The Remnant

1.1.3

1.1.3

Colton listened to the opening of Brian Barclay’s speech, but his mind wandered. He reflected on the organization he worked for and everything that had led to this point in history. The Super Flu of 2061 was infamous, and skeptics long debated the true source of the illness. Some said the Chinese government engineered the flu and released it intentionally, while others maintained that it was actually a product of the United States, and due to a security breach, accidentally spread amongst the public. Although some still debated its source, nobody debated what the Super Flu of 2061 really was: A genetically engineered virus with a 99.9% communicability rate that quickly and systematically destroyed a host’s VMAT2 gene, the lone genetic reason humans had the ability to undergo spiritual experiences. After a couple days of coughing and a mild fever, a patient was rendered a guaranteed atheist.

Colton had always leaned toward the theory that the Super Flu of 2061 was the result of a United States attempt to infect the Middle East with a hacking cough that would rid the region of religious fundamentalism and, subsequently, acts of terrorism and violence. The United States had done all but admit responsibility for it, and while some conspiracy theorists still insisted it was the Chinese government or some other country, Colton had never given them much credence. But he was glad, like the rest of the population and the CTC, that the virus had been unleashed. Not only had religious fundamentalism and wars dissipated in the Middle East, but religious crime and intolerance had virtually evaporated from the globe.

“What we are doing here is one of the most important jobs we can offer society,” Brian said. The audience was rapt. “Since the VMAT2 gene was wiped off the face of the earth, all of you have benefitted from the results. Our great-grandparents could only imagine a world like the one we live in today—where terrorist attacks motivated by religious squabbles no longer dominate the news, and where wars are no longer ignited because of religious intolerance. This is a world they could only dream of, a world that is our reality.

“But we must not just remember the global benefits of the Super Flu of 2061; we must also remember the local ones. It may seem foreign to us today, living under the protection of the CTC in the aftermath of the destruction of the VMAT2 gene, but religious belief was one of the main links to violent criminal activity in the modern world. No more mass suicides or people drinking the Kool-Aid. Hey, speaking of Kool-Aid, can someone fetch me a bottle of water? I’m dying up here. Not Jim Jones Kool-Aid either, okay? Don’t need any real life examples up here.”

Brian wiped the sweat from his forehead, and some aide in the front row handed him a bottle of water. The crowd laughed while Brian took several gulps. The bottle of water looked unnaturally small in his big, beefy hands.

“Now that’s better,” he said, screwing the lid back on his water and placing it on his podium. Maybe it was due to the bright lights on him or the extra hundred pounds he was carrying, but he was dripping sweat. “Now, as I was saying, we live in a world that our great-grandparents simply couldn’t imagine. Sure there’s crime, and too much of it. We’ll never be perfect. But could you imagine all of the out-of-their-wits extremists who would have gone into our schools, our hospitals, our parks, those now abandoned places of worship, and slaughtered us by the hundreds—by the thousands—if things were like they were? Some of you may not even be here. Some of your children may not be here. It’s a sobering thought.

“But perhaps one of the most important benefits our society has felt since the advent of the CTC is simply the quality of life. It is difficult to quantify this, isn’t it? But no longer do we have a society of people forgoing the advances and hopes of this world to store up treasures in the next! That kind of thinking undermines the very fabric of our society and deters every good possibility for justice. When that kind of thinking runs rampant, the poor starve, the needy go without, and the ill go unassisted. It is no wonder that since the destruction of the VMAT2 gene, medical science has taken massive leaps and bounds—not just because modern technology has advanced, but because the urgent need to deal with the here and the now has become that much more important.

“Crime has been taken more seriously. We no longer live in a day when we promise a grieving family the fictitious karma that will happen in some other life. For years and years our society functioned on this premise, and it became, over time, simply an excuse not to fix a terribly broken system. Justice has become swifter, more meaningful, and more precise in our modern society. All of us benefit from this. Every one of us does!

“When you walk down the beautiful streets of Long Beach, of local Los Angeles—of most cities in the United States—you notice the fruits of our labor in everything you see. In ancient societies, it was easy to endure broken and dilapidated streets when the masses foolishly clung to the false hopes of Streets of Gold in some mythological afterlife. Of course, there is still poverty, and there is still pollution. I saw some graffiti just yesterday while driving through Los Angeles to a meeting, but this is a just a shadow of what once was. We must not forget that our mission here at the CTC and the responsibility we have to our community is far and wide. We work hard, we work diligently, and…our extractors look pretty nice in those silver suits, don’t they?”

Brian laughed, and the crowd went wild. He paced back and forth for a few moments, tossing the microphone back and forth between his hands. The guests clapped vigorously or held up glasses of champagne.

Colton scanned the crowd for Selma but didn’t see her. Too difficult to find someone in the chaos. He would make sure to find her after, to finish his conversation with her.

When the applause faded, Brian raised the microphone to his lips and looked over the audience with a grim expression. It was clear that he was changing his tone. He took a deep, dramatic breath and waited until the silence became uncomfortable.

“This is an interesting time at the CTC,” he said solemnly. “So much is happening, both here at CTC Headquarters and over in Washington. We all know there has been lots of debate recently about the quarantined and whether or not Congress will push through legislation to deem the quarantined non-human. When Washington makes the announcement, we must be ready for whatever the outcome is—and what such an outcome might entail for our jobs here at the CTC. I want to remind everyone to be patient, to be steadfast, as the CTC will continue to do our jobs while we wait for word on what laws—if any—may change.”

“Kill ‘em!” someone yelled from the back of the ballroom, and a few others joined in. There was some commotion and talking. Brian, holding up his pudgy hand to silence everyone, closed his eyes and waited it out like a patient school teacher standing in front of the class.

“I agree,” Colton said in a low mumble. “Kill ‘em all.”

He looked out the windows and saw Catalina Island just twenty miles off the coast of Long Beach. On many days it was difficult to see, but on a day like today—crisp and clear—it was easily visible. At one time, long before Colton was born, it was a small community with schools, shopping, hospitals, golf courses, just a two-hour ride away on the Catalina Express. These days, it wasn’t often referred to as Catalina Island; instead, it was referred to as the Quarantine Zone. Those who were apprehended by the CTC were sent there to live out their days where they would not be a danger to society nor spread such dangerous ideas. Many of the Aberrants were studied to answer the perplexing question of why such arcane beliefs had regenerated in them, though scientists had not yet publicized a concrete answer to that question. If the Aberrants were kept in society, they would begin to seek each other out, congregate, and the world would be thrown back to a far more dangerous time. It was better to keep them isolated or, even better, to have them killed; the deaths of a few now would save millions for future generations. And it made the public feel safe. So much of public safety, Colton had come to realize, was a matter of perception.

But Colton, like everyone else, knew the new legislation could change everything. Lobbyists had long been pleading with the politicians in Washington to enact a law deeming the Aberrants non-human; if this legislation passed, the ramifications would be significant. No longer beneficiaries of the Constitution, the Aberrants wouldn’t be entitled to the same rights they were now. Many believed and rallied behind the idea of a mass extermination, and Colton found himself in this camp. Why waste billions of dollars shipping the Aberrants to the Island, guarding the Island, monitoring the Island, and supplying the inhabitants with basic needs such as food, water, and shelter? The country was broke as it was, and these superfluous costs only made matters worse.

Proponents of the new legislation rallied behind the idea that such a change in legislation would make a mass extermination imminent. Colton loved the idea and, even more, loved that the new possibility didn’t threaten his job security. He would still be responsible for the seeking out and apprehension of those who were infected except, if the change in legislation went through, the theologically ill would be taken to a morgue rather than the Island. It just made sense from every possible angle, but Colton was well aware of the tensions it was creating. While most thought the new legislation was the right course of action, there were some—the humanists—who thought it crossed ethical lines. A very small minority believed the infected should at least have the right to live out the remainder of their lives on the Island.

He longed for the day when the Aberrants would be terminated. And since all the cells on the Island and the quarantine chambers at the CTC could be piped with cyanide gas, in what had always been a security measure to be used only in the event of a mass escape, it wouldn’t take long for a change in the law to become a reality; every cell could easily be made into a tomb, and in record speed.

“As I was saying,” Brian said, “this is a time of immense change for the CTC, and with Washington fighting it out over this new legislation, the future has a lot in store for us. It will take great leadership indeed for someone to guide us through this important time of change. I suppose, then, there is no better time to announce my retirement as Chief Officer of the CTC next month. I have enjoyed working for such a fine organization and think it’s time for me to pass the torch to someone younger, someone with more vision, and someone who isn’t as fat as I’ve gotten!”

The crowd went wild with applause and cheers. Some even called for a standing ovation and saluted him with half-drunk glasses of champagne. This wasn’t news to anyone. The word had already gone through the office. These were the genuine, celebratory cheers of colleagues and guests who wished Brian the best in his early retirement and were happy that he had served so faithfully and for so long at one of the most important posts regarding public safety. When the applause simmered down, and people got back into their seats, Brian resumed.

“The next month will be very important, sorting through some things, particularly who will serve as the next Chief Officer for the Center for Theological Control. As you know, we believe in transparency and accountability, and all can rest assured that we will soon begin the process of selecting and appointing a new leader who has proven himself or herself in the field.”

Colton smiled and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking at him. While the news of Brian’s retirement had circulated the offices, the rumors of who would replace him had circulated even more. Nine times out of ten that rumor was followed with speculation that he was the most likely and the best fit to replace Brian.

He nudged his assistant. “I think they’re starting to chant my name.”

Several in the crowd had begun to chant, and Colton wondered whether it would be appropriate to stand up and wave to his supporters. It couldn’t hurt, and maybe it would help make it clear that he was, in fact, interested in stepping into that role.

He had barely gotten to his feet when Kramer reached up, grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him back down into his seat.

“What’d you do that for?” He was about to stand back up when he noticed Kramer pointing across the room.

It was Ashton Lampson. All six feet three inches of him was standing and waving to the crowd. Colton realized they weren’t chanting “Colton”; they were chanting “Ashton.” He narrowed his eyes and looked hard at his fellow colleague—second in extractions over the last year—and realized then how much he had always disliked him. Ashton was tall and handsome in an overly manicured, feminine way with shiny wide teeth, a big horse-like smile, and hair that was always perfectly parted. Colton wondered what Ashton used to keep his hair in place, because every follicle was in order at all times—even after an extraction.

Colton cracked his knuckles and watched with distain while Ashton soaked up the crowd’s admiration. Some were chanting Colton, and that took some of the edge off, but many people—possibly most of them—were chanting Ashton’s name.

But that wasn’t what made Colton the most upset.

When the applause faded away and the chanting stopped, Ashton sat down. Selma Grissom was sitting next to him.