Dr Morgan Read online

  Three of his tribe grabbed the corpse and whisked it away.

  Dr. Morgan looked to graffiti on the walls. Prominently displayed was a declaration in topsider hand that he recognized very well. Resist the 45th

  "Sit down," the leader said.

  Dr. Morgan found a spot near the fire. The leader sat next to him. "I am Taima. The girl you saved is my daughter, Alawa. I am grateful. But make no mistake. You are our prisoner. If you try to escape, I will kill you."

  "I understand."

  The dark-haired miscreant stomped to his chief. "He has saved your daughter, now give us his blood. Let me torture him. I'll find out where the Chancellor hides."

  The leader rose and addressed the angry man. "Chansomps, he will never give you the location. He doesn't know it."

  "That's correct," Dr. Morgan said, looking up at the men. " We are taken to our outposts in black goggles. We are also implanted with an inhibitor. The voice of God, our leader calls it. So we are incapable of divulging any kind of information. I am sure I am not the first you have captured and interrogated."

  "You are the first captor that has lived this long," Chansomps said, glaring down at him. "If you weren't a slave to your Chancellor, if you were a free man, would you tell us what we want to know?"

  "Would you? Would you betray your people to the enemy?" Dr. Morgan asked.

  "I hear your kind can't feel love for a woman. That the controller in your mind prohibits it," Chansomps said.

  "Yes. That is true. Affection can be a lethal distraction for a soldier."

  "Then what do you fight for, Dr. Morgan?" he said. "The Chancellor? A God whose voice you have never heard first hand? The black legacy of the 45th? You have abandoned these cities and yet you massacre us for trying to give them life again."

  "We can't long survive the atmosphere. But we hope one day, when the death in the air goes away, to live topside again. If we let you spawn you will slaughter us when we come to reclaim the soil. This is a holy city. You encourage this violence with your insistence to occupy our churches."

  Chansomps backhanded Dr. Morgan. He fell back and felt an electrical discharge at his inhibitor. When he gathered himself, Taima held Chansomps at bay.

  Taima muttered something in topsider tongue and shoved Chansomps away. The man left, still glowering at Dr. Morgan.

  Taima sat back down and spoke. "You must choose your words carefully. If my people find an excuse to pay back the brutality of the 45th, I will not be able to stop them."

  "You have what you wanted from me. Why am I still alive?"

  "We need doctors. You are the first we have managed to capture alive. You will serve us, as our hostage."

  "What if I decide not to administer care?"

  "You won't. Your lifebrand is absolute. It will compel you to service the wounded and dying."

  "My people won't stand for this," Dr. Morgan said.

  "Your people have bigger issues. You are losing the war."

  Dr. Morgan scoffed. "I mean you no offense, but how can you say that?"

  "We have taken two of your auxiliary posts. We will eventually find one with a computer that works. And when we do, we will have the location of every bunker the 45th occupies," Taima said. "When we do, we shall locate the Chancellor's stronghold. We will cut off the serpent's head. Your troops will fall without his guidance."

  "That's not possible. I would know if any of our posts fell. Even minor ones."

  "Would you?" Taima said, with a knowing grin.

  It was propaganda. It had to be. Dr. Morgan would be aware. He backed away from it and instead looked to the woman with beads. She praised the air above the girl's strengthening body.

  "That woman near the girl. Is she praying?" Dr. Morgan asked.

  "Yes. That is Alawa's aunt. She thanks God for saving her niece," Taima said.

  "You worship a god?" Dr. Morgan said. Weren't the topsiders spiritually devoid?

  "We worship the God. The only God. The one your Chancellor misrepresents. Do you want to know the greatest sin of man? The presumption that God favors him over others. Favors his people, his country, over others. The 45th started this battle with that declaration. That is why the wall came. It was impractical and half the nation cried and starved in its shadow. But it was a symbol. A monument to jihad. A line drawn in the sand. It was a declaration of war on faith. A war over the true name and purpose of God. Riddles the living can never know."

  Dr. Morgan had no doubt that his inhibitor was damaged. Had it been in good working order, he wouldn't have felt so confused and lost. Without the voice of God to assure him, his faith was vulnerable.

  "Do you know this building?" Taima asked.

  "Yes. It is the Library of Congress."

  "Do you know what purpose this place served?"

  "Held records and films," Dr. Morgan said. "Of what, I am not entirely sure."

  "It was the largest library in the world, built to record the entirety of the human experience. Books and letters in four hundred and fifty languages were stored here. What the fire of the bombs didn't claim, the 45th did. They erased the past, and with it, its lessons. History can't be changed. But it can be twisted to suit evil men. That is the true crux of our conflict with the 45th."

  His inhibitor couldn't quell Dr. Morgan's unease. It was the first time his doubt wasn't immediately soothed by a pulse from the back of his head. He had no escape from it.

  Taima seemed to sense Dr. Morgan's turmoil, and he pressed. "Your people eat their dead. Our dead are sacred. We mourn them, commit them to the dirt we rose from, and we give them a marker to honor. By consuming your fallen, you again obliterate the past. Your dead aren't even a whisper in the darkness. You consume them and forget their names."

  Dr. Morgan rubbed his temple, ready to abandon his skin. He didn't want to discuss these things. There wasn't a counsel in his brain to tell him what he should think. To prick him for a wrong feeling or raise his healthy endorphins for a proper response. He felt inadequate at this sort of discussion. He wished the Children of Cain were the violent fanatics that he had imagined. Taima's kind disposition tortured him beyond endurance.

  "I am very tired." Dr. Morgan hoped for mercy.

  It came. "Rest," Taima said. "We will talk more tomorrow."

  ***

  Dr. Morgan stood on a beach. But where? It looked to be a small, deserted island of some kind. Sand beneath his bare feet. Hot, but tolerable to his hard soles. He mashed the sand around with his toes and a breeze caressed him as it passed by. The ocean was blue and tossing around. Persistent white foam licked at the shore. Birds circled and cried in the air. He squinted up at the sun. It was yellow and content. Not the red pulsing star he was used to seeing.

  "Morgan! Wait for us!"

  Behind him, Ridgway and Timpone wore swimming trunks and had towels wrapped around their necks.

  "This is the life, eh, boys?" Timpone put on sunglasses.

  "Hey look!" Ridgway pointed further down the beach.

  A crowd of people, many beautiful women in bikinis among them listened to music and cooked over a roaring fire.

  "We'd better move it before all the pretty girls are snapped up!" Ridgway said.

  He and Timpone raced each other in the sand.

  Dr. Morgan smiled and watched them. He was in no rush.

  Morgan.

  The woman's voice sounded close to his ear. Morgan looked around, bewildered. But no one stood near him.

  Dr. Morgan awoke to alarm. He lifted his head from the ground to see the topsiders moving frantically. Taima appeared, his daughter in his arms. "The Red Guard are coming! We must retreat!"

  Chansomps appeared.

  "Take him to the tunnel," Taima commanded.

  Chansomps jerked Dr. Morgan to his feet and pushed him toward holes, broken into the walls. They entered the middle musty cave. Chansomps rammed the muzzle of his rifle into Dr. Morgan's back. "Move!"

  They had traveled a fair distance when they heard the gunfire. />
  Chansomps paused and looked back.

  Without thinking, Dr. Morgan grabbed the weapon and wrested it from Chansomps' hands. Dr. Morgan slammed the butt of the rifle into Chansomps' head. He didn't think or question the aggression. His reflexes did it all. Chansomps, stunned, recovered quickly.

  Dr. Morgan pointed the barrel at his captor's head, not sure where to go with this. It was all new to him..

  "Stay back or I'll use this," he warned.

  Chansomps grinned and pulled a long knife from the animal skin he wore. "It's empty."

  Dr. Morgan pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  Chansomps came at him. Dr. Morgan lurched backward, avoiding a try at his gut. He swung the rifle, but Chansomps caught him and they both slammed to the ground. Dr. Morgan lost the firearm. His hands caught Chansomps' wrist, which aimed the knife at Dr. Morgan's head.

  "I thought you weren't able to fight," Chansomps hissed, pushing his weight on the knife. "I knew it was all an act. You and your kind are treacherous devils! Taima was a fool to think he could make you a pet!"

  Dr. Morgan shoved Chansomps with such a strength that the savage flew backward into the air. He hit the ground, dazed. Dr. Morgan rushed to him, took the knife, and plunged it into the man's heart.

  Chansomps gripped Dr. Morgan's hands and the brute's eyes expanded in shock. But he didn't gawk for long. Dr. Morgan stood up, panting and sweating. His body shook and his unchained mind tried to sort it all out.

  His head spun as the realization of going against his lifebrand sank in. It was something that could get him repurposed, no matter the cause of the malfunction.

  So don't tell them.

  He looked to his hands and had a new appreciation for them. He smiled, though he didn't realize it.

  He heard the Red Guard coming down the tunnel. Their lights struck the rock. He moved toward them, shouting his identity as he went.

  ***

  Troop 679, under Sergeant Winters, had led the raid on Taima's lair.

  "We picked up a tracking signal on your inhibitor. It was faint, so it took us a bit to spot you. You should have it serviced."

  "Yes. I will," Dr. Morgan said.

  He stood in the basement room where he had healed Alawa. Many of the topsiders had been killed there, but some had managed to get away. The girl was missing, but her Aunt lay dead near the fire. Her beads were gone.

  "Are the any I can tend to?" Dr. Morgan asked Winters.

  At least half of a dozen Red Guard were lined for treatment with the 679 medic, Mclaren.

  "You look like you need to be tended to," Winters said.

  "I'm okay," Dr. Morgan replied.

  "You're more than that. You're a fucking legend, Dr. Morgan. No one has ever escaped the mutards alive. God must have a soft spot for you," Winters said. "We’ve got a bird coming. We'll un-ass as soon as it gets here. At ease until then."

  "Do you have my reassignment, sir?" Dr. Morgan asked.

  "Your digit midget showed up bearing flowers. You are on extended furlough. So brush your nuts and wash your teeth, son. Because the Chancellor wants to meet you."

  Winters walked off. Dr. Morgan felt his belly collapse. Three soldiers laughed cheerfully nearby. They posed with Taima's corpse as another took pictures. One of them had carved 45 into the dead topsider's forehead.

  May you ascend swiftly, he prayed for his enemy.

  ***

  There were few copters left to the Red Guard. Three had been discovered under a military base years ago. Four military transports had also been found. But two had fallen to the death storms. There had been attempts to salvage tanks and Howitzers, but none could be put back in working order.

  Dr. Morgan's goggles were black. Soldiers were instructed to go blind when being lifted. No one but high ranking officials were allowed to know the locations of the bunkers. But Dr. Morgan didn't think much could be seen in the dark air, anyway.

  Dr. Morgan was stationed at the High Chancellor's bunker. He was told he was very lucky to be there. He was allowed his own room, for he often assisted the civilian medical crew when needed. The small and bare quarters suited him better than a bunk in a drab barrack.

  When he felt the legs of the copter test the earth, he switched his blinders off and left the copter. Three guards escorted him to the silo that masked the elevators.

  ***

  Dr. Morgan hated furlough, but even his enhanced muscles needed rest. He despised retreating to the underground. It always felt like he was stepping into a cold tomb. And while this was a respite from the horror of the wasteland above, this bunker caused claustrophobia in him, and the recycled air tortured his sinuses.

  He followed Phillip, the scrawny tech assistant with crooked teeth. Not all medical officers warranted an aide, but Dr. Morgan often assisted at the bunker medical complex while on furlough. Phillip was a gift for that dedication, though Dr. Morgan made himself available only to keep the boredom at bay.

  Phillip grated on Dr. Morgan. The young man always had. The aide assigned to him had been born, not grown. The aides spawned from biological breeding were often self-centered and quirky.

  Phillip's bouncy optimism rubbed Dr. Morgan the wrong way. The little prick either had no clue what the world was presently like or he felt insulated and safe from it. Either way, it stirred Dr. Morgan’s disdain. So many good people lost, and this grinning rat was scurrying about safely underground. If it was up to Dr. Morgan, he would have tightened the restrictions on breeding even further.

  The boy was too pale to have ventured, but Dr. Morgan asked him anyway. “Been up top lately, Phillip?” His deep voice echoed through the large entryway. Did his helper know he was being played with?

  Phillip flashed his warped teeth in a curious smile. “What would I want with up there, eh? Everything I need is here. I have a cot and three dailies. I have purpose down here. In the wasteland, I’d just be a mutard snack. Wouldn’t last a day, I’d wager.”

  “Many don't,” Dr. Morgan informed him.

  “But you do, eh?” Phillip said, trying to pull off admiration, but it was a poor act. “You’re a tough customer, Dr. Morgan. The Chancellor has said you must have a divine purpose, surviving capture like you did. It's my honor to be your aide-in-waiting, sir.”

  The smooth marble walls of the corridor were reflective, and Dr. Morgan noticed the sunburned grimace he wore. He tried a more peaceful countenance that wouldn’t last more than seconds, without his encouragement. Then he observed the blissfully stupid expression on Phillip’s face in the stone. He gave up on it entirely.

  “Must be nice to come here after that ordeal,” Phillip said.

  They were closing in on the main entrance.

  “Truthfully, I don’t like crawling into this coffin,” Dr. Morgan admitted. “It makes me feel like a bone-gnawing ghoul scavenging the grave.”

  Phillip frowned. “That’s just morbid, sir.”

  “But apt, don’t you think?” Dr. Morgan said.

  "We do important work here. There’s hope and life in this coffin, as you call it,” Phillip argued. “We all have our duty to God and the 45th, sir. Even the Sleepers in the Cold.”

  “I meant no offense." Dr. Morgan wanted to slap the suddenly indignant and glorified fetch-it.

  An iris scan at the security check allowed them inside.

  Phillip took Dr. Morgan's med kit. "I'll check this in for you. You are to report to Dr. Rausch straight away. The Chancellor had requested you at his dinner table. Exciting, isn't it?"

  Dr. Morgan gave a fake smile. "What an honor."

  "Yes. Of course, I wasn't invited myself. I could come, through your graces, I've been told," Phillip said, looking expectantly at the doctor.

  Dr. Morgan stared dumbly at Phillip, letting his aide twist in the wind a bit. He spoke before Phillip begged. "Would you like to join me at the Chancellor's table tonight?"

  "I would be honored to break bread with you, sir," Phillip answered with a huge crooked grin. "I've ask
ed for your steak to be prepared the way you like it. And there will be some green stuff on your plate as well."

  "I don't care much for vegetables," Dr. Morgan said. "But I'll force them down, I guess."

  "The root vegetable crop from the produce lab is very good this year. It might bring you around."

  Dr. Morgan nodded. "Nothing ventured, I suppose."

  "I will check in at your room later. I'm having your service tails cleaned. I will bring them with me."

  Phillip left the doctor's company. Dr. Morgan took the marble walkway toward Rausch's office. It was still a good distance, but he decided to walk rather than grab the tram. He passed military, scientists, and clergy on his way. Few smiled. Most were lost in their task and stepped around and past him without acknowledgement. He hated this fucking place.

  It was a massive steel womb. Many of its inhabitants were born (or engineered) there and died without ever leaving the place. The sun may have been a vicious prick, but its setting at dusk was a glorious spectacle that stirred his soul. Evidence that God existed still. When the brown death wasn't blotting it.

  Dr. Morgan passed the cryogenics lab, where the Sleepers in the Cold were stored. The Ministry's main food supply was developed from human cells. They were grown as meat. It was the only food not contaminated by the holy war of the 45th. The Sleepers were humans who were engineered without brains. Frozen in pods where the machines regulated their growth until harvest.

  The Sleepers in the Cold do not dream. It was a silent axiom encouraged before every meal.

  Dr. Morgan watched as a platoon charged out of the tram, an officer commanding them to stack nuts to butts. As he passed, the officer recognized him.

  "It's Dr. Morgan himself! If you spazzes are lucky, you'll last half the time he has in the shit! And he's done it without squeezing a single trigger! Give him the fist of the Red Guard!"

  The soldiers tapped their chests and presented their fists to the air. Dr. Morgan smiled and returned the salute.

  "For God and the 45th!" he declared to them. "We shall make the world great again!"