nodded. Art extended a metallic hand. Adam grasped the three cold fingers and solemnly shook it. They stared at one another.

“Good luck.”

“I am hoping it doesn’t come to that,” Adam told him.

“It always comes to that,” Art replied. “Take your place.”

Adam moved to stand at the side of the door. He took a deep breath, and shook the tension from his arms and hands. He looked at Art and nodded.

“On three,” his mechanical friend told him.

Art was good to his word. The explosion ripped through the room with startling force, blasting a hole in the far wall and filling the room with smoke and debris. Exposed wires sparked in the ragged hole. Adam dropped to one knee, toppled by the savage force of the explosion. Both he and Art were covered by a film of fine white powder. Adam quickly regained his feet. There was the sound of footsteps running along the outside corridor. Two guards, as promised.

It happened quickly, the brutal playing out of a well-rehearsed execution. Art tracked in front of the first guard as the door swung open and the guard toppled to the floor. The second guard barely had time to change course. Adam’s stiff arm swung up, hammering the guard’s exposed throat, smashing the windpipe and sending him choking to the floor. Adam had the gun before the guard hit the ground. Two quick flashes of light, a neat hole burned in two foreheads, and the escapees were moving again, out into the corridors.

Left, as planned, then down the second right. It was surprising to see how easily the smaller Art kept pace with Adam in full flight.

“Freeze. Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air.”

Adam and Art halted alongside a door to their left. To the right stood three guards, each with their weapons trained. Adam looked to Art, waiting for his count. Art nodded, and Adam let his gun fall to the floor. A metallic ringing echoed through the silent corridor.

“One . . . two . . .” Art counted quietly, his wary eyes on the slowly approaching guards. On three came the second explosion, placed only three meters behind the guards. If anything it was more powerful than the first. Adam was knocked to the floor. By the time he had recovered, Art had already opened the door. A security alarm sounded: a high-pitched scream expanding throughout the compound.

The metallic stairwell spiralled steeply upwards. Adam allowed himself a glance toward the ceiling, grunted than dropped to a squat. Art draped his spindly arms about Adams broad shoulders.

“You’ve put on weight,” he grunted. “You need to get more exercise.”

“Save your breath for saving yourself,” Art replied.

From below them, back in the corridors, came sounds of confusion. The shouting of contradictory instructions, the screaming of a maimed guard, the low rumble of a structural collapse. And still the shrill insistence of the alarm, drilling holes in the other noises.