Chapter Thirty Three

George Feder and the Second Tenet of Matthewism

 

            A small craft speeds through the upper atmosphere at nine-hundred-and-fifty kilometers per hour. It’s single occupant, former numan George Feder, races across the United States to meet an old friend.  For three hours the determined young man piloted his vessel toward the Numan Refuge in La Plata Maryland.

            “Got to get there,” he said to himself.  He took the transport off auto-pilot and pushed the throttle forward to add another one -hundred-and-fifty KPH to his speed.  He looked at his chronometer.  The seconds ticked off.

            “Warning,” the computer voice announced.  “This craft is exceeding its maximum tolerance.  Reduce speed immediately to avoid nullifying the manufacturer’s warranty.”

            George pushed the throttle further still, carefully monitoring the gauges before him.  “Just a little further,” he said to himself.  Another signal from the computer: “Automatic controls are initiating.  Reducing speed to nine hundred fifty KPH.”

            “Override,” he ordered.  He looked at the clock again.  “Damn!”

            “Override in progress,” it responded.  “Sensors indicate government monitoring.  Automatic fines are now imposed.  Your account is being charged one thousand seven hundred dollars.  Government override is now in progress.  Reducing speed.  Automatic notification of this incident has been sent to the car’s manufacturer.  Your warranty is now void.  Your insurance company has been notified.”

            “Damn it,” he said.  “Auto-pilot off,” he ordered.

            “Contact local authorities for a password to disable your auto-pilot.”  Immediately his vessel adjusted its course.  His altitude decreased.

            “Damn it!  Status!  Status!”

            “ETA in two minutes and thirty seconds,” it said.  His speed slowed to three hundred KPH, then to two hundred.  George stared at the readout that monitored his distance to the Numan Camp.

            “Come on,” he said.  “Come on!”  He nervously watched the meter.   “I have less than two minutes.”  His heart pounded violently.  His stomach twisted in anticipation of what would happen should he be late.  “Computer ETA!”  He openly cried.

            “One minute and ten seconds,” it said.

            “Damn it.  It’s cutting it too close!”  The frantic man nervously watched his course, powerless to improve his plight.

            Finally the Numan Refuge was in sight.  George felt calmer as the landing sequence began.  The craft slowly descended a few dozen yards away from the farmhouse.  “Made it!” he said as he watched his timer, but that was too optimistic.  As the timer reached zero his body was suddenly jolted by the burning.  Fiery sensations covered his body.  His gut-busting scream was tremendous but he didn’t hear it for the pain he was experiencing. His flailing arms pounded the sides of the cockpit.  Three seconds passed when the fire finally stopped.  Only then did George hear himself scream over and over again.

            Heaving great sobs, and shaking, he fumbled for a button on the dashboard.  Opening a small compartment he managed, though with jittering arms, to reach in for a syringe.  Pressing it to his neck, he actuated the pain-relieving device.  Instantly, George’s nerves steadied and his panting came under control.  He stopped crying and grabbed a tissue from his pocket to wipe his nose and eyes.  “I did my best, doctor,” he said into the empty air.    “Damn you.  It wasn’t my fault.  It wasn’t my fault!”

            “No mercy for numans,” came The Doctor’s reply into his com.  “You knew the consequences for failure.  You will not fail me again.  Next time leave earlier!  Get there on time!”

            He cried in great heaves.  “Yes sir,” he bawled.

            “And the next time you use the word ‘damn’ in reference to me you will receive another  punishment!”

            “Yes sir!”

            “Stop crying.  Crying is for inferiors.  Now get out and don’t make another mistake.”  I’m giving you only one hour to get here with the blood.”

            George Feder opened his cockpit.  He tried but failed to control his shaking muscles.  He used precious seconds for his drug to take effect.  Standing in front of him were Henry and Joyce.  Each had a particle beam rifle in hand.  He meekly climbed out and stood between them and his craft.

            “State your business,” Joyce ordered.  “Why did you land?  This camp is quarantined.  You must leave at once.”  Although she was stern in word, she pitied the man for his obviouse distress.  Feder looked like he had just come from a torture chamber.  Sweat flowed down his body in such quantity that it began to pool on the ground under him.

            “I can’t leave,” he said.  He looked at Henry.  “Dr. Lincoln?  I am confused.  You look like Dr. Lincoln yet I know you can’t be.”

            “That is not your concern,” he said. “What are you doing here, and who sent you?  And what’s wrong with you?”

            “I have to talk to Matthew,” he said with wavering voice.  “I am a resident of the numan camp in California.  I have an urgent message.”

            “That doesn’t make sense,” Joyce said.  “Normally people mail us in advance and then request permission to land.  You come in here like a hot rocket unannounced.  We have enemies.  Who are you and who sent you?”

            “Please.  I just have to talk to Jenny. She might be able to recognize me.  I can explain everything to her.”

            “She can’t come.  She is ill.”

            “But your broadcast over the numan site, I heard it.  She’s transformed but she is alive.  Can’t I see her?”

            “Just a second,” Henry said.  “I just got a message from Jenny.  She says you can come in, but be warned.  You are in an armed camp.  No aggression can be tolerated.”

            “I’m just one frail unarmed man.  I’m harmless.”

            In the stable Matthew and Jenny have a private talk.  “Who is this guy, Jenny?”

            “I don’t know.  I’m as surprised as you are.  But doesn’t he look familiar?  Look at him.  Is that who I think it is?  Is that Feeder?  Could it be?”

            “I’ve know a lot of numan named ‘Feeder.’  It’s a pretty common name, just like ‘Washer.’”

            “But he looks like the boy that was rescued with you at the same time you were.”

            “But that’s impossible.  I thought he was dead.  Are you saying he’s alive?” Matthew said. “ Maybe the doctor has been controlling Feeder like he was Peter.  The doctor often uses people he lets escape.  Let’s see what he wants and where his loyalties lie.”

            George, Henry and Joyce entered the stall.  The two transforms stood motionlessly as the familiar refugee approached them.  He stood silent before them, stunned and fearful as he looked at the grotesque malformations.  “So it is as you say,” he said.  “You are turned into apes.”

            “Yes, we are,” Matthew said. “Does it frighten you?”

            “Respectfully, sir, you would frighten anyone.”  He paused to examine the mammoths before him.  He turned to Matthew.  “But it seems as though you are balding.”

            “If you have been keeping up with the numan web site you’ll know that I am in remission and so is Jenny.”

            “Jenny?  Is that really you under all that fur?”

            “Yes, Feeder.  It is.”

            “Then you know who I am, Washer?  It’s me, Feeder.  I wasn’t allowed to tell you I’m alive. . .”

            “It’s good to see you again, old friend.  I am glad you survived.  Up till a minute ago I assumed you had died.  How are your feet?”

            “I still can’t run and I wear special shoes.  At first I thought you had died too, Washer.  I realized you had survived only by seeing you on the web site.  I wanted to write but I wasn’t allowed to.”

            “So why are you here?”

            “The doctor has put the same implant in me that he had in Peter and in you all.  He is controlling me right now.  Everything we say is being monitored by him.  I have to do his bidding or I get punished by the burning.”

            “Look, I sympathize with you.  We all feel the doctor’s influence on our lives.  But that makes you a threat.  What do you want?” Matthew demanded.  “What does the doctor want?”

            “You know what he wants.  He needs your blood.”

            “Why?  So that he can inoculate himself then infect the world?  You know I can’t give him my blood.”

            “He’ll get it one way or the other Washer.”

            “Look.  You don’t have to be under his control.  We can get rid of your implant.”

            “I don’t know what you all did for yourselves but it won’t work with me.  He told me this morning that he reprogrammed mine to kill me at the first instant of disruption.  If my com went down for any reason I’d be dead before I hit the ground.”

            “This is too important, Feeder,” Matthew said.  “If he gets my blood then nothing will stop him.”

            “Your remedies will stop him, Washer.  The two that Peter Purgea created are able to stop the disease.”

            “Then why should I give him my blood?”

            “Because if you don’t he’s going to infect the world with deadly designer viruses that will decimate the world.”

            “But why?” Jenny asked.

            “Because, Jenny,” Matthew said, “He needs my blood.  I don’t know why, but he still needs it.  First he’ll inject it into himself, then replicate it for injection into others.   And . . .”  he paused to consider his next words, “. . . and I will give it to him if it means saving millions of people.  I know he is quite capable of fulfilling his threat.  He has us checkmated.”

            “No!” Jenny said.  “You can’t!”

            “Jenny.  Yes I do.  We must be responsible.  Jenny, you know where the equipment is.  Would you get it for me?”

            “Are you sure Matthew?  Is it just that simple for him to get your blood?”

            “Jenny,” he said as he turned to face her eye to eye.  “There is nothing that pains me more than giving him anything.  But right now he has the upper hand.  He may win this battle but we will win the war.”

            “That’s right, Washer,” George said.  “He uses us all.  I can’t resist him.  So for my sake, please give me the blood now.  He has given me no more than fifty more minutes to get your blood before he turns on the fire again.  And it will stay on until the blood is in the vessel and I’m on my way.  I can’t be late and we’re using up valuable minutes.”

            “It looks like you just came through a punishment.  Is that right?”  George didn’t have to answer.  His grimace said it all.  “That makes it the more urgent,” Matthew said.  “Come with me.  I’ll set up the equipment myself.”

            The others watched as Matthew quickly took out a container for his blood.  He quickly opened a sterile set of equipment and inserted it into the same spot he used to transfuse blood to Jenny.  I have to leave for a minute.   I’ll be right back,” he said.  He left quickly to go into the lab.  He rejoined the others and sat at his place.   He quickly started to fill the container with his blood.  “How much will he need?”

            “Six quarts,” he said.  “No less.”

            Matthew looked up, startled.  Then he resumed.  “Six full courts, huh?  That’s a lot.  But that should be no problem,” Matthew said.  “Not for a beast of my size.”  The precious crimson liquid quickly filled the container.   All stood around silently. When it was done he closed it with a seal, put it into a protective box then handed it to George.  “Now quickly go before your time is up.”

            The young man took the container and raced toward his craft.  Its startup sequence began on his way to it.

            “Bye, Feeder,” Matthew called to his childhood friend.  Feeder didn’t respond.  The door opened for him.  He quickly entered. Instantly, it rose from the ground and soared into the air.  Matthew and Jenny watched it disappear into the distance.

            “Why do you think Peter kept Feeder a secret?” he asked.

            “We lost track of Feeder.  I don’t even know if Peter knew.  It was a surprise to me too.”

            “The Doctor seems to have had Feeder under control from the beginning.  It seems that life is just full of too many twists.  We can’t believe anything for sure.  How many lies?  Who can I trust?  What can I trust?  Where is honesty and truth?  Within the last few days my whole world has been turned upside-down.”

            “I’m sure it has.  For instance, just now you voluntarily gave your blood to the Doctor.”

            “Yes. I did.  But it isn’t that important.  The doctor’s resources are depleted.  He’s getting weaker by the day.  As far as I’m concerned the world has a great head start on a cure for his genetic disease so they won’t need my blood.  He’s not that powerful after all.”

            “But you gave him your blood.”

            “Yes.  And I still have mine.  I’ll use my own blood to make the inoculate that will further help the world.  Look at you!  Look at your arms.  You’re already showing signs of reverting.”

            Jenny looked at her arm.  Already it was shedding its fur.  She pulled some out to reveal bare patches on her arm.

            “Who knows, maybe it will enable us to fight off a lot of diseases.  I just know that my blood can only help people, not hurt them.  And I know it is stronger now than ever before.  And if I am the only source of it, I can control its distribution.”

            “But what you said about the doctor replicating its curative qualities?”

            “So much the better.  I’ll make sure that I replicate it too.  I’ll make it so common that he has no control over it.  Can’t you see?  Logically the doctor has failed.  With the death of Peter, and our understanding that we aren’t contagious, his plans were also dealt a death blow.”

            “Unless he plans to destroy you,” a voice said.  Malcolm had now entered the room. “(I couldn’t help but hear.)  Then the balance will tip into his favor.”

            “He’s right,” Matthew.  “Giving him blood was a tactical error.  Now he has what he wants and he’ll kill you.  You knew that.  Why did you give him the blood?”

            “He’s right, Matthew.  You were valuable to him until you have him your blood.  Now what’s to keep him from attacking you?”

            Matthew smirked.  “Well, maybe I did make a mistake.  Maybe this reverting back to human has dulled my senses.  My hormonal imbalance confuses me.”

            “Or maybe you have a plan,” Malcolm said.  “A plan you aren’t sharing with us.  Come on.  Come clean.  Tell us what you are up to.”

 

            Meanwhile, Feeder pressed his vessel to the limit.  At maximum speed, the distance from Maryland to Cuba was a short trip.  In his private office, a jubilant Dr. Lincoln holds a vial of liquid that is more precious to him than gold.  “You got it Feeder!  You got it!”

            “Yes.  It is yours, sir.”

            The doctor wasted no time.  He turned and strode to his laboratory just a few doors away. Feeder, as an obedient servant, was at his side.  He put the vial into a small machine that rested on a lab table and turned it on.  The machine whirred.  A monitor attached to it output its progress.

            “You did well, Feeder,” he said.  “In just a few minutes the blood will be processed.  Then you will help me to inject it into my veins.”

            “Yes sir,” he said.

            George helped his ailing master to prepare his arm to receive the vital blood serum.  They waited anxious minutes for the processor to finish its work.  Soon a red light alerted them that the process was completed. 

            “Now take the vial from the machine,” he ordered.  George complied. 

            “Attach it to the IV.  Do it quickly.”  Again, George complied.  Soon the life-giving medicine coursed through the Doctor’s veins.

            “That’s it!” he smiled.  “That’s it!  It’s done.  That is all I’ll need.”

            “Yes Doctor,” he said.  George carefully removed the needle from the doctor’s arm.

            “Now get out of my sight.  Go back to California.  I’ll call you when I need you.  Go on.  Get out of here!  I have work to do.”

 

            “So what’s your plan?” Malcolm asked Matthew.

            “Who says I have one?” Matthew said.   But the sound of his voice was somber and unconvincing.  A tear welled up in his eye.  “I gave the doctor what he wanted.  That’s all. Maybe I don’t want the murders of millions of people on my conscience.”

            “If that is true, he will use that threat over an over until he completely controls you and the rest of us.  You know you can’t yield to black mail.”

            “You can when he threatens millions.”

            “But the government can handle this.  It is not your responsibility!” Jenny said.

            “It would be if it occurred because I withheld my blood or was too afraid to die to prevent the slaughter of millions.”

            “But you do have something in mind, don’t you?” Malcolm asked.

            “Will you please stop asking me?” he pleaded.  “It was a logical thing to do all by itself.”

            “No,” Jenny said.  “It empowers him.  You don’t know what is happening.  Maybe it will keep him alive and replenish his wealth.  It was the wrong decision.”

            “But it was mine to make.  The killing must stop.  Don’t tell me that you two have forgotten the value of human life.  Malcolm, you aren’t human. Do you understand human agony and the terror of a man-made disease?  And you, Jenny, who taught me what it means to be human. Do you forget that we can’t just let millions die?  Are we playing God here? And as far as the doctor is concerned: My blood won’t do what he wants it to.”

            “I knew it!  You did have an angle,”  Jenny said.  “Tell us why not?”

            “Because,” he said, now with a choke in his voice, “because it won’t.”

            His obvious distress now turned into a deep welling of emotion.  “The only way I knew how to stop the doctor was to inject myself with a poison.  It was serum you had created to stop our transformation but was found to be too toxic to use.  It’s nature makes it a poison that he is unlikely to detect.  When he processes my blood, its volume  will decrease by eighty percent.  It will concentrate the poison.  Right now he is probably feeling the effects of what he injected into his system.”

            “Oh, Matthew!” Jenny said.  “Are you saying you are dying too?”

            “No.  No.  I am not.  Remember, we as apes are stronger than humans and the poison is too diluted.  The doctor doesn’t have the benefit of our strength or stamina.  He is old, frail.  He is weakened by cancer and chemotherapy.  He’ll take a concentrated form after having run it through his centrifuge.  I’ll be sick for a while, but in his state of ill health, he will not recover.”

            “Matthew, I shared your blood.”

            “Not after I injected the poison into my system.  You are safe.  After the poison has run its course, I will be safe also.”  After a long pause Matthew said, “This was the only way.  Give him my blood on my terms.  That was his only weakness.”

            “Matthew,” Malcolm said.  “You spontaneously aborted him?”

            “I killed an enemy, a very dangerous murderer who was a continuing threat to the existence of everyone on the face of the Earth.”

            Shep and Chimp now entered the room.  “We’re through with our shift monitoring the Internet, Matthew.  Is it true what we just heard as we came to the room?  You poisoned the doctor with your blood?”

            “I did,” he said as his voice cracked.

            “Why are your crying? Matthew, why are you crying?” Chimp asked.

            “Because of something that Father Janis said.  I always aspired to be above mere human. I didn’t want to take part in the killing.  But as it is, I did not love my enemy,” he said.  “I am still only human.  I am just like all the other humans on Earth.  I have not evolved above that.”

 

            Hence, the second tenet of Matthewism is defined.  “A human is always human and can never hope to be more than human.”

 

            Back in Cuba, the weary and frail Dr. Lincoln sat uncomfortably in his chair.  Vomit covered the floor near him.  The putrid smell permeated the lush office.  His thin arms tremorred.   What’s happening?” he said weakly.  “The serum is taking too long to work.  Too weak.  Sleepy. Must do the will of my father.”

            He gazed at his father’s picture.  Its mouth turned into a sneer.  “You always were a disappointment, Henry,” it said.  “You are pathetic. You killed your mother, you killed me.  You tried to make amends by destroying numans and became a numan yourself!  You deserve a beating for this!   Get my rod.  You know where I keep it!”

            Instead, he began to recite a prayer of appeasement, “My Father in hell.  Hollow is your name.  Your kingdom come.  Your will be done! Your will be done!  Your will be done!”

            The once-powerful doctor sat limp in his chair; old, in pain, frail, hated and totally alone.  His life’s strength quickly ebbed away.  “I have to get up,” he said faintly.  “I have to order Matthew’s death, put a bounty.”  He could not concentrate enough to send an mail to his associates to carry out his plan.  “Got to spread the disease.”  His breathing became shallower, then labored.  “Have to rest.  Feel better tomorrow. The doctor’s eyes closed. With each breath he became weaker.  Finally, his lungs refused altogether to do their vital work.