Chapter Twenty-Six

A Very Peculiar Type of Numan

 

            It is now February 1, 2057.  The devastation of the civil war, now known as The Numan War,  was greater than the United States of America could recover from right away.  Without a numan class the entire economy had to restructure.   Entire industries collapsed, causing a chain reaction of recession.  Economic depression set in and a lot of burnt buildings remained in disrepair.  Crime and the black market were a part of daily life.  Food shortages were common.  Fresh meat was a luxury.  A new code was established on the street: if you could successfully steal something it was yours.  If you were killed trying to steal, it was on your own head.

            The clones tried to restore order for the first six months after the war.  Their help was appreciated by the U.S. government, at first.  Their superior abilities were very useful in the area of law enforcement and administering aid.  But public opinion, spurred by fear and prejudice, turned against them and they were forced to leave.  The clones, now considered as unwanted refugees from Germany, moved to various countries - whichever would receive them.  Those who accepted them found them to be a rich resource for the economy. The Japanese, especially, who enjoyed the idea of uniformity and took pride in having foreigners as dependant employees, would hire them.  Others found their way to distant, out-of-the-way lands where they could live without persecution.  Their superior strength and intelligence and training were all they needed to survive in even the bitter places of the Earth.

            The Numan Camp was now a rehabilitation center to retrain former numans to live in society with skills capable of sustaining them.  They lived in relative prosperity and security.

            After the standoff with Dr. Lincoln, Peter Purgea’s health deteriorated for several months.  He began to have unexplained frequent episodes of extreme pain.  Jenny thought it was migraine headaches for they would last for hours, but they came far too regularly and predictably for such a malady.  Peter said he felt a burning sensation  throughout his body.  It seemed to Jenny that every evening about 8 PM he would retire to a dark room.  He would give himself a strong dose of Morphine.  Then the misery would begin.  He would suddenly scream with pain for several minutes.  His heart would pound.  Tears would flow from his eyes.  He would writhe on the bed.  It would take the rest of the evening for him to recover.  Peter would always refuse medical examinations, saying only that he would take care of his problem himself.  Then, six months to the day after the episodes began, they just as suddenly ceased.

                       

             Now, a year and a half after his recovery, we find him speaking to the assembled residents of the camp inside of the chapel.

 

            "I appreciate the kind support of all here during my recent prolonged illness.  I believe I have fully recovered.  The pain I have been  getting is subsided.

            “This is the annual report of the Numan Refugee Camp.  To the two hundred campers that still reside here.  Let us be thankful that we are not only intact, but relatively prosperous.  Funding has become more than ample.”  At this message the audience spontaneously applauded.  But Matthew had troubled thoughts.  How could any money be ample in a damaged economy?  Peter would never talk about where the majority of the funds come from specifically.

             “Through our intelligence network we have found that the doctor is pretty much secluded in a hidden sanctuary.  No one has much seen hide nor hair of him.

            “Yes Matthew,” he said, pointing to his old friend who had raised his hand.

            “Sir, we can hardly believe he is idle.  What do you think he’s up to?”

            “It’s hard to tell, Matthew.  But I have a feeling that it might not be too long before we find out.  He’s too ambitious to be sitting on his thumbs.”

            Peter could not have known how true those words were nor how their destinies would intertwine again even more tragically than at first.  At that moment, not more than a hundred miles away, two children, Jed and Harry, were getting into mischief that would forever change his fate.

            “I dare you to do it!” Jed said to his young companion,  “I double dare you!”

            “Nah.  I ain’t going in there!  That place is spooky.  They say the animals gots demons in ‘em!”  The two nine-year-olds stood in front of the cinder-block walls that encompassed the abandoned farm that Dr. Henry Lincoln owned.  The youngsters eyed the twelve-foot obstacle to the object of their heightened curiosity.  “Besides,” Harry said, “I ain’t mind telling you, the place gives me the willies!”

            Jed turned his back to his young buddy.  He looked up into the crisp morning sky and put his right index finger to his temple com and tried to look deep in thought.

            “What you doing?” Harry asked.

            “I’m using my com to research if there has ever been a coward as great as you in all of history!  Let us see.  I’m looking under ‘yellow bellied chickens’.” 

            “I ain’t yellow!” he shouted.  “You take that back!”

            “Ah!  There’s one!”  Jed sent an image to the object of his taunt.  Instantly Harry’s com projected an image onto his brain.  It was a three-dimensional representation of a cartoon chicken running in circles, clucking loudly.

            “I ain’t chicken!” he yelled back at his tormentor.  “I can’t go in there because the wall’s too high!”

            “I can get you over it!”

            “How?”

            Jed pointed toward his shoes.  “I got Keds Impellers on.  They’re strong enough to get us both to the top.  Then you just jump down!”  Jed was referring to the small propulsion device located in the heels of his Keds sneakers designed to enable kids to “run faster, jump higher.”

            Harry stood silently for a second, looking at the shoes, then the top of the wall.  “How - how will I get back up?”

            “I’ll follow you down, then boost you up again!  You going to do it or do I tell everyone you were scared?”

            Harry didn’t speak.  He just walked toward the wall and stood there in compliance.  Jed walked up to him and bear-hugged him.  He then commanded his com to activate his shoes.  Instantly the two were silently lifted to the top of the wall.  The boys quickly regained their balance, then surveyed the enclosure.  Suddenly amazed at what they saw, the young adventurers froze in place at the wonderland image before them.  Too astonished to even think for several seconds, one would find it hard to tell whether it was their eyes or their mouths that hung wider.

            “Harry.  Do you see what I see?” Jed finally said.

            “I don’t know,” he responded.  “What do you see?”

            “I’m not telling.  And neither are you!”

             There was a horse, a cow, a German Shepherd dog, a large grey cat, a chimpanzee and a goat actively running through the pasture, busily engaged in the game of soccer.

            “They aren’t playing soccer,” Harry said.  “We never saw them play soccer.  I never saw them do it and you didn’t either.  Right?”

            “No,” Jed said.  “And I didn’t just see the dog score a goal.”

            “Neither did I,” Harry said.  “Let’s get out of here!”

            The two turned to run, forgetting they were on the top of a wall and fell to the ground, being smarter from the experience.

            Moo, the cow, ran as she kicked the small ball before her.  She used her temple com to transmit a voice message to the stallion.  Instantly, a voice transmission beamed directly into the hefty beast’s brain.  “Bet you can’t beat me to the goal!”

            Immediately a reply was dispatched.  “I don’t have to.  Chimp will keep you from kicking that in.”

            The two raced toward the makeshift goal, which was constructed of two barrels and a canvas sheet.  The cow booted the ball right past the powerless ape.

            “Looks like Chimp was asleep, Silver,” Moo said to the horse.

            “You were just lucky,” he replied.

            They both received a transmission from the chimp.  “I am tired.  Let’s go in to get something from the food service.”

            “I emphatically affirm that notion,” said William, the goat.  “And what is your present desire, Shep?” the goat asked the dog.

            “Yes.  I’m ready to go in for some food.”

            Tam-Julius, the cat, sent the next voice mail.  “Yea, brothers, I can go for it.”

            The animals trekked through the muddy field through the barn door to their auto-feeders, which looked like large metal bins with shafts and a small computer monitor.  Each used his com to activate the device.  Meals automatically dispensed into the several containers.  A digital number on the screens turned from  “27” to “26.”

            “There isn’t much left in these containers,” Tam-Julius said after eyeing the display.  “And the Internet news says the world is in too much chaos.  I don’t think the feed service  is going to refill them.  What are we going to do?”

            “I can eat grass,” Moo said.  “Even though you guys don’t like it, I think it tastes quite good.”

            “Yeah,” replied Tam-Julius.  “But you can forget about me eating raw mice!  That’s gross!”

            “You might have to,” said Shep.   “Your body is designed for it.  Felines are hunters and . . .”

            “You ain’t gotta remind me,” Tam-Julius replied.  “My body is as ready as it’s going to be, but my mind is human.  I ain’t gonna eat raw food and that is that!”

            “Well,” Chimp offered.  “I can catch them in traps and cook them for you.  I can even clean them out first.  You can have cooked mouse meat.”

            “What about that?” Moo asked.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Tam-Julius retorted.  “And why don’t you stir in some squid legs to spice it up a little.  And maybe some turtle guts?”

            “I get your point,” Moo replied.

            “Sometimes I wish we weren’t freaks of nature,” William said wistfully.  “It’s so hard to have this dichotomy of existence.”

            “'Dichotomy of existence,’” Moo mocked.  “Did you hear that?  Such high-sounding words.  Why don’t you start talking plainly like the rest of us, billy goat?”

            “Need I remind you, dear bovine,” came the answer, “that, due to his unfathomable grotesque experimentation with genetic manipulation, we are not only hybrids of animals with the genetic brain pattern of the prestigious, but insane, Dr. Henry Lincoln, and not only do we have his super-genius IQ, but that we also have . . . “

            “Will you get on with it, William?” Chimp broke in.

            “I can’t see why any of you won’t let me finish iterating a single thought without being interrupted,” he replied.

            “It should be easy for a genius like you to figure,” Shep said.  “Your train of thought is ten kilometers long on a track that is half the distance.”

            At this, all the animals simultaneously sent out sounds of laughter to the goat.

            William responded, “All of this garrulous prattling won’t render us a single iota of extra sustenance.  What are we to do?”

            “I figured that out a long time ago,” Silver interjected.  “All we have to do is to get out of this enclosure.”

            “No duh,” came the reply from several sources.

            “And how do we go through the electrified gate?  One touch and I’m a beefsteak,” Moo said.

            “It isn’t all that difficult,” the Silver replied.  “We simply breach one of the walls that surround the camp.”

            “Breach the wall?  How?” Chimp asked.

            “Using what Lincoln gave us,” came the reply.  Silver’s voice showed a tad bit of impatience.  “Don’t you know that our coms are good for more than accessing files on the Internet and communicating between us?”

            “What are you talking about?” Chimp asked.  “Our coms aren’t sophisticated enough to do anything else.”

            “Not so.  Our coms are the same as the ones the humans use.  We just have been lacking the understanding to make them do more.”

            At this, all the animals stopped eating and gave their full attention to Silver.  “You see,” he continued.  “I have often figured that we haven’t been getting all we can out of our coms.  I asked myself the obvious question that if we could send messages to each other, why not to the humans outside?  And if we can transmit outside, why couldn’t we manipulate the world around us?”

            “Superb idea,” William exclaimed.  “I should have considered the possibility myself.  Tell us more.  How do we circumvent the restrictions imposed on our coms?”

            “We get around the problem,” Silver replied, “by accessing the Internet to find out all we can about coms.  If you research enough, you’ll find that we just have to choose the right options in the configuration dialogs.  Now I want you all to choose the keywords CONFIGURE MODEM.”  The animals responded quickly.  “Now choose option four.  Now, you see where there is a rectangle at the bottom of the virtual screen?  We didn’t know this before, but you can enter information directly into that box by pushing the enter icon while holding down the virtual ALT key.  Has everyone done it?”

            “Yes,” came the several replies.

            “Now enter in this sequence:  N-A-M-U-N.  That’s “numan” spelled backwards.  Now close your screen and that is that!”

            “That’s all it takes?” William said.  “By George, how did you find out?”

            “I just researched it every night before going to sleep,” the steed replied.  “It took about two weeks, but I finally found someone in a chat room, just last night, talking about it.  I just listened in.  When I reconfigured my modem I was able to join in the discussion.  I even gave myself a new name, ‘Mr. Ed.’”

            The group laughed at the little joke.

            “So,” William continued, “how do we use this to our advantage?”

            “I suggest you ask yourself, William.  You taught yourself how to hack computers, didn’t you?  Now that you have access to the world, you can apply your craft.”

            “Apply my craft?  To what end?”

            “To order a demolition crew to destroy the fence, of course!”

            All of the animals paused to think about the new turn of events.  “By George!” William declared.  “I suppose it is possible.  But let me ask you, what do you suppose we’ll see on the other side of the wall?  Are we sure there will be food out there?  What if there’s danger?”

            “It’s been two years since we’ve been out there,” Silver replied.  “All we know of the world comes from broadcasts.  But one thing is for sure.  We’ve been in here and there is very little food left.  And we know through examining the news sites that there is a lot of chaos out there.  Yes, there will be danger - especially for animals.”

            “And especially beef,” Moo said.

            “Oh, they’ll eat horses too, my old friend,” Silver replied sullenly.  “And goats.  We really should call the Numan Refuge.  They will help us for sure.  They’ll free us in a heartbeat.”

            “That’s a good idea,” Chimp added.  “I wonder what their address is on the net.  --  Wait!  What’s that noise?”

            At that moment the group of animals  heard a loud, high-pitched whine coming from the direction of the front gate.

            “It’s weapons fire,” William said.  “We’re doomed!”

            Outside, several members of a small family were up to mischief.  “Fire again, Gabe,” the elderly woman called to her husband.  Mrs. Ramona Calleb stood, gazing, with thoughts of roast goat in her mind.  “Them animals is just what we need right now.  Fresh meat and all the milk we can drink!”

            Standing beside her was her son, Jed, who had a bruise on his left arm from his recent fall.

            “Those animals ain’t natural!” he screamed.  “Theys gots demons in ‘em!”

            “Hush your mouth,” his daddy yelled back, “afore you get another whoopin’.”   Gabe Calleb aimed his particle beam weapon at the front gate.  He used his com to activate the device.  An intermittent, almost invisible beam emitted from the front end of the rifle doing significant damage to the target.   The gate’s energy field deactivated and the bars were partially sliced.   The virtual computer display before him flashed a warning.  LOW CELL.  “Dang!  It’s almost out of juice.  We should have recharged it before coming.”

            “C’ain’t,” the boy said.  “Power’s out at our house.”

            The man swung around.  “If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it!”  He turned again to the gate.  “You stay right here!” he commanded the gate.  “I’ll be back for you.  When I am, you’d better watch out ‘cause I’m going to blast you down with my granddaddy’s shot gun.”

            The three hurried back to their land craft and sped away.

            William broke the silence in the enclosure.  “They almost destroyed the security on the door.”  He led the group to the battered barrier.  “It doesn’t look nearly as dangerous as it was before.”

            “You want to be the first one to touch it, be my guest,” Silver said.

            “It is not within the parameters of my cognitions,” he said.

            “You and your words,” Shep responded.  “Why don’t you just say you don’t want to do it?”

            “I’ll try it out,” Silver said.  “I’m the bulkiest and strongest amongst us.  I will test it with my hoof.  After all, my hoof has no feeling and conducts electricity poorly.”

            “No,” Shep quickly objected.  “I will take a long stick in my mouth and touch the end of it to the wires.”

            Just then Chimp grabbed a rock and tossed it at the gate.  The gate sparked a bit, then started to smoke.  A few more crackles and flames emitted from the barrier.  After just a few more seconds it petered out.  The energy which surged through the entrance was now gone.

            Chimp stood before them, triumphant.  “I always say, less talk and more action.  You are better off trying many things, seeing which will work and then building on your experience.  All your discussion isn’t worth a second of spontaneous experimentation.”

            “You lucked out this time, Chimp,” William said.  “Silver’s idea could have gotten him a severe shock.”

            No more was said about the subject.  Silver slowly walked right up to the gate, turned around, then used his powerful hind legs to kick.  The gate buckled.  Another push and the gate opened wide.

            “We’re free!” Chimp shouted, then stood silent, solemn.  The animals stood shoulder to shoulder and gazed at the scene before them.  Everywhere they looked, in all directions, were the remains of burnt trees and foliage.  The ground was covered with dirty, moist soot.  A decaying  road ran parallel to the farmyard’s gate. 

            “We’ve gone from the partical-wave oven into the waste disintegrator,” William commented dismally.  “No wonder no human came by our farm.  Who would want to come into a waste land?”

            “We may find that the farm is a far safer place than the exterior world.  At least we have a few more weeks of food and shelter from hunters.”

            “Not so,” Silver said.  “The hillbillies who damaged the gate will be back to make dinner out of us.  I think we’d better do something quickly.”

            “What do you suggest?” Chimp asked.

            “I know,” William suggested.  “Now that we have the ability to use the full Internet, we can contact the Numan Refuge.  It can’t be far from here.”

            “Be my guest,” Silver said.

            William sent an email.  “To the Numan Camp.  My name is William.  I have several friends with me: Silver, Chimp, Shep, Moo and Tam-Julius.  We are in danger of being killed by humans.  We request immediate transport to the refuge for safety.”

            Within seconds William’s virtual display relayed a printed message.  “This is the Numan Refuge.  The Civil War is over.  It ended two years ago.  You are not in danger of being killed.  You can travel freely to our camp.”

            William replied.  “Not so.  We are in severe danger.  You will understand when you get here.  For, no matter what the law states, I doubt that could ever be considered to be human.”

            In Camp Numan, Peter had just finished his debriefing and snacks were served to the hungry group.  Matthew was eating an emergency ration biscuit.  “Jenny,” he said to his mentor, “when do you think we can get some real food?  I’m going to die if I have to eat more of these crackers.”

            “I hate them too.  Right now that is all that money can buy. But we have to deal with . . .  Just a second.  Matthew, did you receive that message?”

            “Yes.  I’m getting it now.  I am required to go to the war room.  You coming?”

            “I wouldn’t miss it.”

            The two rushed toward the war room.  Matthew got there first. 

            “What’s up Kenny?” he asked his friend who manned the main communications center.  “We’re getting a strange SOS.  It’s weird.  It’s from some guy named William.  He says he’s a numan but won’t believe me when I say the law was changed two years ago.”

            “Let me talk to him,” Matthew said.  “Hello.  William?  This is Matthew.  Are you there?”

            “I’m here.  My friends and I are in great danger.  We need to seek refuge at your farm.”

            “But you aren’t in danger anymore.  The killing has stopped.  Everyone is human now.”

            “No.  Not us.  We are not human.  We’ll be killed.”

            “Are you clones?  Is that why you are scared?”

            “No, not clones, at least not the way you mean.”

            “Then what?  What can I do to persuade you you’re safe?”

            “Please.  Send a transport.  There are six of us.  We’ll need a bus - a large one.  You see, most of us are much larger than the normal person.  We need a cargo transport if you have one.”

            “Extra large yet not soldier clones?”  Matthew smiled at this.  He thought of having to transport several obese people.  “Please, for the record, tell me your names.  I’ll send a transport.”

            “My name is William.  My friends are  Silver, Chimp, Shep, Tam-Julius and Moo.”

            “What did you say?” Matthew said in astonishment.  Then he said to Jenny.  “I think we have a situation here.”

            “What are you talking about, Matthew?”

            “Those names are familiar.  Silver, Moo, Shep, Chimp, Tam-Julius, William.  I know the names.”

            “Were they numans with you at the doctor’s mansion?”

            “No.  But you remember Feeder?  The one who was rescued with me when I was eleven?   He took care of them.  Also, I learned about them years ago when we hacked into the computer.   I just didn’t tell you about them.”

            “What do you mean?  Who are they?  Why the hell did you keep something like this from me?”

            Matthew didn’t answer.  Instead, he talked to William.  “Don’t worry.  I’m coming personally.  I’m bringing the largest transport craft we have. Sit tight.  We’ll be there in minutes.

            “Thank God,” William responded.  “Please hurry.  We’re exposed and there are those who wish to destroy us.”

            Matthew turned to run to the transport.

            “What the deal, Matthew?” Peter asked.

            “Don’t worry Jenny,” Matthew replied.  “You’ll understand soon.  It’s just a short trip. If what I think is true, you’re in for the surprise of your life.”

            "Matthew!  Don’t leave me hanging.  Tell me what’s up!”

            Too late.  Matthew was out the door and to the transport.  He ordered the sleek vehicle to open its door.  The black, bus-like flyer became airborne as it obeyed the mental directions of its pilot.  It quickly accelerated to three hundred miles an hour.  Within minutes it was hovering over the coordinates of the animal farm.  Seconds later, it soft-landed on the muddy road below it.  Beside the road stood six animals who quickly walked toward the rear of the vehicle.

            “Hop in!” Matthew called out.  The rear door opened, welcoming the beasts to climb on board.

            “Welcome,” the pilot said as his transport once again took flight.  “My name is Matthew.”

            “And mine is William,” the goat replied.  “But I don’t suppose you expected me to be able to answer you.”

            “Yes, actually I did.  I guess I know you all, in a way.  I heard a lot about you from a young numan named ‘Feeder.’”

            “Feeder!” Moo shouted.  “Is he still alive?”

            “We were rescued when we were eleven.  He was too bad off and was sent to another camp two days later to treat him for infection.  I never heard from him again.”

            At this the animals bowed their head.  Tam-Julius spoke next in a pensive tone.  “Poor Feeder.  He served us well.  We couldn’t talk to him with voice transmissions.  Still, he knew we weren’t just like the other animals.”

            “Yes.  Poor Feeder,” they all agreed.

            A lump grew in Matthew’s throat as he remembered his old friend.  “He was a true buddy,” Matthew said.