“But that was her, in my office” he said, ignoring the scientist’s rambling.

  “It wasn’t her Marcos of Importance” he replied.

  “You mentioned a twin. What twin? Safrine? The Child?” he asked.

  “Oh, she is no Child. She is special. She’s the reason we’re moving. A very long time ago, some wonderful physicists split an atom, the effect was marvellous; such universal power. Well, we intend to split a twin. We still have to find her other half to finish the equation but when we do…. Well, let me tell you the science we are achieving in this new age is so far beyond the conscious limitations of the empathic era” said The Elderly Scientist boldly.

  Eve smiled as both men continued speaking but remained profoundly lost in the magnificent colour of her stare and with her free hand pulling away from the hair that she tucked behind her ear, she rested the back of it against The Infant’s cheek, stroking it lightly before reaching around the back of its head to the other cheek, clenching firm and pulling her fingers over The Infant’s chin whilst smiling at the two peering men. She then ripped her hand back under the Child’s head, breaking the infant’s neck in one swipe. Both men jumped back in shock.

  “What the fuck?” screamed Marcos.

  “That, Marcos of Importance, is perfection. She did that just for you. You really should say thank you. I tell you, it’s never easy to witness; the sleight of hand from one extreme to the next and her senses; wow, I think she could be omniscient. If she knows everything, would that make me the father of everything? She has so much potential. This is just a start mind you, but one hell of a start wouldn’t you think? Obviously with the move in the coming days, we don’t have the time frame we would like to wrap up this experiment but for the meantime, she is close to perfect. In another month, I firmly believe she will lactate as for the moment she merely cradles the infants to their death. So much better than what some us have received from life, yes? In time, she will be ready to conceive. That is of course when we can create an ideal partner for her. This may take some time. The male gene has proved more difficult to produce solid results but we are highly confident” said The Elderly Scientist.

  Marcos was speechless. They had taken his intention, his philosophy and turned it on its head. They had found a cure for The Famine; to start again but this new human, was it better or worse?

  “We’re not moving. The Nest stays intact. And this, this bizarreness, it stops now. Do you understand me?” he yelled.

  “Rhetorical I assume but nevertheless, Marcos of Importance, I admire you. Your ideas were very naïve, but with them look what we have managed to achieve. Not even a god could do what we have done with our limited resources in such an oppressing environment. You have the god gene in you Marcos of Importance. Whether you accept it or not, creation is in no way born from womb of intention. This girl, she is your genesis” said The Elderly Scientist.

  Marcos looked through the window. The Black Heart held the infant close to her breast gently rocking back and forth.

  “How does this help the rest of us? What about The Famine? How does she cure The Famine?” Marcos demanded.

  “There is no cure. The best hope is what you have. Your philosophy is perfect Marcos of Importance. You will not create a new hope or a new gene with your song and dance, but you will sustain the hunger until you bargain with death; you can continue to live in some sort of a society. Has it not been fun? It’s no different to what was. This burden you wear of always sustaining and containing the feverish Famine from destroying your City; this has been the adage of governance since the dawn of man. You don’t remember do you; the lights, the sounds, the images? They worked tirelessly, the governments and advertisers and churches; day and night, just as you do now, to feed a Famine just like we have now. Nothing changed. They thought they were saviours too. The conscious mind is a baby’s rattle, nothing more; a device for distraction; like a pinball machine. Insert the right information and it will bounce around in there fooling the participant into thinking they are doing something; participating. There is no cure for this Famine. There is remedy and in all honesty, I like your approach. It is very intellectual, very refined. You were an artist before; in the days of identity, yes? You have the god gene Marcos of Importance, you are special, like her” said The Elderly Scientist.

  “What is in the other room?” asked Marcos.

  The Elderly Scientist smiled and turned on the round knob opening the door to their right. Behind the door was a massive room and inside an arsenal of weaponry and crude ammunition.

  “Welcome to liberty” he said.

  Everywhere Marcos looked stood machinery of some sort. There were vehicles fashioned like metallic war horses and catapults and cross bows and guns; they were uncouth looking, but they were guns, hundreds of them and on the tables in the distance, what looked like bowls of black powder.

  The machines interested him more. He walked into the room with The Elderly Scientist in tow, running his hands along the sides of the metallic beasts. There were scores of them. He imagined they could carry several hundred through any environment, and bring unto it, the grace of war.

  “How did this come to be?” he asked amazed.

  “The large one, the one with the booming voice and calamitous hands, he brought us the parts. We have an engineer in our team. I must say I was very sceptical about the whole science of engines, I mean a monkey could put one together but I must say he has done an outstanding job” said The Elderly Scientist.

  “But how do they run? There hasn’t been petroleum in over fifty years” said Marcos.

  “These here, the larger ones were adapted from early models of Norse fighting vessels; leg power. This vehicle seats a hundred men at its core who provide man power to project the vehicle. It still amazes me how after all these years, the power of simplicity. Once these vehicles are in motion, it will take a great deal of convincing to bring it to a stop. The final parts arrived yesterday. These smaller vehicles, combustibles. Those drums in the corner there, ethanol. Quite impressive wouldn’t you say?” said The Elderly Scientist adopting a hubristic tone.

  “How long has this been in production?” Marcos asked.

  “Well, I have been here for at least twenty five years, but before my time, who knows exactly” said The Elderly Scientist.

  “What? But that’s impossible. The Collective have been here for ten. This didn’t exist before me” said Marcos in disbelief.

  “Said The Child to The Father” replied The Elderly Scientist.

  “At a guess, the machines, maybe for the last eight years and the laboratories have been functioning for more than fifty, I couldn’t tell you exactly but what I can say is that a lot of hard work and preparation has got us to where we are today” said The Elderly Scientist.

  “Why didn’t I know about this?” Marcos asked.

  “We thought it wasn’t necessary until now” said The Elderly Scientist.

  “Who sanctioned this? What is the reason for this?” he demanded.

  “Isn’t that the universal question; purpose, identity, belonging? You know I once…”

  Marcos pushed The Elderly Scientist into one of the machines leaving him hanging on by a word and he stormed up the stairwell and into hallway and followed the winding corridor out into the main room where several men in white coats sat around a table drinking tea. Marcos was white, completely unsure of what to think or say or do. He looked down at the scientists sitting at the table.

  “Tea?” said a man in white offering the flask to Marcos.

  “Please” he said extending his hand.

  One of the men in white coats leaned to the bench beside and pulled a cup bringing it back to the table and filling it with amber fluid. He passed the cup to Marcos excitedly.

  Marcos put the cup to his lips and drank long of the hot liquid ignoring the pain as it seared the roof of his mouth and throat on its way down.

  “This really is impressive” he said as he lowered the cup and left the room in blatant self-preserving negation of what he had just seen and heard.

  0011001100110000

  As he walked back along the corridors the flux of people passing his sight seemed to melt into one another, creating a blur of an off white colour swirling in and out of the blacks of the soldiers marching up and down the halls.

  His head felt light and swimming, he couldn’t sustain his focus, trying to visualise the metallic sink so he could flush all of this distraction down his conscious drain but it was no use.

  His mind was stained, dividing upon itself infinitely, never reaching zero, severing every inch of reason in half and in half again and in half again and in half again and all he could do was ride the wave of nausea that broke against the shore of his trembling gut, riding up through his centre and disgorging from his mouth and for a fractal of second, taking him with it, out in to the air, free of his corporal bind, free of his subconscious rebellion, free of being proven wrong and free of knowing it the whole time. The force in his stomach burst like a volcano and he vomited profusely.

  He listened to the reprise of laughter and Collective prose. Love as one, live as you love, love as one, live as you love. These words were his own but now they echoed through his being and fell shy of definition. A feverish sweat billowed from his forehead. His eyes glazed, his mouth parched. His ears screamed the distortion of humans chanting. He couldn’t make out a word. As he tried to focus, another wave of sickness enveloped him, sending his heavy stomach to his mouth again. He could feel a thousand hands all over him trying to straighten him or move in in some direction.

  His mind floated above his body but still his sight fell on the black lines and the zeros and ones. He fell back against the wall dropping to his knees, holding his hands to his eyes and he threw himself into every breath wishing to spring from his mortal coil and evaporate; into the nothingness, into the cold air, into the dark expanding glue of the universe; into a dream. His sight spun in all directions, the sound killing time in his ears, just an audible blur; and then everything turned to black.

  When he woke, he stepped into his already open eyes. They had been open for some time; maybe they had never been closed. There was a blinding light coming from above, nothing natural and not something that could or should exist, not now, when for so long, night had been an ineludible acquaintance; the emotionally repulsive parent who kept coming home.

  The light burning his eyes was warm like the sun but it was whiter than the white in The Woman’s eyes; it felt like a thousand bees were trenching their stingers inside his eyes. He tried to blink, to close his eyelids but he couldn’t find the controls. He tried to scream and he did so, but nothing came out; he was couldn’t find his voice.

  No sound came from his mouth and no sound travelled through his conscious mind where he stayed, watching through the luminescence, listening more intently now to the sound of familiarity.

  “It’s worse than we thought” said one voice.

  “What can be done?” asked another; it sounded like The Woman, she sounded almost honest in her care.

  “At this point, there is not much we can do. It’s acted extremely fast, as you can see; he is in a vegetable state. We haven’t seen The Famine this aggressive before and it’s worrying. We will try everything we can, but I think at a certain point you will need to accept that the Marcos you knew is no longer with us. We are looking at right now at the best case scenario” said the first voice.

  “So that’s it? He’s just going to lie there staring at the roof? How did this happen?” she screamed in a different direction.

  “You must have seen it’s commence. Was he acting funny with you? At Distraction, dreaming, irrational?” spoke a third voice, hauntingly familiar, deep and booming; The Behemoth.

  “He was seeing people. Two girls. One he said was an adolescent. And he was talking strange; really paranoid” she said.

  “When was this, the speaking in delusion?” asked the strange voice.

  “Today; before. I could have helped him. I knew something was wrong. He’d never spoken to me like that before. We hardly ever spoke. I should have known something was really wrong. I should have helped him” she said.

  “How could you have known? You share no empathy with this man; your love in theoretical. Now, you shared a bed with him, yes? At this point we won’t need to quarantine you but we will ask that you remain under protection, at least until after the move; until we can assess better your situation. We still aren’t completely sure, the limits of infection but this type of Famine is completely new to The City and I can only imagine the ease in its wing. Had you engaged in sex recently with Marcos?” asked the strange voice.

  “Why? You think it’s transmittable?” asked The Woman frightened.

  “Now I know this will sound silly and repetitive but have you been enjoying the sensation? I mean afterwards, did you feel any likening to Marcos after the act; any pardoning of transgressions, any false appreciations, anything at all?” asked the strange voice.

  The Woman’s mind instantly filled with the closeness she had felt; the tenderness of Marcos’ firm hand on her breast, his spread fingers then running down her chest and the length of her body to her inner thigh while his delicate breath splashed across her bare skin, her hands outstretched; running through his hair.

  As she screamed in delight, a shudder of electricity parted from between her thighs to her heart which beat rapidly a warmth that rushed through her veins which then tingled at her toes and numbed them, leaving her conscious mind alive; exploding with colour and forgiveness.

  “Nothing” she said, knowing too well what cruelty was dressed upon The Collective should anyone show the stresses or the psychological rash of The Famine.

  “To be sure, we will keep a White Heart with you at all times, to protect you from yourself” said the strange voice consolingly.

  “We can’t leave him here though. We have to take him with us” she said.

  “With us, where? Where are you going? Don’t trust him. You can’t go with him. What is going on here?” Marcos screamed; viscerally into his own conscious, but his body stayed still, his corporal voice; silent.

  “I’ll have The Engineer prepare a device to secure the travel of his body. I promise you, we will find a cure for this horrible affliction. For now, according to Marcos’ request, I will convene with the generals in the coming hour and we will make preparations for moving The Nest” said the Behemoth.

  “Moving, are you sure? Is it necessary? Marcos never mentioned anything about relocating. He was so confident, so assured at least, that’s what he had me believe” she said.

  “There was a lot you didn’t know about this man. For instance, did you know that he was thinking of leaving you behind with the greater part of The Children? He said they; and you, didn’t function in his grand design and that you were an anchor to something that he couldn’t transcend; something you both lived once before. He didn’t say in any detail. He didn’t have to. The passion in his voice spoke of treason, his words and his heart painted you as his Judas” said The Behemoth.

  The Woman looked over Marcos’ still body at first in shock and then with contempt and an expected want of surprise. They had been pulling apart for so long; like a universe from one event running farther from itself, until like their love, it was cold and distant; slowing and painfully drifting to its inevitable end.

  The Woman leaned in and stared him deep in the eye. Marcos was screaming but she could not hear. She leaned close to his ear and a tear rolled from her eyes as she confessed.

  “You were right, I’m sorry. I wish I had of said it sooner. I wish I could take it all back. I’m sorry my love, I’m sorry, goodbye” she murmured.

  She kissed his cheek and her tear ran onto his face sliding down the length of his neck and pooling just near the tip of his spine. She composed herself and moved away from his body.

  “Do what you need to do. The man is dead, but his philosophy is king” she said giving permission to the scientists to dispose of his lifeless body.

  “Organise your things. Organise your Children. We leave on the fifth new dawn, on a cold grey August morning” said The Behemoth to The Woman, resting both of his firm hands on her shoulders and directing his assuring sight to hers.

  Marcos was screaming and writhing but his body wouldn’t move; he was trapped in the vacuum of his conscious mind; aware, awake, but unable to communicate.

  “Dump his body in the black river” The Behemoth said to a White Heart guarding the door.

  The Behemoth looked over his still body and like The Woman, leaned down to his ear to whisper quietly.

  “It really is impressive tea, isn’t it?” he said, collecting in a small canister, a single tear that had run from The Woman’s courageous heart, down her lover’s cheek and pooled just below his shoulder; on the cold steel table.

  0011001100110001

  As The Woman sat in her class she thought of Marcos lying there on the table, snuffed of life. Worry gripped at her breast for she knew that she too had been succumbing to the illness and that in these past days, like her lover, she too had been slipping in and out of distraction.

  Even now as she sat in front of a class of Children all beaming in her direction, she was still and not At Focus. She could see that they were there, that they were looking straight at her, waiting for a command and waiting for her attention. She could hear the sound of ruffling paper as The Children scrunched sheets between their fingers and she could also hear the sound of tapping feet on the cold floor.

  She could see and hear reality; she could sense it and map it out in her mind. She knew where she was and what was expected of her and she didn’t care, not in the slightest.