MuTerra

When filling out his questionnaire, one question asked if he had any previous children, and another if he had ever tried to father them. He answered no to the first, and yes to the second. When it came time for the physical itself, he was asked to provide a sperm sample. He learned five days later that it was impossible for him to have children. They said that his sperm count was such that he was for all ‘intents and purposes,’ sterile. He was upset and did not want to break the news to his wife just yet. He decided he would wait until sometime after their anniversary.

It was another six weeks following their anniversary when his wife broke the news that she was pregnant. He had not yet told her about his test results, and shared in her excitement. His excitement was not quite as enthusiastic as his wife’s, as he was torn between doubt and speculation. Maybe they were wrong, he said to himself. He wanted to believe that. He had to believe that. However, there was still suspicion in the back of his mind.

One morning when he was heading off to one of his classes, prior to work, he decided to delay in hopes of quieting his fears. He kissed his wife goodbye, and said he would see her at dinner. They both finished their day’s work at the same time. He walked out of their small apartment, and down the same sterile looking corridor he did every day. He continued for another minute then he turned to retrace his steps. When he was sure nobody else was in the area, he stepped into a supply room and closed the door until he was just able to see the door to his apartment.

After a few minutes, which seemed much longer being alone in the dark room, he was beginning to feel foolish. “Maybe I should visit the doc again and see if there may have been a mistake,” he said to himself in a low voice.

Then he saw, and heard, someone coming. It was from the opposite direction. He closed the door as far as he could while maintaining a view of his apartment door. It was a coworker of his wife’s. He was a young handsome man about her same age. He stopped and knocked on their apartment door. A moment later, the door was opened and he went inside. A stream of thoughts passed through his mind while not one of them registered in any meaningful way. He was standing in the hallway now not even realizing he had left the security of the storage room. He set down his briefcase, and walked to his door. As he swiped his card to gain entrance, he did not know what to think or what to say. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

The apartment only had two rooms with a small bathroom. They were not in the kitchen-living room. He heard them in the bedroom and the sounds were unmistakable. Without a conscious thought in doing so, he picked up one of the glass and metal lamps off an end table, unplugging it as he did. He walked into the room quietly noticing the young man on top of his wife with his back to him. When he was directly behind him, still unnoticed, he swung the lamp, using both hands, connecting with the back of his skull. The man rolled over onto the bed alongside his wife, stunned by the blow. Before his wife could react in any way, he moved alongside the bed and continued to assault the semi-conscious man until he stopped moving. He was still alive so he grabbed the base of the lamp and stabbed the broken glass end directly into his neck. Blood was all over the bed now as it was obvious he had cut through the man’s carotid artery.

His wife had been screaming for him to stop, reaching for his arms in the process, but he did not take notice until he was finished. When he did, and for reasons he could not at the time explain, this infuriated him even more. He grabbed her by the neck and forced her down into the bed. At first, she was fighting him; kicking and grabbing for his arms to break free from his grip until she eventually lay motionless. He still did not relinquish his hold on her. “Why did you do this to me….why….why?” he said to her repeatedly, shaking her each time he said it.

When he finally let her go, it was obvious that both his wife, and her lover, were dead. He felt nothing, no remorse, no sorrow, no pain, no loss. He was numb. He went into the bathroom and cleaned himself absentmindedly. When he was finished, he walked out of their bedroom not bothering to look at the gruesome scene on the bed. He went to a cupboard and took out a bottle of wine they were saving to celebrate the birth of their baby. He uncorked it, and poured himself a glass. When that was finished, he poured another and dialed the number for security.

?

 Crime could not be tolerated in their closed society. However, there was still a system in place to determine the appropriate punishments. The investigation office of the security forces handled all complaints of theft, assault, destruction of property, and so forth. When their reports were finished, a copy was forwarded to the board of directors who determined the penalties. For minor infractions, anything from extra duty, to a loss of rations could be imposed. For more serious offenses, four cells were maintained in the security force department where people could be confined for a set period. In the most severe cases, individuals were sentenced to banishment. This, in effect, was a death sentence.

There were several tunnels large enough to accommodate foot traffic and small utility vehicles, which lead toward the surface. They varied in direction. One of these was reserved for this purpose, as there was no known surface population in the vicinity. There was a two-door sally port built in the tunnel, with a vacuum, which allowed for the area between them to be pressurized and afforded a measure of protection from the outside.

Inspector Gibbs saw it as his duty to carry out the expulsion. He and his men escorted the man to the sally port, and closed the door behind him. They gave him no supplies of any kind. Once the outer door opened, the man walked through it willingly to accept his fate. The tunnel was cool and the air felt fresh. It was something he had not experienced in the years inside. The tunnel wound its way another thousand yards before he came to its opening. He looked at the horizon noticing the broken clouds in the skies, and several rays of sunlight. The air was warm, and there was a slight breeze. It was beautiful, he thought, but it was also death. This he knew.

He made his way down through the rocky slope, and through the foothills. Even though his life had changed in ways he never expected, and he had done things he could never have imagined doing, he was at peace, not a peace of contentment and tranquility, but a peace of finality.

Several more days passed as he noticed the signs of water depravation. The air was dry, and he no longer produced any sweat. He thought about moving only at night, but it seemed pointless. There were more trees the further he traveled from the mountain, so he knew water was available. He also started seeing telltale signs of animal life. Tracks were visible in the loose ground and an occasional set of bones lay bare. He found a small pool of water in the shade of a large boulder. He used both of his hands, cupped together, to drink his fill. In the process of doing so, he scrapped his right forearm causing a small flow of blood. He ignored this as he slowly drank until he was completely satisfied. He washed and cleaned his cut while drying it with the sleeve of his shirt.

The night was very pleasant, and he was feeling the restorative effects of being re-hydrated. In the morning, he decided he would make a serious attempt to find food, hunting it if necessary. What he did not realize was that there were already hunters in the vicinity, and they, too, were hungry. The trace amounts of blood on his sleeve were as noticeable to a Ravener as smoke from a fire was to a normal human. It did not take them long to locate their prey. Once they did, only the night could hear his screams, as he was eaten alive suffering a death too horrifying even for a nightmare.

FIVE

They met together twice every month. Once, as two thirds of the board of directors meeting, and another time when it was just the two of them. They started this journey together many years before. While they gave the impression of promoting a common goal among those they served, they in fact left nothing to chance and were quite skilled at manipulating matters to develop as they designed. They were approaching one such stage now.

“Have you been able to duplicate the serum Martin,” Frank Bishop asked.

“No. It seems that using genes from live planaria is the only way. Trying to duplicate the results from treated hosts does not have the same affect.”

“How much do you have left?”

“Not enough,” Martin Maddow stated pointedly, “If you want to move forward, I suggest we start now. I will be able to treat one person, as it is, maybe two. But I would like to make sure the first one takes before attempting