‘Once the power of humans has withered, it’ll give the planet some time. Rainforests will grow back. Polar ice caps will stop melting. Nature will have its oceans back. And once there are too few humans left to wreck the world again, we’ll close down the Citadels across the globe, purge the clones and allow the survivors to rebuild. But that’ll be generations from now. I don’t suppose I’ll live long enough to see the world safe again.’
‘What you’re suggesting is monstrous…’ McCormick said as he found his voice again.
‘Monstrous? Consider this, doctor. The end of every geological era – Triassic, Jurassic and so on – is marked by a mass extinction. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs was the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event, which killed three quarters of all animal species. The Permian–Triassic extinction event killed ninety-six per cent of everything. But those extinctions took place over thousands, maybe millions of years.’
Grant walked to within a metre of McCormick, so he could lower his face to finish his point.
‘We’re in the middle of a man-made extinction event rightnow. Up to ten thousand species vanish every year – that’s thousands of times higher than the natural rate. And this is just over a couple of hundred years. Just imagine what we’d do over the course of a million!’
McCormick made the mistake of looking into Grant’s eyes, and saw his unbridled enthusiasm. He believed every word, and worst of all, he knew that science backed him up.
McCormick dipped his eyes away from Grant’s stare. At least a dozen people in his life had been part of the climate change protests before Takeover Day. If they were still alive they were now being kept in the Citadels, due to be killed off by a rich man in the glorious name of ‘saving the world’ – as if they were the people the world needed saving from.
‘This is the first time in the known history of the Earth,’ Grant continued, ‘that a mass extinction has been caused by one of its own species. If it were any other species, we’d wipe them out and call it saving the world. So tell me… who are the real monsters?’
McCormick raised his head again.
‘The real monsters,’ he answered, ‘are those who force whole families into concrete prisons, then collect the bodies of their starved children.’
At the back of the room, Marshall took the opportunity to interrupt.
‘Radio message, Nick,’ he said. ‘Kate Arrowsmith got six Perimeter Points.’
McCormick’s broken face lit up just a little. Grant’s culling of the human race was not a certainty just yet.
‘Six? How long will it take to—’
‘An hour. Maybe more.’
Grant gave McCormick his deepest head teacher stare, before turning and heading for the exit.
‘Well sod it, then,’ he shouted, ‘I’m staying in my quarters until the show’s ready. Or at least until this bomb scare is sorted.’
‘You’re not watching the prisoner?’ asked Roth.
‘No. We’re leaving him with Iain.’
‘We?’ asked Pearce.
‘Yes. Nathaniel, you’re going to your own office. Oliver, you’re going downstairs to hunt rebels. Try not to get killed again. Iain, you stay here. And when Gwen Crossland arrives, tell her she’s a slow cow. Stay close to your phones, gentlemen.’
As Grant passed through the exit, McCormick shouted after him.
‘Hey Nick,’ he yelled. ‘May I call you Nick?’
Grant did not turn around.
‘Sorry,’ he answered, ‘did I just hear a dead man talking?’
‘Probably. But you’re forgetting one thing about the human race.’
‘And what’s that?’
McCormick gave a proud smile.
‘It’s made up of people like Ewan and Kate.’
Grant abandoned McCormick without another word. With a shrug, Pearce walked out and made his way towards his own office.
Marshall stepped further inside. At first, Roth refused to leave.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Roth snapped at his boss, ‘and don’t be stupid. Grant will string you up if you torture him for information.’
‘Why, what would you do? Because I know what I’d do in your position.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Get the hell downstairs like you’ve been commanded, and clear up the other three. Now.’
Roth hesitated, but ultimately obeyed, as Marshall drew out his handgun. McCormick and Marshall were left alone long enough for a quick glance at the clock, which revealed eight minutes remaining. Not one second later, Gwen Crossland walked into the room.
‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked softly.
McCormick bit his lip. This tiny ageing woman looked like the opposite of a typical villain, but there was a little something in her facial expression that told him she was a perfect fit on the inside.
‘Nick says you’re a slow cow,’ said Marshall.
Crossland gave a discreet smile with the corners of her lips, but no further response.
‘We need your help extracting information from this man,’ Marshall continued.
‘The location of a mysterious weapon, if I heard right.’
‘No, we found that. My soldiers are disarming it as we speak. He has other information we need.’
‘The location of his headquarters,’ said Crossland, adjusting the top button of her cardigan. ‘Well, you won’t get that in eight minutes. I could perhaps get you a precise address by the end of the week.’
‘A precise address? Like you managed with Daniel Amopoulos? Or Alex Ginelli?’
Daniel… Alex… two of my boys. Will I ever know what you did to them ?
‘Neither of them had the address we needed to extract,’ Crossland continued. ‘This man will have a much higher likelihood of knowing. And if your traditional methods fail, call your friend Nathaniel and clone this person. We haven’t used the memory transfer technology since…’
Marshall turned to her with a transparent look of surprise.
‘Well,’ Crossland said, ‘I probably shouldn’t talk in front of a patient as if he’s not in the room.’
She pursed her lips, and turned to face the exit.
‘I’ll be in my lower office, on Floor G,’ she finished, ‘setting up my equipment. If you could dispatch a team of clones to escort him down Stairwell 32, I’ll be happy to meet them there.’
Floor G, Stairwell 32, thought McCormick, far, far away from the luxury of Marshall’s office. Right next to the satellite control room, if I’ve memorised the maps right.
The thought filled him with uninhibited dread.
When the time comes, should I tell her we’ll both be in the blast radius ?
Before Crossland could leave the room, a string of buzzes sounded on Marshall’s radio. He held out a flat hand to stop her in her tracks, and brought the radio to his ear.
McCormick had not learned the clones’ coded language, but a translation became visible on Marshall’s horrified face. He turned a shade of maroon, and his quivering gun hand pointed his pistol at McCormick’s head.
‘Nothing found on Floor Z,’ he snarled. ‘Nothing.’
McCormick did not move a muscle. Not even in his face. Especially not in his face.