Your One & Only(39)



“We thought it best someone else deliver the news.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

At first, the coldness in the man’s eyes told Jack he was right, but then Carson tore off another piece of bread and shook his head.

Speaking around his mouthful, he said, “That’s what most of us wanted. It’s simple, and would follow the protocol of a failed experiment. But Samuel-299 wouldn’t agree. Certainly it would be much easier at times if one person had clear authority. But that’s not how things are done in Vispera. We communed on the matter, and it became clear that Samuel-299 feels you should live more strongly than others feel you shouldn’t. We reached a compromise.”

“And?”

Jack strained to listen to what Carson was saying, but the water bottle was sweating, and a drop slid down, pooling in the crook of Carson’s finger. Unconsciously Jack moved to rub his parched lips with the back of his arm, briefly forgetting about the shackles. He sucked in a breath when the chains sliced into his raw skin. Carson’s eyebrows twitched a fraction.

“We’ll make use of you in the fields.”

“That’s dumb. You have the machines for that.”

“Indeed. I may have said something similar. But it keeps you away from town, and away from the Gen-310s.”

Jack snorted. Their logic was absurd. “How’d Sam talk you into that plan?”

“We don’t allow anything to exist with no purpose. As of now, you’re about as useful as a plow horse. We’d hoped for more.” Carson took a long drink, downing half the water. He shrugged. “Although I’ve been against using your genetic code from the beginning. You introduce disease to the community.”

Jack tried to absorb what Carson was saying, but his mind felt fragile with thirst, hunger, and fatigue. It was like hearing someone through a long tunnel.

“Disease? You mean asthma?”

“One of a million diseases that died with the humans. And Samuel thinks you’re worth the risk of bringing it back. I can just imagine where that would lead. Not to mention your emotional instability. I’ve known for a while it was you sabotaging our fields and tanks. Now I have proof.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said. “I didn’t do those things.”

Carson laughed quietly. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a clear, flat slide as wide as his thick fingers. It glittered slightly in the morning sun, a bright sliver of technology in a barn all but reclaimed by dirt and brush. “See this? It’s you, Jack. Your cells, your genetic sequence, whatever you want to call it.” Carson inspected Jack through the transparent square. “Everything you are is contained in this flimsy piece of glass. We have a fair amount of it—human genetic material. Unpredictable stuff. Our embryos almost always fail, and then every human we do manage has something wrong with it.”

When Jack reacted to Carson’s words, the man smirked, and Jack realized he’d just been told something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“Jack,” he said, condescension thickening his voice, “did you honestly think you were the first? The only human we’ve brought back from extinction?” He gave a bland chuckle. “There’ve been a number over the years. See, the Council thinks we need a tenth clone to balance out the community, a fifth male for the five females. It was looking good for you until you started breathing like a fish flopping on a hook. Now you’re just another failed audition, useful for a few gene markers we might find convenient, but otherwise a waste.” Carson leaned toward the cage, elbows on his knees, as if he were passing on a confidence to a friend. “The humans have always been a disaster, you know. Endless war, poverty, genocide, inequality, pollution—to say nothing of an obsession with sex and reproduction. Your kind would have killed the planet if they’d lived. That’s the human legacy, all just historical memories now. And your grab bag of genetics, too. Curved spines, seizures, limps, terrible eyesight, flat feet, runaway cancers, chemical, psychological, or emotional instability. It’s a wonder your species existed as long as it did.”

“Maybe the problem wasn’t your test subjects. Maybe the problem was you.”

Carson paused and looked at Jack as if he really were a specimen under glass. “There’s a reason humans are gone.” He leaned forward and peered into the cage. “Honestly, not a single one of you has been any good.” He shook his head. “You certainly are some animal.”

Jack knew what Carson was seeing. He was filthy, naked, chained to the wall, and staring desperately at the pathetic few inches of water left in Carson’s bottle. He supposed he didn’t make such a great representative of humanity right then.

Carson stood and slid the glass square into his pocket. He wiped his greasy hands on his shirt and scrutinized the barn with distaste. He lifted the parcel from the ground and threw it into the cell where it landed near Jack, just out of reach. Then he drank again from the water, leaving a small bit splashing at the bottom.

“Here,” he said, tossing that too between the bars of the cell. It rolled to Jack’s feet, spilling what little was left inside. “Samuel-299 wanted you to have this.”

Carson turned his back and strolled past the empty cells toward the entrance. Jack watched the spilled water seep into the floor of the barn, leaving a damp outline in the dirt.

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