Overture to War

Chapter 4

In the room, stood five people in white lab coats. A chair, featuring restraining belts for the feet, hands, neck stood in the center. Behind it stood something resembling a hornet’s abdomen, stinger included, facing toward where the head meant to sit on the chair. Seeing it made him pause. Bastien hesitated in the doorway, knees shaking.  

“Come on in, Mr. Hughes! I assure you this is completely safe and painless,” one of the lab coats said, gesturing for him to come in. The man looked to be in his early forties judging by the grey in his hair and beard. His chiseled face, coupled with a pair of bright green eyes, short curly grey hair and a benign smile inspired a considerable amount of confidence.  

Bastien sat down reluctantly as a couple of technicians came up and fastened the belts. Four other people moved around while inputting data on their portable PDAs and joking with each other. The man who spoke before got up and examined the setup.  

“I am Scientist Peter Rossi, and you can rest assured, we picked one of the best imprints we have for you. Not that you would know his name, but he was among the original engineers involved in designing Phobos,” he said, tapping away at the screen located in the rest of the chair. “His consciousness is among the best rated for not causing issues, so we hope it will balance out with your young age.”  

Seemingly satisfied with the setup, Rossi took out a small mask connected to a hose and placed it over Bastien’s nose and mouth. “Just relax, you don’t need to do anything for this part. Just breathe in deeply and focus on counting each breath.”  

The gas knocked out Bastien by the time he got to five. Rossi hadn’t lied; there had been no pain during the actual procedure. Waking up, however, was another thing altogether. It felt as if someone had taken his body and crumpled it over and over again. Every ounce of energy seemed to have gone out of it to the point where just keeping his eyes open seemed impossible. His head felt squeezed in from all sides and he could hear a slight noise in his brain. Was that the Clock Signal? 

Rossi came over with a small pen flashlight and shined it in his eyes. “How do you feel, Bastien?” he said.  

Bastien tried to speak but felt incredibly nauseous, so he closed his mouth and just shook his head. Rossi seemed to understand. “Looks good, Bastien! Judging by your vitals, you seem to be adjusting to the imprint better than we expected. Your nervous system is at the lower limit of what we ever tried. Everything considered I would call the procedure a resounding success so far!”  

Another lab coat rose to his feet, the oldest in the room by far. Deep wrinkles creased his entire face from end-to-end. Bushy eyebrows appeared to hide a pair of beady brown eyes that seemed to have lost their shine. No smile this time around. Instead, an uneasy tension appeared to be hanging over the man. Leaning over the desk with rigid movements, he eyed Peter insistently. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Rossi, it’s still early.” Then, turning toward Bastien, “My name is Scientist Valentino Dubois. I’m responsible for testing your compatibility with your new genetic imprint, Mr. Hughes. Now, this part can hurt a lot, or not at all, it’s all up to you,” he said, pushing a button on his PDA.  

The chair pivoted toward what looked to be an empty wall that opened up to reveal a pair of sharp needles perfectly aligned with his retinas. Bastien gasped at the sight, struggling to keep himself from vomiting.  

“Here’s how this test works: we will present you a theoretical problem which relies heavily on knowledge from your new imprint. You have a fixed time to resolve it using the keyboards under your fingers. We will be monitoring your cerebral activity to ensure it remains consistent with the patterns of a normal healthy brain. The fixed time is three minutes, during which the apparatus you see in front will slowly come toward you. Should time run out, the needles will pierce your face through your eyes, resulting in a quick and painless death.”  

Bastien never realized his lungs could breathe this fast, but before he could muster any energy to protest, a buzzer sounded off. The technical issue appeared on a projection in front of him. The theoretical problem was a failing subroutine for one of the city’s geothermal reactors. Left unchecked, the steam accumulation would result in a massive explosion. He panicked beyond all hope, hyperventilating so hard he could feel his nostrils going dry. The electric engine behind the needles came to life with a dull hum. It started pushing the contraption forward ever closer to his face. He had no idea what these people were talking about, let alone the faintest clue on how to fix it.  

“Relax, Bastien; you know how to solve this! Just relax and think clearly!” Rossi said from somewhere behind him.  

Looking at the timer to his left, one minute had already passed and as his eyes focused on the needles. The hollow tips of the needles were by now easily distinguishable. Probably they injected something through those tubes into those unfortunate enough to fail this test. Maybe to ensure all brain activity ceases entirely?  

One minute remained on the clock.  

“I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry dad… I’m not going to pull through this… I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” Bastien said, crying in desperation. However, something seemed to stir inside. Through the fatigue, nausea and debilitating headache, the answer formed itself in his mind. After adjusting the hands over the keyboards on the armrests, the code sequence took him less than ten seconds to write. The red clock ticking down turned green, and the apparatus moved back on its rail, away from his face.  

“Very well, Bastien!” Rossi said, rising to his feet and applauding. “Do you see, Dubois? I told you he could do it!”  

“It’s not over yet,” Dubois responded dryly. Then, turning toward Bastien, “Same test, different problem, half the time. Start.”  

This time it had to do with the creating a subroutine to improve the temperature inside the city’s foundry for refined alloys. It required a lot more calculus than the first, but Bastien finished it in less than forty seconds, much to Rossi’s complete satisfaction. Peaking at Dubois’ old face, Bastien noticed his facial expression had not changed at all following his two successes. He did see the scientist turn around toward what appeared to be a large mirror on the wall. Noticing it initially upon entering the room, it had crossed his mind it might be a double glass. Who watched, however, on the other side of it was anybody’s guess.  

The door opened and in came nobody else than Overseer Hark himself. He walked forward toward Dubois using the same measured, calm step he had used at the crime scene where Bastien had met him for the first time.  

“How is he doing?” Hark said, looking at the desk which displayed Bastien’s brain heat map.  

“Exemplary, sir,” Dubois said. I believe we are finished here.  

 “No, not yet, I want the third-degree test as well.” 

Rossi jumped to his feet. “Sir, I feel compelled to remind you the subject is far beneath the normal threshold for the standard tests, let alone a third-degree one!”  

Hark turned his icy blue eyes toward him, and Rossi froze where he stood. Smiling, Hark said, “Duly noted, doctor. But this man has gone through a traumatic experience; we cannot be overly sure about his condition. Proceed,” then turned back to the monitor. For the first time, Dubois’ face displayed something: worry. The man looked like he had been struggling to fight back his emotions but what had been asked of him now proved too much for him.  

“Same problem, half the time, increased emotional distress. Start now.” 

Bastien barely managed to read the text of the problem before feeling a sharp stab in the back of his head. The room, with everything inside it, disappeared. In its place, a birds-eye view formed inside his mind of his parents burning out as they protected him. A flood of tears burst down his face.  

As the room came back into focus, the needles had gotten so close to his eyes his eyelashes brushed the tips while closing. The problem itself, however, turned out to be overly simplistic, and he solved it in less than the four seconds separating him from death. The timer stopped at 0:02; green.  

Nobody said a word. Hark continued observing the cerebral heat map for a couple of seconds more before turning around on his heels and leaving the room. Bastien felt Rossi’s hand on his shoulder not soon after.  

“Outstanding job, Bastien, outstanding. We’re finished here,” he said, looking at Dubois who nodded his head in agreement.  

“Nurse, bring a wheelchair. At once!”  

As the auxiliaries untied him, everything seemed to fade slowly to black. The last thing he hard before passing out came to him as an echo: “Congratulations, Engineer Hughes! You are now officially one of us! It is my great honor to …”  

The first thing he saw when waking up later was Kafka looking through the only window in the room. Unlike every other corner of the institute, it seemed to be well furnished, and the bed itself soft and comforting.  

“Where am I?” Bastien said, getting up to a sitting position.  

“Oh, you’re awake!” Kafka said, turning around and walking over. “Thank goodness; I hear they did a real number on you,” the legate said, offering him a cup with something hot inside from the table. Chamomile tea with real honey. 

“Thank… thank you…” Bastien said, sipping from the hot tea.  

“No need to thank me. Get more sleep; I’ll come back tomorrow morning to check on you again.” 

“Why… why help me?”  

“I have a son about your age. Might be foolish, but I chose to believe anyone would have done the same for him had he ended up like you. Now sleep.”  

Bastien slept all throughout the rest of the day and the entire night. Waking up the next morning, freshly cooked grasshopper soup and soy cakes waited for him on the table. There had been even extra attention to bring the food in a small sealed container to keep it warm and prevent the smell from disturbing his sleep. Also, a brand-new engineer uniform hung neatly on the clothes hanger in the room. It seemed to fit his size perfectly with an engineer class data pad on a small table under it. A small barcode now stood on the inside of his forearm. Struggling, he could vaguely remember a group of people coming into his room at night and giving him a couple of shots. Maybe that’s how he managed to sleep for around eighteen hours straight. 

Sitting down at the table, Bastien ate slowly, hardly enjoying the food, even though they had cooked it well. Now a certified engineer, an adult citizen of New Society, and it seemed to mean nothing to him. Isaac and Michelle would not be outside the institute waiting. He had no idea where to go once out of the institute, but got up and found the engineer uniform to be a perfect fit. The PDA also seemed to have been built to his precise measurements, leading him to wonder what would happen should he ever put on weight. Pretty rare in New Society, especially with the high protein and low-fat diet everyone subsided on, but cases did still happen from time to time.  

After getting dressed, he went and looked out the street-facing window; another luxury offered to the victors of the trials. It seemed like early morning judging by the lighting coming in through the window. The room they brought him to was nicely furnished indeed, maybe a little bit nicer than their own home. Perhaps to cement in the mind of the individual that now they're life had changed.  

The thought of the imprint made him uneasy. Somewhere inside his mind, there resided now another person who had at one point been alive, loved and hated. Remembering the myths about the imprints, he tried to listen inward: nothing there. In fact, it felt disappointing. It didn’t feel like anything had changed. It was just like Isaac told him it would be if they did their job right, and, sure enough, they had been more than thorough with him. Another couple of attempts to try and think of something new also ended up in failure. The ticking sound inside his mind seemed gone now too. Perhaps, the genetic imprint worked strictly on a need-to-know basis? 

Finally deciding to leave, Kafka surprised him by waiting for him outside his room.  

“Bastien! How's it going? Look at you in that shiny new uniform!” Kafka said. 

“Kafka? What are you doing here this early?”  

“Well let’s just say that maybe I stood here and discouraged the over-zealous lab coats from pursuing even more tests on you,” Kafka said with a smug smile. “You might not know it, but you’re quite the start over here and have made Rossi quite famous as a result.”  

“Why?”  

The answer clearly made Kafka uneasy. He looked from left to right for a second before raising his gaze to confront Bastien. “You’re the first success story of someone under fifteen passing the imprinting. Before you, fifteen had been considered the minimum age for the genetic imprinting.”  

Bastien dry swallowed as the consequences of this revelation passed through his mind. It explained the overwhelming sense of relief coming from both Rossi and Dubois. They weren’t happy they imprinted another random engineer but instead were rejoicing they hadn’t killed him. An overwhelming urge to sit down hit him but he fought it and continued to keep his composure. “What happens next?” Bastien said.  

“Follow me, someone is waiting for you outside,” Kafka said, smiling. 

“Waiting for me?” Bastien asked, raising his eyebrows. The only two people that ever cared about him were gone now.  

His curiosity piqued however and as the institute door opened, a face not seen for a very long time stood there looking at him. Edward Hughes, his fathers' younger brother sat there with his arms crossed together behind his back, staring at him from about ten meters. His uncle’s relationship with his parents was never great. It had to do with Ed wearing the label of ‘Deviant’. Someone with faults in his genetic makeup, but deemed not dangerous to others. Deviants lived their own lifestyle in the shadows of Phobos, shunned by society. A long time ago, The Inquisition had decided on a list of genetic defects to be tolerated. Citizens discovered to possess one or more of the genes were allowed to continue living inside Phobos. However, they were barred from ever having descendants of their own and people generally preferred to keep their distance from them.  

The last time Bastien remembered seeing his estranged uncle was on his 10th birthday when he came to drop off a small present. It was the best thing he had ever got: an ancient working gyroscope from topside. Given his uncle’s condition, it didn’t surprise him the man had been relegated to the topside institute, as far away from everyday life as possible. Looking at the thirty-something-year-old man intently didn’t reveal anything about his state of mind.  

“Hello, boy, it’s been a while…” Edward said, showing a faint smile. 

Bastien turned toward Kafka, confused. Kafka smiled, and said, “Go on, kid, he’s family to you, and there’s no one better to turn to in times of need than one’s own family… I’ll leave you two alone now. If you ever need me, just ask for Kafka at the Legate’s Office. Take care!” He shook hands with Bastien before turning away and walking back into the institute. 

Trying to remember the day of the party, Bastien recalled coming face-to-face with the ginger-bearded giant. Before giving him his present, Ed had knelt on one knee and told him: “Just remember, uncle Ed’s always going to be there when you need him. Happy birthday, boy!” 

 Afterwards, the man spoke for a short while with his father before disappearing into the crowd. Wearily, Bastien started closing the gap. To his surprise, the man took a step forward for every one of his. From closer up, it became apparent the expression on the man’s face wasn’t indifference, but grief. “Hello, Ed… Didn't expect to see you here,” he said once they had gotten to about a meter apart. Ed didn’t say anything back, but instead made a leap and hugged him. In the man’s tight embrace, tears finally started to flow down his cheek. The small trickle turned into a flood. For the first time since the dreadful evening, Bastien could finally cry. “I miss them so much already…”  

“I know, boy, I miss them too,” Ed said, continuing to hold him. After a while, he took a small step back, grabbing Bastien by the arms and measuring him head-to-toe. The man’s eyes seemed bloodshot, but he managed to c***k a smile. “I’m proud of you, Bastien. And I know your dad would have loved nothing more than to see you in uniform. Especially considering you took Hark down a notch.”  

“What do you mean?”  

“Haven’t they told you?”  

“Not really. The only thing waiting for me when I woke up was this uniform and some food. Not much else…”  

“When I heard what happened, I fought tooth and nail to stop them from going ahead with the imprinting procedure. Told them you were still just a boy, but they had none of it. Hark, the bastard, didn’t even grant you two years to recover and reach the proper imprinting age. He had his mind made up you wouldn’t make it, but you showed the arrogant tool what’s what,” Ed said, his face strewn in an impossibly large smile.  

“So, what happens next?”  

“You get to pick. Either come live under my supervision until you turn sixteen, or, claim your earned bunk in the engineering barracks. Either way, you’re going back to school tomorrow.”  

“I don’t understand, I’m imprinted now.”  

“Indeed, you are. But they severed off your connection to the clock signal until you become a proper adult.”  

“So, this is why I can’t hear anything inside my head anymore.” 

“Indeed. Don’t worry, you have a lifetime to get used to a constant high-pitch noise in your head. For now, though, ye’re just regular old Bastien Hughes, who has to go to school tomorrow. My offer to take you in stands, but I won’t be offended if you chose the barracks.” 

“Let’s go home.” 

A fleeting smile appeared on his uncle’s face looked outright impossible on his rugged, jagged shapes. It seemed like the smile of a child after receiving the first candy of his life. “Right, let’s go, we need to get you settled in!”  

As they made their way on the belt, teams of medics and engineers rushed passed them on the speed lanes. Everyone carried equipment, sometimes shared between two or three individuals. “Is it bad?” Bastien asked, his eyes following the moving figures.  

“Aye, it’s bad, boy. Not only did they blow up tons of harvest, but seeds and fertilizer chemicals as well. There’s going to be a big fallout from this one, possibly even famine.” 

Going from junction to junction, Bastien couldn’t help but notice as the constant buzz of the city faded more and more as they left the primary and secondary rings of the city behind them. The apartment complex where they jumped off felt like a far cry from his old home. It probably looked just fine back in its day, but now the entire complex seemed to have fallen into disrepair. Many of the walls were entirely missing their white marble façade and every here and there, glassless windows opened up to dark rooms that looked to have been vacant for a long time. The belt screeched and cracked as it went by them and Bastien realized there was a tile missing from it for every two present ones, revealing the corroded metal underneath. They had learned about the poaching of materials from the outer city circles, but this was the first time seeing it first-hand. Compared to this, the second ring of the city looked like complete luxury.  

Edward followed his eyes carefully. “You can still choose the engineering barracks. I won’t be offended.” His voice trailed off with an almost imperceptible note of sadness in his voice. “After you’re a proper adult, you’ll be free to move back into your old home.”  

“Why can’t we both move in back now?”  

“It’s because” – Edward paused for a second, searching for the correct words – “It’s because people like me, the less than perfects, aren’t allowed further than the third ring.” Much to his surprise, the boy smiled.  

“This is home, then. Let me help you with the baggage.”  

“No need,” Edward said and barged through the main entrance that looked like it had been missing a proper door for a long time, hauling the two massive bags.  

His uncle had brought everything the Inquisition had allowed him to take from the Hughes house. Climbing the three floors, they reached the door leading into his apartment. Entering, the first thing that hit Bastien was the impressive collection of Oldworld devices. Trinkets littered almost every square centimeter of storage space. Racks after racks where filled to the brim with incredible looking stuff, making him question if his tenth birthday gift hadn't actually been the least interesting thing from his uncle’s impressive collection. His room, on the other hand, proved immaculate and more spacious than the one at his parents’ house. “I know it’s not much, but you’ll survive and thrive here. Trust me, if you’re good to this place, it will be good to you.” 

“Thank you, Ed,” Bastien said, placing the broken glasses and burned out handkerchief on the shelf above his bed. “Thank you for not abandoning me. “ 

Ed stopped and held his gaze with an absent stare in his eyes. “Welcome home,” he said, after a long pause, finally looking him in the eyes.