Rise of the Elgen (21 page)

“Look!” Bryan said excitedly. “They’ve already stripped its legs to the bone.”

Within three minutes the bull was reduced to nothing but skeleton. Even its internal organs were eaten.

“They’re like furry piranhas,” Quentin said. “I’d hate to be down there.”

“Wait,” Tara said. “You mean, that’s what they’re going to do to that guard on our flight? Put him on
that
chute?”

“Yep,” Torstyn said.

Tara covered her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

The chute began to retract and lift, dropping the animal to the floor of the grid as it moved. Then the door at the top of the chute opened again and another bull slid out.

“How many bulls will they eat?” Tara asked.

“Our rats are a little more voracious than your average house rat,” Hatch replied. “Still, they don’t eat that much. About an ounce to an ounce and a half a day. But with this many rats, that still equates to twenty-nine tons of food a day. They’re omnivorous, so they eat a combination of grains and meat. Every day we go through about ten tons in raw meat, about five bulls, and the rest are in Rabisk and grain. But they prefer the meat, especially since fresh food helps quench their thirst and drinking water can be a little tricky for them.”

“How do they drink?” Quentin asked.

Dr. Hatch smiled. “Very carefully.” He pointed to the vacant side of the bowl. “See those white ceramic disks? They’re drinking fountains for rats. They’re exactly one tenth of a millimeter beneath the grid—just close enough that the rats can lick water off them.”

After the second bull had been devoured, Hatch ordered the teens back to the elevator. “There’s more to see,” he said.

They made the rounds through the laboratory and corridors around the bowl. The MEI room and breeding labs were connected directly to the bowl for ease of operation. They toured the Rabisk plant, which smelled so bad they had to wear nose plugs. Men in white coats walked back and forth between different machines, measuring output, then sending the small biscuits to the oven, then back to the feeding rooms.

“This side of the facility is our meat processing center and next to that is our ranch house, where our
gauchos
live.”

Before they left the facility Hatch pointed out one last section of the building. “These are the cells where we inter our traitors and GPs who have outlived their usefulness. You might also call this a meat
processing facility. Our guards call it death row. You’ll recognize our newest guest.” They looked in to see the guard from the plane.

“You should show him the bowl,” Bryan said.

Hatch replied, “If we were trying to get information from him or instill a behavioral change, the fear would be of some value. But, as it is, his course is set, so to show him the bowl would serve no useful purpose.”

They walked from the cells back out to the lobby, where the cart was waiting. As they climbed aboard, an overhanging door rose ahead of them, and they drove out into the yard. The walks of the compound were all open but covered, as the weather on Puerto Maldonado was usually temperate, though subject to a heavy rainy season. The guard drove around the building to the south, the transmission substation.

“Nothing here you haven’t seen before,” Hatch said. “This is where the power that comes from the plant is dispersed. It feeds from our transmission substation over high-voltage transmission lines to local power substations and then to homes and businesses as far away as Lima.

“You can compare our system to the human body. Our power plant is the heart. The high-voltage lines are major arteries, which break down into veins, then capillaries, eventually feeding into individual homes and businesses. Electricity is truly the lifeblood of civilization.

“Over the last two years we’ve helped the Peruvian government lay miles of high-voltage power lines. If we were to shut down, all of Puerto Maldonado, Cuzco, and the surrounding cities would also shut down. Even more impressive is that two of Peru’s largest cities would also be majorly impacted: Eighty percent of Arequipa and almost half of Lima would go dark. Within a year, we will be powering ninety-five percent of the country.” A smile crossed his thin lips. “At which point, we’ll own the country.” He looked out over the station with satisfaction.

“They should have been more cautious. ‘Beware the stranger offering gifts, as true for man as it is for fish,’” Hatch said slowly. “So it is.”

*   *   *

The next building the cart stopped at was the Reeducation Center. The cart pulled up to a door made of thick steel and attended by two guards who, like the guards at the bowl, stood at attention and saluted Dr. Hatch.

The doors opened, and the group walked into a holding area with a second set of doors.

“This looks like a prison,” Tara said, her voice echoing.

“It’s much more than that,” Hatch said. “This is our Reeducation Center. It’s here that we help our enemies change their minds.”

“You brainwash them?” Quentin asked.

Hatch gave him a disapproving glance. “This is where we
teach
these misguided souls the error of their thinking. Sometimes it takes a while, but you would be surprised at just how malleable the human brain can be. In the right environment the mind can be molded like clay. Men and women walk in here as enemies and come out as devotees, willing to lay down their lives for our cause.”

After the first door had locked behind them, the second door clicked, then opened, and the teens walked into the main hall. The floors were smooth, resin-coated concrete, and the walls were dark red brick.

Hatch spoke as they walked. “Pavlov taught us the rules of conditioning—but he also taught us that the human mind can be quickly converted from years of training to a new way of thinking by a single traumatic experience.

“We can induce that kind of trauma through punishment—but we’ve also discovered that the mere
threat
of punishment can be just as effective. So, of course, we show them the rats.”

Through Plexiglas windows the teens could see rows of men in pink, flowered jumpsuits sitting on long benches watching films.

“Why are they wearing pink?” Bryan asked.

“Everything you see has a reason. They are dressed in clothing that embarrasses and humiliates them. How strong can you be dressed as a little girl?”

Tara and Bryan snickered.

“You would be surprised at how powerful something as simple as changing someone’s clothing can be. Psychologists and fashion designers have long known that changing someone’s appearance can alter their self-perception. And when you change someone’s self-perception, you change their behavior.

“Of course, we also change their names. In our case we give them numbers. When they no longer can identify with who they were, they begin to doubt their own thoughts and feelings. It is then that we can implant them with our truths.

“We didn’t discover all this, of course—we had the Korean War and Vietnamese reeducation camps to learn from—but I’m proud to say we’ve significantly advanced the science. We have the benefit of using procedures they never dreamed of.” He put his hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Like emulating Tara’s gifts. We can make them doubt their own sanity within minutes. And, like their identity, once they doubt their sanity, we’re most of the way there.

“What we discovered is that the more people think they can’t be controlled, the easier subjects they make. What the masses don’t realize is that they’re looking for a shepherd. Those who don’t think they can be influenced or call themselves ‘independent thinkers’ are usually the biggest conformists of all—and the easiest to turn. Why do you think cults prey on college students? Easy picking.”

“You make it sound simple,” Quentin said.

Hatch looked at him and smiled. “It is when you know what you’re doing.” He stopped near an open door to a theater room. Nearly two dozen inmates were seated quietly on the ground even though there were enough seats for everyone. “Take a seat, everyone,” Hatch said to the youths. “Everyone except Tara.” The group quickly found seats. Tara stood anxiously, unsure if she’d done something wrong. “While I speak to Tara, I’d like you to view one of the films we’ve produced so you understand how the newly reeducated think and act. In the meantime I have an errand. I’ll be back when the film is over. Tara, if you’ll come with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Tara followed Hatch out of the room. In the hallway
Hatch turned to her. “We have a little visit to make. I need your help.”

“You need my powers?” she asked with relief.

“No,” Hatch replied. “I need your face.”

T
hirty-four marks. Sharon Vey had counted the days of her captivity by scratching marks into the concrete floor of her cell. Her room was only ten by ten, two-thirds of it occupied by her metal cage.

She was sitting back against the bars when Hatch walked into the room. “Hello, Sharon.” A buzzer went off and he typed in the required code. Mrs. Vey turned away from him.

“Miss me?” Hatch asked.

Still no answer.

“I trust your accommodations are to your satisfaction.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Of course we can.”

“You won’t get away with this. They’ll find me.”

Hatch’s brow furrowed with mock concern. “
Who
will find you?”

Mrs. Vey didn’t answer. She knew it was a stupid thing to say.
No one would find her here. She wasn’t even sure where she was.

“Surely you don’t mean that inept little police department in Meridian, Idaho. In the first place, we own them. Secondly, you, my dear, are a long, long way from Idaho. And the only way you’re ever going to get back there is if you no longer wish to return.”

“I know who you are,” she said.

“Do you?” He sat down in the room’s lone chair, an amused grin blanketing his face. “Don’t make me wait, tell me.”

“You’re Jim Hatch.”

“I prefer Dr. Hatch, but yes, they used to call me that.”

“My husband told me about you.”

“And what, exactly, did your late husband have to say?”

“He said you are an unstable, diabolical, delusional man with megalomaniac tendencies.”

Hatch smiled. “Did he also tell you that I’m dangerous?”

Mrs. Vey looked at him coldly. “Yes.”

“That’s the thing about your husband, he always called a spade a spade.”

“Where is my son?”

“We have him safely locked away as we reeducate him.”

“I want to see him.”

“When we’re done, you’ll see him. When he’s broken and subservient, you’ll see him. You may not recognize him anymore, but you’ll definitely see him.”

“You’ll never break him.”

“On the contrary. If psychology has taught us anything, it’s that everyone has a breaking point.
Everyone
.”

“I want to see my son!” she shouted.

“Poignant. Really, I’m moved. A mother crying out for her son. But what
you
want is of no relevance. All that matters is what
I
want. Besides, he’s not ready. He’s a special boy. And when we’re done, he’ll be of great value to our cause.”

“You have no cause except your own lust for power.”

Hatch grinned darkly. “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.” He leaned toward the bars. “The lust for power is the only way the
world has ever changed. Of course we dress it up in noble intentions, but in the end politics and religion are like sausage—it may be good, but it’s best not to know what goes into it.

“Trust me, the day will come when I will be honored as the visionary I am.”

“You’re delusional,” Mrs. Vey said.

Hatch smiled. “All great men are delusional. How else could they be crazy enough to think they could change the world?” He leaned back. “The day will come when I will be as celebrated as George Washington is today. And the electric children, including yours, will be held up and worshipped as the pioneers of a new world order. You should be pleased to know that your son will be held in such high esteem. You cling to the past only because you fear change. But nothing good comes without change.
Nothing
. Change is evolution, nothing more. And if it wasn’t for evolution you’d still be living in a tree eating bananas.”

Mrs. Vey just looked at him.

“Speaking of eating, has anyone told you what
you’ve
been eating for the past month? Those tasty little biscuits are called Rabisk. They’re made of ground-up rats: meat, fur, and bonemeal.”

Her stomach churned.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He walked to the cell door and opened it. “You may come in now.”

Tara walked in. “Hi, Mrs. Vey.”

Mrs. Vey looked at her with surprise. “Taylor?”

Tara smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to help. What Dr. Hatch is doing is wonderful. For all of us.”

“Have you seen Michael?”

“Of course.”

“How is he?”

“He’s great. He’s having a good time.”

Mrs. Vey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A good time? Has he asked about me?”

Tara shook her head. “No. I mean, he knows you’re okay and we’re all just so busy and going places. But I’m sure he’ll find time to visit before too long.”