Scale, p.20
Scale, page 20
Jake tried to look suitably reverent, as if he had no doubts about the basis for this claim. Then again, if he was new, he wouldn’t be expected to know everything yet.
“How the hell did those rabbits give birth ... ?” he began.
Madeleine was amused. “Is that what your parents told you?”
“My parents?”
“The children’s story, where Scale One people give birth to Scale Two, and so on?”
Jake said, “My parents were content with explaining how Scale Seven people made Scale Seven babies.”
“The Scale Five rabbits don’t gestate any smaller-scale young,” Madeleine explained. “We use surrogate animals; there’s a Scale Seven rodent called a marmalide that’s close enough to keep the rabbit embryos healthy.”
That much made sense, Jake supposed. “But how do you create a Scale Seven rabbit embryo in the first place?”
Madeleine said, “That’s the trick that’s worth an arm and a leg.”
Jake laughed, and decided not to push her; whatever non-disclosure agreement he would have signed if he actually worked here, too many questions could still set alarms ringing.
But Madeleine had almost lost the detailed transcripts of her precious secret once; she was in a mood to disseminate knowledge, rather than hoard it and risk its extinguishment.
She said, “We found a virus that ferries genes between scales. It can take Scale Five rabbit genes and insert them into a fertilized Scale Seven marmalide egg.”
Jake considered this. “But if that’s what happens in nature, where did the marmalides come from? If you need some kind of Scale Seven embryo in the first place ... ?”
“There are lineages that go back to single-celled organisms at all scales,” Madeleine replied. “But there’s always been horizontal transfer as well. Evolution favored creatures that could steal some of their cousins’ tricks and re-enact them at their own scale. This virus isn’t so much a pathogen as a spy. Or at least, a valued courier.”
“So you’ve solved the biggest puzzle in biology,” Jake said. “There must be some kind of prize for that.”
“There’s still a lot more to find out,” she stressed. “This particular virus couldn’t have done the same thing in humans; there must be a whole family of them, adapted to different species.”
“If ours has gone extinct since it spread its joy a million years ago, maybe that’s a good thing,” Jake suggested. “I mean ... ” He grimaced. “Horizontal transfer? It sounds like adultery with people you never met. No one wants that.”
Madeleine said, “Not yet, maybe. But in a couple of years, when we’re so far ahead of them, don’t you think there’ll be people from the other scales who’d be more than happy to have their children join us?”
Jake blinked, and fought to head off any hint of his actual feelings in regard to this proposal making their way to the muscles of his face. “I take it you don’t mean Scale Seven women offering up their fertilized eggs to be virally modified into other people’s children?”
“Hardly.” Madeleine curled her lips in distaste, and set him straight. “There are plenty of suitable Scale Seven primates. So if the other scales start complaining that we’re treating them unfairly, we can offer them generational migration.”
Jake was pretty sure that his acting abilities wouldn’t stretch to a believable portrait of someone finding this clarification heartening. “A couple of years is a long time,” he said, desperately searching for a way out of the whole topic. “I’ll be long dead before any of this happens.”
“Maybe.” Madeleine smiled slyly. “Though if you stick with G8, you never know your luck.”
Khalid, one of the other prison guards, caught Jake’s eye as he entered the cafeteria. “You missed the big news,” he said, nodding to Madeleine as if they were acquaintances, but not particularly close.
“Yeah?”
“When they debriefed the sub crew, they all picked out one of the hijackers as having hands-on experience operating something similar. This guy wasn’t some random citizen who just got angry with the Mayor. He has to be navy.”
“That makes sense,” Jake said cautiously. The submarine crew had probably refused to ram their own base, even at gunpoint, and a random citizen could not have performed that kind of maneuver in their place. “But I doubt he’ll admit to it; dragging civilians into something like this wouldn’t be a good look.”
Khalid said, “They’re going to take him up to the surface and put him on display. Someone has to know who he is.”
“On display? What does that mean?” Jake caught himself before an invocation of laws against parading prisoners of war could escape from his lips.
“Bring him to a public meeting, maybe?” Khalid shrugged. “They might put up posters as well, but I guess it’s more dramatic if they can show him to people in the flesh. ‘This is the man who tried to sabotage your future: lying, conspiring, and putting lives in danger all the way.’”
Jake had no sympathy for the prisoner, though he might well have been deceived or coerced by his own superiors. But had anyone even questioned Shane yet? He couldn’t decide if this development improved the prospects of getting him to the surface, or risked derailing the plan entirely.
Back in his room, Jake didn’t even try to sleep. If Shane was interviewed now, it would be all about the undercover naval officer; whatever story Shane had invented to try to make himself sound useful would be judged against that fragment of reality, and if the pieces didn’t fit, it would be disastrous.
Jake was halfway to the prison – with a half-baked plan running through his head in which he pleaded insomnia and offered to swap shifts with a colleague – when he realized how foolish that would be. There were no more meals until breakfast; without a pretext to approach Shane’s cell until a few seconds before he was due to board the sub, he’d have to contrive one, and risk drawing suspicion. And he had no idea which prisoner was meant to be the navy guy; he had no description he could pass to Shane that would help him meet his questioners’ expectations. He should have asked Khalid in the cafeteria, when it would have been natural to be curious, but if he raised the subject now he’d be setting himself up for people to connect the dots between his questions and Shane’s testimony.
He returned to his room and lay on his bed, fantasizing about ways to fake an emergency that would force them to evacuate the whole base. A growing inrush of water? A generator threatening to explode? A rabbit virus running wild? The truth was, everything was out of his hands now.
When it was time to depart, Jake retrieved his camera from its hiding place and put it in his pocket, then he went to the cafeteria for breakfast. Looking around, seeing a few familiar faces, it struck him that if Spotlight had given him a job, he might have ended up in exactly the same role as the dutiful employee he was currently imitating. But what did that mean? That in the right circumstances, he’d be as willing to flout the law as anyone else here? That he would have found excuses to fit in and go along for the ride? That he would have embraced Madeleine’s dream of a gentle genocide for all the other scales?
Or maybe it just meant he should be proud that Spotlight had known better than to hire him.
When he reported to Sandrine to get a boarding pass, she said, “That tip paid off.”
“What tip?”
“About the boy wanting to talk. He backed up all the other evidence against Mollinson.”
“Who?”
Sandrine laughed. “Sorry. Mollinson’s the naval officer who organized the whole thing; the boy wouldn’t give us any other names, but he’s so angry about the way things turned out that he’s willing to testify against his leader.”
Jake allowed himself a grin of delight. Shane had probably plucked the name from thin air, but whether he’d just opened with that and let his interrogators do the work of putting a face to it, or whether he’d actually witnessed the man’s actions on the sub and reached the same conclusions as the crew, everything had worked out in the end.
“They’ll both be traveling up with you,” Sandrine added.
“Okay.” Jake nodded soberly. “No problem, I can handle that.”
Sandrine was amused. “I’m sure you can, but unless you’ve had a week or two of military training you’ve been shy about mentioning, we might err on the side of caution and give you a bit of backup.”
As she spoke, a group of men, some of them with rifles, arrived at the entrance to the prison. Jake gazed out through the window of Sandrine’s office, and counted no fewer than ten.
“That’s the escort now,” she said. “I’ll introduce you, but I can’t put you on duty with them; Spotlight would go crazy if I did that before you got your paperwork re-issued. So think of this as a holiday; go up and get your forms signed, then relax and do what you like until it’s time to come back. Just because you’re sharing a ride with two prisoners doesn’t mean they’re your responsibility.”
Chapter 33
Loretta waited for all five of the petitioners to gather on the steps of the Town Hall before they walked in together. The public gallery was nowhere near as crowded as it had been for the Mayor’s announcement, but she suspected there were still ten times as many people as would have shown up for any Council meeting in ordinary times.
“We’re definitely on the agenda?” Pablo asked Loretta.
“Yes.” She dug out the signed declaration from the District Clerk, who’d certified the petition a couple of minutes earlier. “Testifying to a count of one thousand, two hundred and nine signatures, with names and addresses matching the electoral roll in one thousand, two hundred and five cases.” Whatever was going on with the Mayor and her associates, the Council’s civil servants were still following procedure.
“Do you trust them not to lose the petition?”
Loretta said, “I photocopied every sheet before I handed it over. But ... ” She waved the declaration. “I don’t see how they could end up disavowing this. What are they going to do? Claim it’s a forgery?”
The group took their seats just as the Councilors began filing in. When the Secretary read out the agenda for the meeting, there it was, as the last item: a petition to amend the ballot of a scheduled referendum.
The first item was a motion to increase “security measures” at all voting locations. “We will not be bullied by Wendale’s army into abandoning the chance to exercise our freedom,” the Mayor declared angrily. “Accordingly, I move that the Council takes steps to hire suitable personnel, and procure the necessary armaments, to defend each and every ballot box throughout the period of the referendum.”
“So you’re building your own private army?” a man interjected from the audience, rising to his feet.
“We’re ensuring that the vote won’t be disrupted,” the Mayor replied. “We will not allow soldiers to burst in with tear gas and rob us of our right to self-determination.”
“And what will your own soldiers be doing, if the vote goes against you?” the man asked pointedly. “The ones with lethal ammunition, not tear gas.”
The Mayor said, “This motion addresses security for the referendum. It does not authorize any other actions by the Council.”
“Then what happens to the guns?” the man persisted. “After the referendum, where do all those weapons go?”
“All Council property is subject to appropriate storage regulations,” the Mayor assured him. The man fell silent, then took his seat again with an air of resignation, as if he’d just tried sparing with a balloon animal and discovered that although it wouldn’t dodge a single blow, it could absorb them all and bounce back from the impact without the slightest consequence.
The Mayor read through a detailed list of provisions and costings. The Councilors voted, and the motion passed almost unanimously.
“I feel safer already,” Genevieve whispered sarcastically.
The second item outlined a plan to begin reinforcing the roads, to support heavier, faster vehicles that employed Scale Seven materials and technology. Loretta thoroughly approved, but she was afraid that people would start to assume that developments like this were somehow contingent on the outcome of the referendum.
The motion passed, as did seventeen more in relation to transport infrastructure, public utilities and building codes. The Council was charging ahead, preparing the way for District Seven to reap the benefits of lepton engineering. Loretta gave up fretting over the downside; the job of the Negotiators, now, would be to make it clear that they supported all the same things, and that none of these benign endeavors would be subject to potential vetos from Wendale if the talks ever took place.
The Mayor addressed the final item. “We have received a petition to add a third option to the referendum, supported by one thousand, two hundred and five verified signatures. This option would mandate ten days of discussion between the Council and the national government, aimed at reaching mutually satisfactory terms for the safe use of the new technology.” She paused and looked around at the audience. “I think I’ve made my own position clear: if we remain beholden to Wendale, they will bury everything we’re hoping to achieve, first delaying it with endless commissions of inquiry, then frustrating it with endless layers of regulation. The idea that their compulsion to keep us in check could be overcome with a mere ten days of talks is too naïve to warrant an elaborate rebuttal, so I’ll confine myself to abstaining from the vote, and pass the matter into the capable hands of my fellow Councilors.”
Loretta stared down at the floor as the Councilors called out their votes. “Against.” “Against.” “Against.” “In favor.” “Abstain.” “Against.” “In favor.” “In favor.” “In favor.” “Against.” “In favor.”
The Secretary said, “Five against, five in favor, two abstentions. Under by-law 117.3.4, the Council is obliged to honor the request, unless evidence is given to support a contention that the petition is invalid. Does any Councilor or citizen present wish to offer such evidence?”
Loretta waited for the blow to arrive. Maybe the petitioners would be accused of taking bribes to mount their campaign, or offering inducements in exchange for signatures. Would the Mayor read out the incriminating affidavits herself, or had she chosen a proxy so she could remain at arm’s length from the whole unpleasant business?
The Secretary spoke again. “No evidence has been offered. The motion passes, and the ballot will be amended accordingly.”
Genevieve emitted a kind of choking sound, like a laugh with someone’s foot planted on her throat. “They’re confident enough not to care,” she said. “They’re convinced that for half the voters ten days will sound too long to endure, and for the rest the prospect of making Wendale budge at all will seem preposterous.”
“Or they might just be hoping we’ll split the ‘no’ vote,” Chandra suggested.
“I’m sure we’ll split the ‘no’ vote,” Stephen replied. “But I think we’ll split the ‘yes’ vote more.”
Pablo said, “If the ‘yes’ vote is bigger to start with, we won’t need to steal as much of it, proportionately. And it’s not a bad thing to steal most of the ‘no’ vote; it’s no consolation to us if the ‘no’ vote comes second if that means we come last.”
As they walked out of the hall, Loretta tried to savor the victory; whatever else, at least they’d been spared a long struggle just to get their option on the ballot. “Now we can start campaigning seriously,” she said. “It’s hard to get anyone’s attention when you’re talking about a choice that might not even be open to them.”
“Any new campaign ideas?” Stephen asked, half seriously.
“Let me sleep on it,” Loretta begged him.
“Sleep,” Genevieve sighed. “What a glorious idea.”
Loretta heard a commotion from the direction of the border: some shouting, some derisive laughter. “What now?” It was long past the point where she could welcome soldiers marching in to arrest the Council; nothing would be resolved now unless the vote went ahead.
The five of them headed west together, to see what was happening. When they reached a street that ran all the way to the border and continued beyond it, Loretta saw a machine at work, digging up the road on the D6 side. There were soldiers standing guard, with crossbows, but no one seemed to be preparing to enter D7. This was not an incursion; it was the start of some kind of blockade.
“What do they do if the Council sends snipers?” Genevieve wondered. “Do they really think they can win that fight with arrows?”
“Would the separatists fire on road workers?” Pablo asked, sounding hopeful that the answer might be no. “You can’t shoot at a machine like that without risking the operator’s life.”
Loretta watched the pit in the road growing deeper. They could have tried building a wall of Scale Seven timber, but that would be massively expensive, and even if no Scale Seven fist could have punched through it, Scale Seven steel would have made short work of it. This trench would not be unbridgeable, but it might be easier to observe, and frustrate, any attempts to breach it.
“How much food do you think is grown inside the district?” she asked.
“About a quarter of what we eat,” Stephen replied. “The rest comes in from farms outside the city.” He motioned vaguely to the north.
If the government tried to starve them, it wouldn’t take long. But would the threat make voters reflect on the dangers of trying to break away, or just leave them angry and stubborn? They’d now been told that the separatists had the means to build bombs that could obliterate a city. If you believed you were not just being wronged, but had the power to exact retribution, would you surrender meekly?
“Oh, that’s a nice touch,” Chandra said dryly. A dump-truck had arrived, and workers were guiding it as it reversed toward the excavation. When the bed of the truck tilted, its load of soft sand flowed into the pit, almost filling it. A determined smuggler could surely find a way between the neighboring districts, regardless, but this sight would evoke a visceral response in every Scale Seven person. Forget soldiers with tear gas or arrows; nothing could make them feel less safe than knowing that they couldn’t trust the ground beneath their feet.
