Chapter 19: Release the Plague

Chapter 19: Release the Plague
‘KREDENDUM, KREDENDUM I’VE FIGURED IT OUT,’ Barry shouted exultantly. ‘Yeah right,’ replied the little alien, although his eyes betrayed intrigue. ‘You used an artificially-created black hole didn’t you? The gravity caused by the hole resulted in space being warped didn’t it? That’s how you and all your people got here.’ Kredendum looked shocked, confirming Barry’s hypothesis. ‘I’m right aren’t I?’ Kredendum nodded in amazement. ‘I knew I was; I knew it.’ With an almost childlike obstinacy Kredendum said: ‘Well, it’s one thing knowing how it’s done but it’s another thing entirely, to actually make it happen.’ ‘Don’t be such a negative sod. Now I’ve got something to go on I’m halfway there.’ It took many months for Barry to realise the vision he’d had in the shower and create his own warp drive making interstellar travel a reality, yet he did it, much to Kredendum’s disappointment. In fact Kredendum’s first thought regarding humanities latest technological breakthrough was: Damn, there goes the neighbourhood. The human race was on the cusp of conquering the final frontier, and it was all thanks to Finbar Cedric Broomfield.
270 Kredendum looked severely miffed as he lectured a now very smug, selfglorified ape. ‘You don’t realise what you’ve done do you? You’ll go down in history as the one who released the human plague onto the universe. You think you’re being creative, you think that your work is benefiting mankind. Well you’re wrong because they’ll twist what you’ve created. Look at your predecessor, Einstein, look what they used his work for.’ ‘The atom bomb?’ replied Barry, not quite believing what he was hearing. ‘Yep, thanks to you it won’t be long before this galaxy smells like napalm and ape stink. Your work’ll be used just as they used Einstein’s, to cause devastation. They’ll try to conquer every planet they can to call it their own.’ ‘We’re not that bad,’ said Barry, thinking this tirade a joke. ‘I just hope everyone I know back home has stocked up their ape poison to keep you vermin under control, no doubt though your pesky immune systems will build up a resistance to it after a while.’ Kredendum then made a note in his diary under memos. I’ll have to give them a call to make sure they set their mantraps up
with plenty of cheese. ‘We’re not vermin: we’re people.’ said Barry looking at his friend with disdain. ‘Ohhh my little Barry boy, always the comedian.’ Kredendum slapped his friend on the back and laughed. Barry however had not been joking and was disgruntled by the flagrant disregard for his species. ‘If anything it’s your lot that’s the vermin: abducting people for no good reason and cutting up cattle.’ Kredendum was quick to cut across his monkey friend. ‘Firstly there’s a very good reason for us abducting your lot, and as for the so-called ‘cattle mutilations,’
271 can’t we throw a couple of steaks on the barbie every now and again without getting crucified for it. I mean god almighty, give us a break, give us a Kitkat. And if you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit join our club. Trio, trio, I want a trio and I want one now.’ ‘Alright, fair enough, I’ll let you off about that. But why do you have to abduct people all the time?’ Kredendum, now clearly embarrassed, spoke in a barely audible whisper. ‘We don’t have reproductive organs.’ ‘What? I didn’t quite catch that.’ ‘We don’t have reproductive organs,’ said Kredendum, turning red as he raised the volume of his voice. Barry looked down at the alien’s groin unabashedly. The Greys don’t wear clothes, and Barry had been curious as to where they tucked away their meat and two vegetables. ‘Yeah, now you mention it I’d been wondering about that. You’ve got a crotch with less equipment than an action man figurine.’ ‘Alright, alright easy,’ replied Kredendum with painful self-consciousness. ‘So, we’ve established you don’t have a penis, but that still doesn’t explain why you need to abduct us poor saps.’ ‘Because we’ve lost the ability to reproduce by traditional methods we use cloning, but over time the DNA becomes damaged from the process. We have to replace the breaks in the code with fresh human DNA.’ ‘Cloning, that’s not natural—that’s—that’s wrong that’s what that is, and anyway, you didn’t just do it for that did you?’ Kredendum produced a broad smile and said: ‘Nah, I just did it for fun me.’
272 Remembering he was supposed to be ashamed of that particular feature of his past, Kredendum then thought it best to look at the floor as if remorseful. Barry reiterated: ‘Cloning is morally wrong.’ ‘According to who? If you think that’s bad you should see what humanity’s up to.’ Kredendum decided it was time to shed some light on the real purpose of The Complex. His almond-black eyes focused intently on his friend. ‘Look, I tell you what, why don’t you have yourself a little excursion with me down to Level 5.’ ‘I can’t coz I don’t have clearance.’ ‘It doesn’t matter: I’ll be able to sneak you in.’ Level 5: The Nursery and Blood Labs ‘Good day and welcome to Level 5, we ask that could you please refrain from speaking to any of the patients as you can destroy years of work. These people are suffering with severe mental and physical illnesses. This site conducts research on high-risk drug treatments. All the patients are here of their own free will.’ The message that played on the lift’s intercom as Barry descended yet deeper into The Complex did little to help sooth the nerves that threatened to make him lose bladder control. The greeting certainly drew a stark parallel with the pleasant, pacifying tune you might hear inside an average shopping mall lift. As Barry battled with the pterodactyls that fluttered about in his stomach, he began to speculate whether he’d encounter his old cellmate from Weirdways— Sammy Nammy—as one of the inpatients.
273 When the lift doors drew apart they revealed countless prison cells stretching on a series of seemingly never-ending corridors, all filled with a depth of degradation that even a Nazi concentration camp would have had trouble competing with. Walking slowly, his mouth agape, Barry looked on as the detainee’s begged for his assistance. ‘Help me—please—help me,’ whimpered a young girl through watering eyes and steel bars. An old man cried out to Barry, holding out his hands in a plea of desperation. ‘Give a dog a bone.’ Barry assumed the old man must have been drugged and delirious, or as the lift had told him, insane. Continuing to walk down the shadowy corridors alongside Kredendum, Barry could see the condition of the inmates deteriorating until some of them no longer began to resemble people at all. There were grotesque hybrids, humans that appeared to be gene-spliced with animals and multi-limbed monsters that could give Spiderman a run for his money. ‘There must be thousands of them,’ said Barry in horror. ‘Yep, these are the results of the genetic experiments your kind has been carrying out on their own people. Your world leaders were happy to provide us with abduction subjects in exchange for data on genetic manipulation. Morality and ethics have never been an issue.’ ‘Why have you brought me down here…?’ Barry continued to be gripped by an impossible urge to openly stare at the poor mutated souls inside the cells, torn in half between disgust and wonder.
274 ‘To show you that your species, accepts, deals with, and perpetrates evil quite comfortably, so you can get off your high horse about us Greys being the bad guys for doing the occasional abduction.’ ‘Why are they doing these experiments, what’s the point?’ Kredendum shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. ‘God knows. Maybe they want to find the meaning of life or something. As of yet I can’t see what they’ve accomplished other than create a lot of faces for radio.’ A weak voice called out: ‘Barry, Barry Broomfield.’ Turning round on his heel, Barry saw lying in one of the cells a man who had four arms and six legs, obviously the result of a botched genetic experiment. Barry’s eyes narrowed as they focused upon the face of the monstrous inmate. ‘Charles Delve…is that you?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Charles meekly. ‘Jesus, what’s happened to you?’ ‘THEY’VE GIVEN ME FOUR ARMS AND SIX BASTARD LEGS THAT’S WHAT,’ shouted Charles, invigorated by his co-workers moronic question. Charles had been Barry’s closest friend up on Level 3 but nobody had seen him for months. When Barry had asked Professor Schriever about his colleague’s disappearance he was told he’d gone on safari. ‘They told us you were on a long holiday. What are you doing taking your holiday down here?’ Charles held his head in his four hands at Barry’s imbecility. ‘Does this look like a holiday to you Broomfield?’ Ignoring Charles’s question and puffing out his chest, Barry said: ‘Have no fear I’ll get you out of here.’
275 Kredendum, who had so far been silent during this reunion interjected: ‘I wouldn’t do that Barry because they’ll catch you and then you’ll end up in here too.’ ‘You’re gonna get me out of here Broomfield!’ shouted Charles. ‘Smuggle a man with ten limbs out of the most secure military installation in the world. You’ve got more chance of falling pregnant.’ ‘I’m not pulling your leg. I’m gonna get you out of here. Amnesty International will be hearing about this.’ Instantly Barry regretted his choice of the leg-pulling expression. ‘PULLING MY LEG! PULLING MY LEG! ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?’ Charles proceeded to rant and rave inside his barren cell. He’d managed to endure months of bone-crippling genetic experiments, being unjustly incarcerated, agonizing mental torture, terrible experiences for any man to tolerate, yet it was to be The Broomfield Effect that would finally send him over the edge. Kredendum, dragging Barry away from Charles’s demented shouts of pulling my goddamn leg said: ‘It’s too late, he’s lost his mind. We’d better leave Barry before you get thrown in here too.’ Barry was disappointed at what he considered overreacting by Charles and tried to cheer him up. ‘It’s not all bad, so you’re a hideous freak, but just imagine how good you’ll be at kickboxing.’ This comment didn’t have the desired result: Charles was not comforted by the remark because he didn’t even hear it as his descent into insanity was already too deep. He wouldn’t be returning from la-la land anytime soon.
276 Sitting back up on Level Four after reflecting over the dark secrets of The Complex, Barry spoke eloquent words of wisdom. ‘I guess I’d be pretty upset too if I knew my gloves and socks bill was going to go through the roof.’ Tossing and turning in his bed that night over the desperate crimes against the human race being perpetrated on Level Five, Barry didn’t know what to do. The waiver he’d signed upon entering The Complex stated that if he so much as thought of telling the outside world about the base he would suffer the penalty of death. Barry didn’t know if along with all the other surveillance devices Thought Police were an additional security measure, but he didn’t want to risk it. Hurriedly, he attempted to erase his new thoughts of resent for The Complex and the scoundrels who ran it; after all, he didn’t want to end up as another Charles Delve. The next day at work Barry had lost his laser focus, not that anybody noticed as they were all too busy toasting the achievement of conquering the final frontier with a bottle of champagne. Barry, who was the focal point of the merriment wasn’t interested in celebrating. Just like when he’d won the national Chess Tournament in London, he again forgot to revel in his glory, being too distracted by more important matters. ‘Hey Barry, it’s amazing what you’ve done. You’ve allowed man to reach the stars. You’ll go down in history as the greatest scientist of all time.’ ‘Yeah,’ replied Barry absent-mindedly. ‘Well done,’ said another man. ‘Three cheers for Barry Broomfield. Hip hip—’
277 ‘HOORAY.’ As the clapping of hands echoed in his ears Barry dreamt of being somewhere else, anywhere else. Public conferences followed where Barry stood on a pedestal and attempted to explain to the world how his anti-matter and warp drive worked. Despite not being able to understand his technospeak, the breakthrough of titanic proportions was gobbled up by a swarming press, making Barry once again famous. Forceful journalists wasted little time getting to the heart of the matter, ‘When will your spacecraft be having its first flight?’ they asked. ‘The first full test flight will fly from the Kennedy Space Centre on July the 20th.’ ‘Will this test be open to the public?’ ‘Yes it will.’ The collective thought which transmitted amongst the media men was: If this
is a success we potentially may break all previous newspaper sale records. If the
whole thing goes tits up, we’ll definitely break them. All previous human space exploration had just been the dipping of a big toe into an icy ocean, but now humanity had donned the wetsuit and SCUBA gear. The feeling of union Barry noticed spreading amongst his brothers and sisters gave him a warm glow inside. There was a near-frenzied excitement everywhere he went and he saw differences in race, religion and nationality forgotten. Mankind ceased their petty disputes over land, power and which country has the most attractive women. His spacecraft, now named the Broomanator, had united humanity.
278 Barry felt immensely pleased he’d taken the human race into a new golden age of peace and prosperity. It was then such a shame that he was living in an idealistic fantasy world. The reality was that the poor, the desperate and the greedy looked up to the heavens with famished eyes, which in effect meant every pair of human peepers, around 6.66 billion in all were staring upwards. The locusts were readying themselves to take flight and form the cloud of death. No longer living in The Complex because of his newfound status as the world’s No1 pin-up geek, Barry was instead living the American dream. A luxurious mansion that made the one he’d had as world chess champion look like a child’s doll house served as his new home. The media horde setup camp outside to try to catch photos of the science star scratching his backside. They were successful on a number of occasions. This sea of reporters were an annoyance to be sure, but far more alarming to Barry were the men dressed all in black that had infiltrated actually inside his house, albeit with about as much stealth as a rampaging Bengal tiger. These uninvited guests had an annoying habit of hiding in the bushes of Barry’s back garden and inside the wardrobe of his bedroom. There was even one who had large rubber suckers attached to his hands and feet, using them to crawl across the ceiling as Barry moved through his home. One time this wall crawler sneezed and Barry kindly offered him a tissue. The MIB didn’t reply save for whispering anxiously into a small microphone located on his chest, that he believed his cover had been blown. It was difficult for Barry to pretend his house wasn’t infested with MIB, but he shouldered on with it because he knew why they were there: they were keeping an
279 extremely close eye on him to make sure he didn’t blurt out any of the secrets he’d discovered in his time working for the US military. They needn’t have worried because Barry had no intention of doing anything of the sort, not that it didn’t bother him, on the contrary in fact, every night he had to endure scary-wary nightmares about what was going on inside The Nursery. He would have loved nothing more than to blow the lid open on the conspiracy at The Complex, there was just one thing stopping him: he didn’t want to end up as a halfhuman half-bat down on Level Five. So, he cowardly kept his mouth firmly shut, opening it only to smile for the sporadic flashes of cameras. A couple of weeks before the big day Barry went to see his Broomanator, just to reacquaint himself with what he’d achieved and admire his genius. His creation felt more precious to him than anything or anyone else in the world. In spite of having next to no fear of the machine flying with anything less than a 100% success rate, Barry wanted to play it safe, suggesting a less important life form like a Koala bear be the first to take a test flight into deep space. The American bigwigs disagreed with Barry’s caution, stating that they’d already been giving it too large to the media to just send up a Koala bear. The man who’d been picked to be the first person to travel into infinity was Captain James Rico, a larger-than-life distinguished military man with a million dollar smile, chiselled good looks, and the deep strong musk of a male stag. Women swooned as he talked about his time flying Apache helicopters, Nighthawk fighter planes, nursing injured rabbits back to health and generally been an all-round dashing, handsome hero.
280 As Barry watched the adoring masses manipulated like putty, he realised he was the exact polar opposite of Captain Rico, that his Mum would’ve much rather given birth to the fighter pilot, and lastly, that his own life was of no value to anybody. The appointment of this man to pilot his ship was fine with Barry, well aware the seasoned battle pilot was perfect for the job. What did disturb him greatly however upon visiting his spacecraft as it idled inside a hangar, was that there had been some alarming alterations made to the design that he hadn’t been informed about. Barry questioned a young lab technician nearby to fill him in about the finer details of these changes. The explanation he received was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. ‘Those are the photon torpedoes!’ The young lady had a delighted glint in her eye as she explained with enthusiasm just how destructive the alterations were. ‘They’ll cause some carnage those will. They make nukes look like a child’s firecrackers. Boooom, oh yeah, that’s it, hot stuff cooking in the kitchen tonight baby. Yeah, do me, harder, harder, harder!’ ‘What!’ said Barry horrified. ‘Well you can’t be too careful can you, anything could be out there.’ Barry didn’t really see why it was necessary to equip his creation with more armaments than a Klingon Bird of Prey. He took these reservations to Professor Schriever. ‘Why may I ask has my ship been turned into a harbinger of death and destruction? The Broomanator is for exploration. I didn’t build it as cudgel for you barbarians.’
281 ‘And you didn’t,’ replied Professor Schriever dismissively, not having time for what he considered to be a hissy fit on Barry’s part. ‘What do you call these then?’ Barry began pointing to the various cutting edge armaments his once innocent spacecraft now possessed. Along with the photon torpedoes, the Broomanator now had phase beam turrets, pulse detonation guns, molecular disintegration bombs, nerve-gas canisters, active camouflage and an exterior coated in matt black, radar-deflecting technology, similar to that used on the Stealth Bomber. The spacecraft was geared up to the teeth to partake in one thing and one thing alone, mankind’s favourite pass time—war. Professor Schriever looked over Barry with lightless eyes. ‘You invented the warp drive and anti-matter reactor. You didn’t build the weaponry did you, or the ship itself for that matter?’ ‘I won’t allow it. I won’t allow my inventions to be used as tools of tyranny. Kredendum was right.’ ‘I’m afraid you don’t have that choice Mr Broomfield because the Broomanator is US government property, besides, you needn’t worry as the armaments are only for defence purposes, just in case Captain Rico encounters anything hostile.’ Every piece of his small logic told Barry this was a lie. The nerve-gas canisters especially couldn’t be there just for defence as that weapon has only one use and that is to be dropped on a large area like a city. And Barry also didn’t forget the stealth technology and active camouflage that had obviously been installed to allow the Broomnator to creep up on an unsuspecting enemy and take them by surprise.
282 Feeling a panic attack coming on, Barry felt helpless upon foreseeing burning alien settlements, the steady march of black boots and the shockwaves of terror tearing through the galaxy as the first human waves hit. The black hole had just been trumped as the most destructive force in the universe. Somewhere in the spiritual world the Grim Reaper was sighing: the bonewhite skeletal face looked even more miserable than normal what with the knowledge that it’d probably be doing a lot more overtime from now on. Walking around the hangar, apparently in a trance, Barry began pawing over blueprints pinned up on a wall that detailed the mass production of the Broomanator. As he turned and looked around at his kind while they busied themselves about his craft, tooling it up with yet more weaponry, he was sure he could faintly make out the distinctive sound of the Imperial Death March, the one that Darth Vader was partial to. That horrible suffocating feeling that occurs when you know you’ve cocked up big time was felt plainly by Barry at this moment; only it was amplified by a million because he knew he just might go down in history as the git that destroyed the entire universe. ‘What have I done? What have I done? These apes will destroy everything.’ ‘I told yer,’ said Kredendum. Barry had taken the underground shuttle back to The Complex. Over some tea and crumpets he discussed with his best friend the mess he’d inadvertently created and how to go about cleaning it up. ‘What’ll I do? I can’t let this happen.’
283 Kredendum paused in thought for a second before saying: ‘You’re the only person who knows how the warp drive and anti-matter reactor really work aren’t you?’ ‘The only human yeah.’ ‘They haven’t produced anymore Broomanators have they?’ ‘No not yet, but they’re planning to once they’ve properly tested this one, and after that happens all hell breaks loose.’ ‘Why don’t you destroy the single Broomanator and all the plans of how it’s built?’ Thinking brightly at first that this was a fine idea, Barry’s gloom was quick to return at seeing a gaping hole in Kredendum’s plan. ‘Even if I managed to do that they’ll get the information out of me on how to build a new one won’t they? God knows what they’ll do but after seeing what goes on here they won’t be afraid of, of doing something—not very pleasant shall we say.’ ‘Yeah that’s true,’ said Kredendum, ‘you’d be thrown onto a torture rack quicker than a captured Afghani terrorist.’ He began to think again, caressing his small chin with his hand. ‘You could always blow up the Broomanator and then kill yourself; that’d work.’ Barry dutifully considered this plan but did raise one particular misgiving. ‘Yeah, that would work, although to be honest I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to end my life.’ ‘You’re so selfish, how’s your life more important than the billions that’ll die?’ ‘I erm—I guess it isn’t.’ ‘Fancy another crumpet?’
284 ‘No.’ ‘More tea?’ ‘No.’ ‘Suit yourself.’