“Give me a chance to get my bearings.” I sniffed, staring at the trees. It was a lot different during the day and the forest must be dozens of square kilometers. My nose wasn’t that good. But I couldn’t let them down.
Why was this so—Wait! I recognize this stump. I tripped on it last night. Closing my eyes, I turned. “Here. This way!” I flew down the path before someone yelled, and had to pause to let the others catch up.
An hour later, we walked into the still clearing. “This is it,” I whispered as if my voice might bring the beast back. But where was Bruce? Running to the spot where he had lain, I sniffed. What happened? “He was here. See the blood on the grass?”
Mr. C and Mr. Ilt tiptoed over and knelt beside me.
“Bastard came back, I guess,” Mr. C said, eyes clouded, face drawn.
From off to the side, Roderik said, “There’s something over here! Looks like drag marks.”
Sure enough, specks of crimson littered the ground, the grass flattened in the most unnatural way. The huge dog had been dragged. What could do that?
Mr. Ilt patted his son’s shoulder. “Boys, stay sharp. It might be nearby.”
We all froze, our eyes flicking to the foreboding trees. Was it out there?
“I don’t hear anything,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. Everyone knew my ears were some of the best in town, and didn’t comment as I led on.
Thirty minutes later, we found the body, the rotting scent growing stronger and more sickening with every step. We cleared the undergrowth and saw Bruce, what was left of him at least.
Everyone recoiled and Mr. C let out a gasp, his face contorting. It was awful. Half the hindquarters and a large portion of the torso were gone. Flies buzzed everywhere, making it impossible to think straight.
No one dared mention the six claw marks.
For once, my nose let me down. We couldn’t find a trail. No footprints, no scents, nada.
After a while, Mr. Ilt said we should head home.
Roderik tried to protest, but his dad said, “Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Besides, there’s enough pain and suffering for us animotes as it is. No point getting killed out here and making things easier for the elites.” He gave Mr. C a knowing look.
Mr. C nodded. “We may not have a vote, but we have numbers. One day things will be better.” His voice trailed off, a distant, sad look in his eyes I’d seen many times before, one all animotes knew too well: frustration, sadness, a scarce hope.
Heading back, my mind wandered. It had been like this since The Experiments. At least that’s what people said. In those days, humanity was united—not as a civilization—but as a species at least. All the races could even breed together! I couldn’t wrap my head around that.
Something made me jump, and I clutched my knife. It had been Grandpa’s before those drunk cynetic cyborgs blasted him. He died a few years back, a rough patch between animotes and the GDR. I was too little to remember him.
Before I knew it, we were home.
The door opened and Mom’s voice jolted me. “Raek, are you okay, baby? You’re shaking.” Her strong arms enveloped me in a warm, better-than-anything embrace. “It’s okay. You’re home now. You’re safe,” she added, her voice soft and soothing. “Can I get you some cocoa? Vynce? What happened?”
“We’re fine, Mom. Raek’s shaken up, that’s all. We found Bruce. The beast got him again. Raek was right: six claw marks.” Vynce let that sink in.
“I’m fine, Mom.” I wasn’t, but had to be a man and put on a brave face, collapsing on the grungy blue couch in the corner. “I was thinking about Grandpa.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Your Grandpa was a brave man, and a fool. He stood up for what he believed in but he never should have gotten involved.” She shook her head. “He was always trying to fix the world. But sometimes, baby, you can’t. You boys remember that. Keep your heads down, don’t cause trouble.” Her eyes bore into me. “I lost my daddy already, and your father disappeared too. We have a good life here. I worked hard to give you kids a good life. Don’t you dare throw that away.”
“We know, Mom,” we answered in unison, rolling our eyes as she looked away. We’d heard this speech a million times. Most town kids had. The GDR was notorious for its extreme punishment. Dissent was discouraged at all costs. Rebellions were bad for business, especially for enhancers and cynetics. Emulates were less worried. When you lived forever and could change bodies, nothing mattered. They’d win either way, and profit, regardless what happened.
But cynetics and enhancers didn’t have that luxury, hence the rivalry.
Mom saddled me with dinner duty, and I hated cooking. It smelled like meatloaf. “Always meatloaf.”
“Be glad we have any meat this month,” she said. “They raised land rents, again. The kids at the Center would kill for meat, even loaf.”
That was the worst part about Mom’s job—not long hours or low pay—but always hearing about the animote kids at the Center. “You should be thankful…” Always some variation of that.
At school the next day, Vynce and I were rock stars. Everyone stared as we passed. Even teachers talked behind our backs. They must have heard what happened. I hated the attention, but Vynce was in his glory. I heard him recounting what happened at least three times. The guys clung to his every word, groaning and wincing and high-fiving at the gory details while girls shrieked. One girl actually squealed. Pigish of course, a bit plump with light pink skin and a snout of a nose. Rumor was she had a tail, but I’d never seen it. Probably a rumor.
My band buzzed as I got into class. It was GDR-issued, made for school and monitoring. All of ours were. We could never afford them otherwise. The teachers used them to measure engagement, tracking: heart rate, blood pressure, movement, stress levels—all our basic biomarkers to see how lessons affected us.
Professor Fitz sat, folding his tall, athletic body into the mass-produced chair. “Did you finish your assignments?” He set the tiny black briefcase on the cheap linoleum and leaned back, an amused look on his striped face as his silver eyes surveyed us with a warm smile. “Bring them to my desk and I’ll pick two of you to present.”
That was the one annoying thing about Professor Fitz, he liked paper copies for some reason. Printing was a pain. Who used paper?
I walked to the front, carrying my printout and hurried back to my seat.
Don’t be me, don’t be me.
“Raek, will you go first?”
Really? I shuffled back to the front of the forty-student room, stomach doing flips as I fought to stay calm. Pointing to my project, I waved my wrist toward the floating screen by the wall. My band registered, and my project appeared.
They were all looking at me. I stared at the ground. “I decided to research the first space micro-colony, Armstrong I.” I flicked my finger and a grainy hologram appeared alongside the floating screen. “The colony was designed to test a human’s ability to live in small scale structures outside Earth’s orbit for five years. The astronauts needed to be self-sufficient, restocking every six months.” What next? I wrung my hands before remembering and flicking my wrist. Phew.
Newspaper reports from November 5th, 2032 appeared. Scientists Create the Perfect Drug, End Aging at Last.