Worldkiller, p.2
Worldkiller, page 2
part #7 of Variant Series
It would be better to be open, to show a willingness to cooperate, I realised, looking at him. It might delay things. Give the others a chance to try to rescue me. Or...give me time to work out how to escape. I...I just have to hold on.
Henry regarded me interestedly, as all those thoughts and concerns quickly rushed through my head. He must have known where my mind would be taking me. Everything I was thinking was natural, after all, common concerns for anyone caught in such a predicament. Deceiving him, I imagined, would be difficult. And whatever he said about not wanting to harm me, I was fairly sure he was lying. If he wanted to find out what I knew, there really wasn't much of a choice.
We entered into a short standoff, neither of us speaking for several long moments. He seemed to be testing me, seeing if I was going to choose to be taciturn and silent, or more open, as he'd requested. Silence, I suspected, would only hasten my torture. No, it was better for me to engage, and delay. And perhaps, by doing so, get some information of my own.
"What is it you want from me?" I asked, finally breaking the deadlock. "Clearly, you know who I am, and what I can do." My eyes moved to the door behind him. "You want me to work for you, don't you?
He smiled, looking away for a moment with a pensive, almost quizzical expression. Then, shaking his head, he looked back at me. "That isn't what I want, Paige," he said. "I don't want you to work for me, child. I want you to work with me. To help me, in my life's great purpose. To clear up the mistakes of the past, and usher in a brighter future for us all." He looked at me more intently. "It is, I believe, something we both owe this world," he went on. "Our ancestors almost destroyed it, but we, now, have the opportunity to set that right." He stopped, a profound look of purpose on his face, a great weight of history on his shoulders. "That is why you've been brought here, Paige."
A frown gradually settled over my eyes. I wasn't certain what he was getting at, but he seemed quite sincere in his passion. Passion for killing Variants, I thought, my manner darkening a little. If you think I'm going to help you do that, you've got another think coming.
He took a short step backward, turning sideways toward the door. "I can see that you're confused," he said, smiling pleasantly. "Well, let me help clarify things for you, Paige." He reached to the door, and opened it up. I saw no sign of guards outside. "Come, take a walk with me. I promise you, all will become clear soon."
I stood, fixed in place, hesitating for just a moment. It was a natural response, a minor show of defiance, but not something I could keep up for long. He looked at me as though expecting it. And when I gave in, and stepped toward him, he clearly expected that too.
He smiled, and stayed where he was, ushering me out into the corridor.
3
I walked beside Henry Vance, our pace gentle as we moved through the corridors and halls towards the main factory. Around us, many workers were heading for their posts, shuffling along in their simple white clothes, the very same as what I was currently wearing.
I observed them, getting a proper look at them for the first time. They hustled along, seeming relatively contended and well rested, nodding politely to us as they passed, often telling us 'good morning'.
Henry returned the pleasantries, smiling affably as we went.
"Good morning, Katherine," he said to one middle-aged, female worker. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, Mr Vance, very well, thank you," replied the woman brightly.
"Excellent," he said. "So, can I take it the new mattress is a little better for your back?"
"Oh, absolutely," she said, nodding fervently. "Thank you so much for arranging that, Mr Vance. It makes all the difference."
"No problem at all. Your comfort is very important for me, Kathy."
They smiled at one another, before she stepped away.
Another worker passed a moment later, coming from an adjoining corridor.
"Ah, Percy," Henry said, seeing the young man approach. "How's the cold? Are you all better now?"
"Yes, much better, thank you, Mr Vance," replied the young man. His nose looked a little red as he wiped it with a handkerchief.
"Are you sure?" Henry asked him, peering at him doubtfully. "Perhaps you should take another day or two to be certain? We don't want you keeling over at your station now, do we?"
He smiled, and Percy responded with the same expression. "I'm fine, really, Mr Vance," he said, sounding a little stuffy. "I'd very much like to get back to work, if possible."
Henry looked at him for a moment, before patting the young man on the upper arm. "Of course, Percy," he said eventually. "Just do me one thing."
"Anything, sir."
"If you feel at all unwell, get yourself right back to bed, OK? I know you don't like to take time off, but your welfare must come first, understand?"
"Yes, I understand, Mr Vance."
Once more, Henry smiled, as Percy moved quickly away, sneezing and wiping his nose as we went.
A few similar instances occurred as we continued on, Henry engaging in short conversations with several others as we moved through the network of halls and corridors. I walked along silently, observing him.
Is this for me? I wondered. Is he just trying to show me how wonderful a boss he is, remembering everyone's name, recalling little details about them and their lives? Is he trying to endear me to him, as others seem to be?
I couldn't be sure. There seemed little falsity in his manner, little contrivance in the way he was behaving. He seemed to genuinely enjoy speaking with his workers, and genuinely apologetic when he didn't manage to remember one of their names.
"I'm so sorry," he said to one such worker, as we neared the doors to the main factory. "I forget your name, young lady. You're new, aren't you?"
The girl nodded. She looked like she was only about my age, perhaps a year or so older. "I am, Mr Vance," she said, voice a little shaky. "My name's Alice."
"Of course, of course," he said vibrantly. "Alice. Yes, Alice." He looked at her, smiled, and then repeated her name twice more. "Alice, Alice,' he said. "I'll remember it next time, I promise." He smiled. "So, how long have you been with us, Alice? Two or three weeks?"
"Three, sir," said the girl.
"And are you enjoying it so far?"
She nodded, looking a little coy and nervous under his attentions. "I...I do enjoy it, yes, Mr Vance," she said. "It's...it's quite an opportunity." She glanced at me, unsure of who I was, frowning as she noticed the bandages on my wrists. She probably thinks I tried to kill myself, I thought. If I worked here, I probably would..."Your work here is...it's so important," she went on, looking up at the man admiringly. "I'm proud to play my part in it, even if it's small."
"Even the smallest cog is critical to the running of a big machine, Alice," said Henry. "Always remember that."'
She took one final, glazed-eyed look at him, nodded girlishly, and stepped away.
I frowned and looked over at him. "You're popular," I said, my voice a little deadpan. I turned to watch Alice, as she scurried away toward the door leading into the factory. "She knows what she's a part of, right?" I asked. I looked at him again. "She knows that you're a mass murderer?"
He raised a brow, though didn't seem insulted. He only seemed...disappointed in the remark, as though it was too simple, too obvious.
"A mass murderer to one person is a war hero to another," he said. "It's all just a matter of perspective, Paige."
"So say all tyrants," I retorted, choosing to spar with him. "Unfortunately, history tends to judge such people poorly, Henry."
"History," he said, nodding. "History can be changed, child." He turned to the doors. "And that is what we're here to do."
He stepped away, leading me through the door and into the bustling, sprawling factory beyond. I'd caught glimpses of it, only, the previous night, but now it spread out before me in all its glory, an enormous chamber filled with movement and machinery, humming and whirring with the sounds of production.
I looked left and right, trying to figure out what they were doing here, what they were building, as Henry lead me down the middle, exchanging further morning pleasantries with his workers as we went. The operations weren't immediately obvious to me, the factory filled with an eclectic array of machines that I'd never seen before. Were I to get closer, and have a few minutes to inspect them, I was sure I'd work them out, but right now I had no such chance.
I was led on too quickly to perform any sort of assessment, the activity within the vast factory almost overwhelming. There were many different sections, some with larger production machinery, others with desks and workstations where more intricate, delicate work was being done. Elsewhere, I saw computers set up. In a couple of places I also noticed familiar production lines and conveyer belts, like the warehouse where Becca and I once worked.
"What are you building here?" I asked softly, turning my eyes around, seeking out weapons and munitions, perhaps even the bionic forms of Reapers being made.
I saw no such thing, though that was no surprise. My vantage at ground level only gave me a small view of the sections to my left and right. Anything beyond them was out of view.
Henry stopped for a moment, turning to me. He lifted an arm, waving it around the enormous, expansive space with a theatrical flair. "Think of this place as a time machine, Paige," he said. "Where the wrongs of the past can be set right." He smiled at my bewildered expression. "Apologies if I'm being cryptic," he went on. "But, it's terribly noisy here, and this will be better explained in my office." He placed his hand gently to my back, ushering me forward. "Come."
He paced onward, leading me down the centre of the factory, toward the stairs leading up to the gallery above. It stretched around the factory on all sides, I noted, giving a much better view of the entire space. The general din of the factory floor continued to enliven my senses, my slightly clouded mind clearing fully. As we moved up the metal steps, I turned my eyes over the space, searching, scanning, wishing that I had my headset on.
I grumbled internally, as I looked down at my simple, white clothing. I felt naked without my gear and weapons, and imagined that I'd probably never see them again. It was a sobering thought, but right now, I had other things to worry about. Getting out of here was my top, and only, priority.
"OK, Paige, here we are," said Henry, turning back to me, drawing me from my thoughts. He frowned, curious. "Do you have any recollection of coming here last night?"
I nodded, as he opened the door for me to pass inside. "Some," I said, looking around.
The place was large, bordered by shelves with books and ornaments. A large wooden desk sat at the end of the room, a comfortable chair behind it, a couple of others for guests. There was a separate sofa elsewhere, with a coffee table in front of it, and another table and chairs tucked away in a different corner. The place was exceptionally neat, not a thing out of place. I turned back to look at Henry, who stood patiently and expectantly nearby.
"So?" he asked. "What do you think?"
"I...I guess it's nice," I said.
He smiled and moved over to his desk, perching on the edge as he turned to me. "I'm glad you like it," he said. His eyes glinted, turning toward the table and chairs in the corner. "I was thinking I'd set up your own desk over there, Paige. Does that suit you?"
I stared at him, noting that he wasn't being serious. He was trying to use humour to disarm me, to ease any building tension between us. It was an admirable effort, though a little bit on the nose. Quite frankly, this man was a mass murderer, a perpetrator of genocide. He and his family had been responsible for hunting and killing our kind for decades. His company, VanceCorp, had even been central to the global collapse, as Harkin recently informed me, using Variants to build the very weapons that led to humankind's great fall three long centuries ago.
And yet, there was something about him that wasn't adding up. The way he was with his workers. The great regard in which they held him. The cryptic remarks about 'righting wrongs' and 'ushering in a brighter future' for everyone. There was more to this man than what I'd heard and been told. He wasn't what I'd expected.
I regarded him for a moment, as he sat perched on the edge of the table, legs crossed casually ahead of him, hands clasped lightly together in his lap. That inviting expression clung to his face, more genuine than I'd ever have anticipated. I'd expected him to be a horrible, unpleasant character, hateful and disdainful, dismissive of the likes of me. And yet here he was, joking about working with me. It...it just didn't make sense.
"You don't hate me, do you?" I asked quietly.
He frowned, confused by the remark. "I don't really know you, Paige," he said. "What would make you think I'd hate you?"
"Because I'm a Variant," I said.
I stopped. That was enough. I didn't need to provide any further explanation.
He drew a breath, nodding almost...sympathetically. "I can see why you'd say that," he said quietly. "You look at me and see the man most responsible for hunting your people. The man who runs the company that builds the Reapers. The man who developed the virus that you think is intended to kill you." He sighed, shaking his head. "I understand that. But to the contrary, Paige, I don't hate you, or your people. That is why I have brought you here. It has been my life's work to save you."
I stared at him, perplexed by his words. "Save us?" I said, my confusion outweighing my anger at the comment. It made no sense. How could he say such a thing with a straight face, after everything he and his company had done?
He nodded slowly, noting the conflicting emotions in me, giving me a moment longer to dwell on his words before speaking.
"A lot of what you know, of what you have experienced, has been out of my control," he said. "Much of it, Paige, is smoke and mirrors, concealing the truth of what I have been working on."
He looked to the glass walls, looking out into the factory. I turned, not having noticed them before. The wall wasn't see-through from the other side, designed that way for privacy. "This is where I have been trying to solve the Variant Problem," he went. "Me and all these fine men and women are all united in that goal, in that duty. To undo all that our ancestors did, and bring an equilibrium to the world once more. One of equality and fairness, where there are no such divides between Variants and humans. That is my life's work, Paige."
I shook my head, looking out at the factory, and then swerved to look at Henry. "By killing us all?" I demanded. "That's your way of righting the wrongs of the past?"
He frowned, shaking his head quickly, and stood from the desk. "Oh no, no that isn't what I intend," he said quickly. "I have never wished to destroy the Variant population, Paige..."
"Then why!" I said, speaking more loudly, my voice croaking a little from the effort. "I was there, Henry. I saw the labs in Hampstead Hall. I saw what you've been doing in your tests. I've seen what your virus does!"
"One strain of the virus," he retorted, raising his voice in response. He stood taller, firmer, causing me to shrink back a little. "It's final form was never intended to kill, Paige." His eyes sharpened on me. "It was intended to cure."
The air in the room stilled, a silence falling between us. I stared at him, my face strained, trying to understand.
"I know it's hard for you to believe," he sighed, his voice softening, "but it's the truth." His eyes moved again toward the factory floor outside. "That's what we're doing here, Paige. We're trying to develop a way of curing Variants, not killing them. The virus..." He sighed, heavily, shaking his head. "We couldn't figure out how to make it work. Not as we wanted it to be. This," he said, pointing into the factory, "is the alternative. This is my project, not my father's. This is my dream."
My head swirled with conflicting thoughts and feelings, trying to untangle things, trying to separate fact from fiction, right from wrong. There were so many things I wanted to ask, so many things I needed to know.
"Your father," I said quietly, picking up on his mention of the man. "He...he waged war against the VLA for years. So did you. How was that trying to cure them?" I shook my head, eyes narrowing further as I looked at him. "And what the hell does that even mean, anyway? What is curing us, Henry? What?" I demanded.
He raised his hands, palms out, placating me. My heart was pacing hard now, but the simple gesture gave me a moment to calm down, to collect myself once more before the conversation grew too heated.
"I understand how hard this is for you to accept," he said gently. "And that it will take a great deal for you to believe me, for you to trust me..."
Trust you! I thought, smiling at the absurdity of the remark. I will never trust you...
He noticed my expression change again, likely knowing my thoughts. Once more, he gave me a further second to compose myself before continuing, speaking in a calm and measured way.
"I will answer every question you have, Paige," he went on carefully. "All you have to do is ask. I want you to see the full picture, to understand what I have been doing. It is, in fact, crucial that you do so. All I ask is that you do so calmly, and that you listen, truly listen, to what I have to say. You are logical, and methodical in your work. Use that now. Be a scholar, and put aside your emotions. Hard as it is, I'd like you to try to look at this as objectively as you can." He paused. "Can you do that?"
I felt an emotional response, a desire to shout at him, berate him once more, but chose to suffocate the urge. I had an opportunity, now, to hear Henry Vance's side of things. And however warped, or twisted, his reasoning was, I knew I had to hear it.
I nodded, drawing a breath. "I can do that," I said, calmly.
He smiled at me, seeming relieved, and stepped around the side of his desk. "Please, Paige, sit down," he said, drawing back his own chair and taking a seat.
A part of me wanted to defy him, but a larger part felt too tired to stay standing much longer. I stepped forward, drew back a chair, and sat down.
"OK," I said, pushing my emotions to one side. "I'm listening."
