BOOK OF BILLY: 2049
Chapter 16: Survive
The incessant beeps grate my aging ears. "Shut that thing off!" I scream behind the lead CodeTechnician, Zeke.
The younger man nods and ends the simulation, causing the room to fall back into the uncomfortable near-silence of before, where the constant hums of machines and humans meld as they try to fix the dying world.
"It keeps failing, sir," he says, a little deflated, and a little tired. The man has been working non-stop for a few days, with mere hours to take a nap, but I feel disappointed. Why do we need to sleep? It's stupid, the hours we waste so our bodies can do their thing.
Forget disappointment. I feel hope being crushed, and desperation latches onto my heart as slithering, suffocating tentacles. "Check the codec and try again. From the start." But just as the technician reaches for the manual, I take it off the bench and flip through the many pages.
"Go get a coffee, or bathroom, whatever." Absent-minded, I push him out of his seat. "Take half."
Zeke languishes a moment to see if I'm being real, but I am too engrossed in examining the codes to care what he does. With nothing to do, he leaves and returns in what I assume is the half-hour I'd given him. When he returns, he looks a little more rested. I vacate his seat and hand the manual back to him. "I changed a few of your codes. They should work. Try again."
Zeke swallows the nervous lump of spit and swivels back around, pouring over the codes to spot the changes I made. The simplicity of changes astounds the younger man a little. I can tell from the way his spine straightens as he reads, and mumbles wide-eyed, "A millionth time's a charm, I suppose!"
He supposes right, but I explode, to my surprise. "What did you say?" My temper flares thin today. "People are dying out there like moths to fire, and you hate that I'm asking you to do your job?"
Zeke blinks at the screen, his hands frozen stiff atop his keyboards. He doesn't know how to respond to me.
I take a step away from him. I can tell I've scared him, and that was never my intention. We all need to be working together, faster, better, and more focused than we've ever been in our lives. This is not the time for me to pull rank, I realise. I take a deep breath and steady my anger. I'm not angry at him. I'm angry at the situation. That we can't help, no matter how much we'd like to. I'd like to.
I know what it's like to be dying. To be helpless. I would never wish that upon my worst enemy, and right now, it's not even my enemies, dying. It was the world and every human in it.
As of 0:01 am on January 1st, 2049, a series of nukes went off around the entire globe, one after the other, like chips of dominoes. Tons upon megatons of nuclear bombs going off like a chain reaction. No one even knew the death toll yet. All around the world, as people kissed their loved ones and embraced them, it was likely for the last time. Billions. That's my estimate. The dead.
Billions of lives are gone. And for what? To strike terror? There was still no official news as to what caused the catastrophic events, but rumours were rife. Someone had wanted to wipe out all of humanity. But who? And for what purpose?
That was almost a month ago.
I look around the lab, at the nano-technicians and the immunobiologists; at muscular-skeletal experts, to oncologists and medical doctors, to game designer and weapons experts, not to mention the volunteer soldiers who already have the latest CodeTech system installed in their bodies. Every top brain I could retrieve and bring to the safety of this covert military CodeTech facility in the moments after the global catastrophe. Right after I felt the earth shake beneath my feet, tucked away under miles of concrete, when the earliest reports of nukes going off around the world came in.
"The world is dying," I say loud enough so those in this room can hear me. "Not only are the streets filled with bodies from the initial blasts, but homes are filling up as well. At this very moment, thousands continue to die from radiation sickness. Give or take a month or more, and there will be no complex life left on Earth, so I beg you. Forget your tiredness and hunger for a few more days and help me. Not everyone stranded on the surface has had fatal exposure, so we can still save them."
I turn, eyeing the fifty-plus geniuses the Sentries collected that night. "You are here because I brought you here. Any other time, you would not even know this base existed. It is not a holiday. It is not even a haven for you to ride out this disaster and emerge on the surface a survivor thirty years down the track. You're here because you're the brightest in your fields, and we could extract you in time to save your lives."
"Make no mistake." I turn to Zeke, his hand still hovering over the keyboard. "Right now, our survival as a species depends on what you do here in this lab in the coming days. For the past nineteen years, CodeTech has developed a military-grade nanotech interface. It's the only reason you see these soldiers able to walk into radioactive zones and rescue survivors, from homes, offices, or bunkers where they hide, dying an excruciating, slow death."
I feel a sense of resignation as I say the next bit. I did not come here to give a lecture today. Why can't they sense the urgency I feel?
"We have granted you access to all our vast data, research, and tech, in the hope you can help us help the survivors. They are relying on us. We are no longer just trying to keep our soldiers alive, we are trying to save humanity."
"But what you're asking is impossible, Dr Amour. Shielding tech for radiation using injectable nano-tech?" One doctor, a middle-aged woman with an olive complexion, looks baffled by the memo in her hand. "It will take us months, if not years, to develop."
I sigh at that moment and massage the bridge of my nose and whisper one word, "Camouflage." Within moments, I hear gasps echo across the room.
"Dr Amour?" someone near me hisses in shock.
"Camouflage," I repeat the word out loud, holding my hands out for them to see. I even do a turn around the room so they can all get a glimpse. The skin on my hands shimmers a shade of gun-metal black. In fact, at this moment, every inch of my skin is the same. "I call it nightshade. A handy trick for our men and women in covert missions. No one sees them coming in the dark."
I walk over to the biology end of the lab, and men and women part like the sea for Moses — scared and intrigued. I find a scalpel and hold out my palm, and whisper, "Shield," — before I slice my palm open.
Hands fly to mouths. Screams and shouts and gasps escape them. But nothing. There is not even a scratch on my palm, let alone a gaping wound or blood. "Shield. Another handy coding that protects and makes these soldiers near bullet-proof. It's the reason they can go out there at all right now. The tech is already there, Dr Fernandez. All I'm asking from you is to make it do more than just shield. I want you to make it holistic, think of the whole body, not just the surface. I am asking you to speed up human evolution so that we may survive past this Dark Age."
I return my skin to normal and replace the scalpel back where I found it.
"These soldiers are already bulletproof, self-healing, programmable; equipped with sat-nav communications, and ability to monitor their own vitals, and maximise their energy usage." I point at the handful of soldiers standing at attention on the other side of the room. "Now, make them safe from radiation and the horrid things it brings."
The oncologist in the other corner of the room stares at me in awe. "You mean, make them cancer-free?"
I nod. Yes, the soldiers can go out for rescue missions, but only for a fraction of time before radiation sickness gets them too. In the past month, several have shown signs of mutations and cancer. They too are now dying.
"The nanites we developed are programmable. I want you to make them hardier, faster, and cancer-seeking, along with the abilities they already have. Our CodeTechincians will develop the program you need."
"Dr Amour." Josie, an intern I hired a month ago, walks into the room with a worried look. A young thing; too young.
"What is it, Josie?"
She looks around at the gaping intellects before focusing on me. "They found her."
I feel an immense weight on my shoulders. I'd never thought getting in bed with defence would lead to this day, scrambling my lab and anyone I can get my hands on to help speed up what could be an impossible task, to prevent the complete annihilation of human life. But as Josie stands there looking at me, I can't help but admit I am itching to leave the room. I only care for one human life at this given moment.
"Go receive them, will you, Josie? And keep me informed."
She leaves with a nod.
I look around the lab one last time, knowing very well that the likelihood of success is minimal. But my life's motto has always been 'try first, regret later,' and this is no different. If fate wishes only a handful of humans survive in subterranean habitats, then so be it. But not before I try to save a few more if I can. "Please do your best. That's all I ask."
My head is heavy with memories as I leave them to their devices. I head for my private room for a moment to gather my wits. She's here. After all these years. She is here and I'm moments away from seeing her.
How many years has it been? Almost three decades? Twenty-seven years, three months, two days, and nineteen hours since I last saw her. Alisha. What would I say to her? 'I'm sorry,' feels a little late.
In my bathroom, wrapped up in a towel, and still wet, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Gaunt and pale. "Hello. How are you, Alisha?" I try — pathetic I know.
"Alisha darling, long time. How are you?" and this sounds silly, even to me.
I shake my head and stand up tall. "Alisha. How are you?"
The quiet crushes my fragile soul, and I feel tears sting my eyes. "This is stupid."
I return to my room and get into linen pants and throw on a comfy white shirt. I want to look carefree, but not like I'm trying to look like I want her to notice me. She always loved a shirt on me.
The phone in my room rings and I pick it up. It's Josie.
"She's being moved into room 206 in the ICU wing, sir. Thought you'd like to know."
"Thank you, Josie." I hang up and my stomach drops like I swallowed a bunch of lead pebbles.
I pull out the small ornate chest from the bottom of my cupboard and bring it over to the bed. Inside is a collection of items that remind me of Alisha. Things I could never bring myself to part with. Photos of her, a negligee she'd forgotten, stubs of shows we watched together, or programs of talks she'd given. Among these, there is also a blue velvet ring box I move aside to reach for the lone bottle of cologne. It's almost empty, and my heart skips a beat in panic. I've only ever used it whenever I missed her and now it's almost finished.
It was a gift from her one Valentine. I can almost hear the ghostly voices in my head.
"What's this?"
"My favourite cologne!" she'd replied.
"I thought it's supposed to be my favourite and not yours since it's my gift!"
Her giggle had been infectious as she'd ripped the bottle out of my hands and sprayed me with a few spritzes before lunging on me, lustful. "I could just eat you up! Thought you'd enjoy that. Turning me on!" She'd growled in my ears and nibbled on my lobe.
I take the bottle and give it a whiff. The scent allows me to hold on to that memory a little stronger. Memories that are fickle and have frayed with time.
I spray once, replace the bottle and return the box to its place.
This is it. The decades-long wait to see her has ended. Will she even recognise me? I hesitate in the corridors. The absurdity of the thought soon vanishes, though. Of course, she'd recognise me. I haven't been media-shy in my career. Not really.
I continue towards the ICU ward. If she's there, I know it's not good. She's not good. That wrenches a little hole in my already riddled heart. She's dying. I know it. Yet my feet carry me towards her.
Will you tell her you're sorry? That question brings me to a stop just outside the hospital wing.
My heart breaks a little more. "I've got nothing to be sorry about." I push through the door, the defiant, arrogant ass that I am. She's the one who left, not me. Not a convincing argument, but it keeps me from falling apart as I stare at the dying figure inside room 206.
Sorry is the only thing I can think of. So sorry.