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Clone Cugar Brant 20.11.2006 Does an ant have logic? A bee? Any insect? They do indeed form a colony, or a hive, each entity doing a designated task. But where does this reasoning or logic come from? Is it in their DNA, or is it a sense of survival, begotten by the need to procreate as, I assume, is in all creatures that walk or crawl upon this Earth? But what is the purpose? Where, or what, is it supposed to lead to? I think humanity asks and sometimes ponders on the thought, but most leave that divine question and answer to the almighty. Re-gens don't. They have a sense of purpose, and their logic is most definitely not in their DNA, they have none! It was tiny, microscopically small. No, smaller that that, a thousand times smaller. It moved around capturing damaged cells and rebuilding them from the DNA data that each living cell carries. Once it had redesigned a cell it moved on to start again. Each time reproducing itself to repeat the task. It multiplied. First it was one, then two, then four, then eight and so on. It had an affinity with its replicas. In fact, to be more precise, they had an affinity with each other. "How is your leg, David?" the surgeon said. "Hurts still, but it feels fine Doc," came, the cheerful reply. "As I explained to you beforehand, David, we are replacing the shattered bone with a new type of therapy; you are the first patient to have our Bio-Nano Replicaters inserted into your bone, you are our pioneer, David. It may tingle at times, but soon you will get used to it," the surgeon said reassuringly.

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"I hope it works ok, doctor," David replied nervously. "How long before my leg is healed Doc?" David inquired. "Two days, three at the most. You will be walking by the fourth day." The surgeon replied. "You will be making medical history David." It suddenly became aware, a bit like the Big Bang Theory really. At first there was nothing, then, suddenly, there was something. It did not know what it was, no sense of dimension, time or space, just that... it was. As the first day ended, David started to feel not quiet himself. The feeling somehow emanated from his leg or rather, did not. In fact, his leg felt as if it was not there. Sure, he could see it, feel it, wiggle his toes, but it felt somehow... as though it was not his leg. It carried on its task, not knowing why, just that it must. Destroying, then building and, creating... making new. As it came across new types of cell, cells with a different DNA code, it, in turn, destroyed, then re-built and created, made new, even though they were not damaged. It was getting a sense of purpose, a sense of being. David's dreams were strange. He was floating, disintegrating into a billion pieces. He was hot, sweating. He shouted out in the night, and then slept. "David, how are you? I heard that you had a bad night" The voice came from a long way away, then closer and closer. David opened his eyes. The surgeon was peering over him. "Hello, Doc, what time is it?" David said "Nine o'clock, David, how do you feel?" "A bit strange, Doc. my body feels sort of numb, I don't know how else to explain it", David replied puzzled. "It's just side effects, David", the surgeon hesitantly replied reassuringly. David felt strangely numb all that day and, as the evening approached, fell into a deep sleep. It was getting a sense of dimension, a sense of space and time. It had found cells with electrical pulses, not unlike it's own but more complex in nature, cells with a sense of purpose like itself. What purpose? What? Why? Who? How? When?, Where?......It destroyed, built, created. On the second day David did not wake up. The surgeon surmised

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that he must be in a coma and was perplexed as what to do. After doing some preliminary tests, the surgeon decided David was stable and, consequently, to wait things out. David lay there, still in his bed, all day. Then the night came. It was in David's brain now, destroying, building, and creating. It had a sense of time, a purpose, a dimension... .a sense of... wholeness. It was an entity. It had a body, space, time, thought... it was born. On the third day David woke. "How are you, David? You gave us quite a scare", the surgeon said. > the David, replied, slowly at first, "I... feel... fine, then, I feel Fine, Doctor...

> The David, ate its breakfast with a ravenous appetite and ordered some more. The duty nurse duly complied and after the third serving the nurse decided to go and inform the surgeon of this unusual phenomenon. When she left the private room, > the David, got out of bed. It found its clothes in the wardrobe, got dressed and left the room. It knew where it lived, well of course it did... Every brain cell, synapse, thought matrix had been duplicated. It knew everything David knew. It still had an urge, a sense of purpose. It must duplicate. It must destroy, build, and create. That night, the David made love to his girlfriend. The next morning she was in the process of being destroyed, rebuilt, and created. David's 'sperm' had started the process that created him. She was numb at first, then in a coma, then after a few days better again. She had an affinity with the David, they both knew what they were feeling, thinking, wanting. She ate and ate; her appetite showed no abatement; the need to feed, to grow, to grow the thing inside her, the thing the David had seeded in her womb. It needed nourishment, needed to reach maturity; the thing inside her was strong. When it was born; it had an affinity with its parents, its creators. They all knew what they were feeling, thinking, wanting,... .To destroy, build, create... The David went to work as usual. The David's partner ate, ate and ate, feeding its next creation, its next spawn... The growth rate of the

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offspring was astounding. After a gestation period of just one-month, it was born. The new-born was fully mature. At two months it was an adolescent, at three months it was an adult. It was fully capable of breeding and it did... The David began assimilating information from its computer at work. It decided that the computers logic was flawed, as was his own, human-based logic and reasoning. He decided that it was because of the human understanding of time and space, their capabilities of perception were limited. Their capacity to be aware seemed to be held back by their needs, wants, lusts, prejudices and by their life spans. The David decided to create his own database, his own Internet of information. He would use his affinities, his creations, his hive. It was the logical way forward.

One spring morning it happened. The man was brought into the A&E department with a severed hand. It was severed midway between the wrist and the elbow. He had fallen in the path of a train and must have instinctively put his arm out to stop his fall. It most probably saved his life, the doctor thought, while studying the patient. The man lay there; he was not showing signs of shock, bleeding or trauma, which was very odd, the doctor thought. The stump had been X-rayed and was duly being cleaned and bandaged to make the patient ready for the surgeon to have a look at first thing in the morning. The patient slept. In the morning the arm had regenerated itself back to the wrist. The nurse on the first shift had not noticed, as she had not seen him the previous night. When the surgeon arrived and looked at the x-rays, then the patient's arm, he concluded that they had been mixed up with someone else's. The patient was taken to the radiography department for another x-ray. When the surgeon looked at this, he decided that, although the bones were in good order, the best thing was for the stump to heal over as nothing else could be done. A skin graft of the end would be all that was needed. The surgeon wrote his prognosis on the patient's notes and the patient carried on sleeping. In the evening the duty doctor, who had been on the previous night, asked the ward staff nurse about the patient. She had glimpsed at his note and informed the duty doctor that the patient was due a skin graft. "I thought so," he said reflectively, not bothering to look at the patient's arm. The next morning the hand had been regenerated, right down to the

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fingernails. The patient was awake. A little disorientated at first, then he asked the ward nurse for his clothes. "But you are due for a skin graft on your arm," she replied. "I do not think so", he replied. He was looking through her as he arose from the bed. She tried to stop him, gently putting her hands on his shoulders. He gripped her arms with his hands and slowly took them off his shoulders, then walked out of the ward. The nurse stood there perplexed and confused. Before she could get any one to listen to her, the patient had disappeared in the street outside. He arrived back at the David's house; it was getting quite crowded by now. There were sixteen Re-genes now. They all had jobs mostly clerical IT orientated. The David had come to the logical conclusion that they needed to buy a larger house. After all, they all worked and the money was there. The David duly purchased the lease on an old farm just out of town. It had numerous outbuildings and several hundred acres. The outbuildings were converted into dwellings and the site of the farm maintained their privacy. The David issued an edict: BREED. The David thought. By the next year they had a thriving community, raising crops and animals as well as re-genes. It appeared to the outside world as a commune. The male re-genes mated with the female Re-gens; the babies were duly registered for identification. The only problem, at first, was the growth rate and covering id. But, as the Re-gens had surpassed most mortals in computer science and information technology and were working in various local government departments, providing updated id was not a problem for long. By the third year there were hundreds of Re-gens, infiltrating society, unobtrusively going about their daily business. They were mostly in the IT parts of commerce, information technology was their perfect remit. Some were scattered about in other businesses to learn. The only noticeable phenomenon on the outside world was that the crime rate was diminishing. The wants and greedy needs of humanity were not a factor in the Re-gens reasoning. No sorry, not reasoning, just cold, calculated logic. Not human logic, with has a touch of reasoning, a touch of compassion, their logic. Was it machine logic? Computer logic? No mercy logic? Or just pure inconsequential truth logic? Well, whatever it was, it was most definitely lacking any human frailty.

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Their intelligence was becoming phenomenal as they all pooled their knowledge. What one learnt; they all knew, what one experienced, they all experienced. They were settling in various parts of the city by now, renting or buying apartments as they increased in numbers. The David issued an edict: BREED. The David thought.

Sheriff Barker sat there looking across the office at one of the greenhorns that had arrived earlier in the week. Officer Glen Harris was typing out a crime report on a mugging and the injured victim. As he noted, the victim had been taken to hospital and released himself the following day. He too looked up at the greenhorn. There was something familiar about him and something odd, but he could not put his finger on it. Officer Glen Harris dismissed the thought and concentrated on his report. It was the fourth case of a patient walking out of a hospital to his knowledge, he thought. Something was bugging him; again he could not put his finger on it. The next day Officer Glen Harris was assigned the greenhorn as his partner for a morning patrol around the banking district of the city. Officer Parks was his name and that was all Glen Harris knew about him. Officer Parks did not talk much, when he did; it was to only to ask questions on law enforcement. When Glen talked to him, to try and pick up a rapport, Parks always replied in the singular, stopping the conversation. As they stopped for lunch and were sitting outside a diner, a report came in of a disturbance in a liquor store. As it was just around the corner, Officer Glen Harris responded to it. They arrived outside the store, then, cautiously entered. They could hear a heated argument between two adults behind one of the displays. Apparently the customer had been caught stealing by the store owner. When the officers approached, the thief drew a gun and backed away towards the door. Then the greenhorn, Parks, drew his gun and shouted for the thief to drop his. A shot rang out then another. The thief had shot the greenhorn in the shoulder, a split second later Officer Glen Harris had shot the thief dead. The greenhorn, Parks, was duly dispatched to hospital and the thief dispatched to the morgue for the coroner's report. Two days later, as Officer Glen Harris sat in the station canteen, he saw Officer Parks walk in, order ham and eggs and a coffee and then sit down. While Parks was eating; Glen approached him and asked how the shoulder injury was. Parks replied in his usual singular closed sentence that it was just a scratch.

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Glen Harris had seen numerous gunshot wounds in his time and when Parks was thrown across the store by the impact of the bullet, no way was that just a scratch. But he had seen Parks walk into the canteen, pick up a meal tray with his injured arm, sit down and use a fork and not even wince. "That was very strange," he thought. Later that day Officer Glen Harris had another 'walker'. He had gone to the hospital to interview a victim of a hit and run car accident and was informed by the duty nurse that the patient, who was brought in with multiple leg fractures two days before, had simply upped and left. Officer Harris asked the nurse if the patient had been carried out by someone, but the duty nurse was adamant, insisting that he was seen by other patients to have just walked out the front door. She had, later, watched it on the hospital's security CCTV. "Come in", Sheriff Barker said in a busy tone, as Officer Glen Harris knocked on the door. "Glen! Come in and sit down, I have been meaning to talk to you", Sheriff Barker said, on recognising the intruder to his office. The sheriff had known Glen for eight years, they had been rookies together. Each had a mutual respect for the other. Glen sat down and, feeling unsure of himself hesitated for a moment, as if reflecting over things, then said. "Jamie, please don't think I'm crazy, but I think something very strange is happening in this city." Much to Glen's relief, Sheriff Barker replied, "I'm glad you said that, Glen. I have been getting the same inkling for some time now, then added; "how has that greenhorn made out?" That remark made Glen relax and open up. "Well Jamie, he is the one that started me thinking. He does his job well enough but he has no-?-how can I put it. No personality or, rather, no humour or sense of life, like he has no soul," Glen replied. "What about these 'walkers' that I am getting strange reports about Glen? The Sheriff inquired. "Well, Jamie," Glen answered, "to my knowledge, over the last two years, seven had been reported as having either miraculously recovered from their injuries or just left the memorial hospital without completing their treatment. The latest one walked out this afternoon. He was brought in with multiple fractures to both his legs from a hit and-run two days ago. I have seen CCTV footage from the hospital security camera. It shows him just walking right on out the front door, as if his legs were perfectly normal." "Glen I want you to humour me", the Sheriff said. I want you to

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make discreet inquiries at all the hospitals and clinics in the city. Find out whether these 'walkers' are just relevant to the memorial hospital or whether they are occurring elsewhere. Find out their history, where they come from, what they do for a living, if they have something in common. Will you do that Glen?" "I'm right on it, Jamie", Glen said enthusiastically. As Glen left the office the Sheriff said, "Keep this to yourself for now, Glen." Officer Glen Harris already had that in mind.

Over the next few weeks, Officer Glen Harris painstakingly checked every clinic and hospital in the city. He found that over the last three years there were about forty 'walkers' in total, from various sections of the community, both male and female. The striking thing they had in common was their age group: the mid to late twenties. There were a few older than this, but he discounted them, as they were itinerants for the most part, the rest drunks or drug addicts. . He also learnt that three DOA's (Dead on Arrival) from a car crash, that had been bought in directly to the Grant foundation hospital morgue downtown two months back had disappeared. As he checked the various hospital and clinic records, an idea came to him. For some reason he decided to run a finger print check on the three absent DOA's. He knew that any DOA, which arrived at any morgue in the city automatically, had their prints taken. It was standard practice. Forensics were not too happy when they contacted him. "You being funny Glen?" the annoyed lab technician said down the phone. What do you mean Glen answered? "Those prints you sent me, they are all identical," the technician said "What!" Glen exclaimed, adding, "what's the odds on that?" "No odds, Glen, no odds at all", came the vexed reply, "impossible for even two sets to match, let alone three." "Sorry" Glen said, "There must have been a mix up in the records." "I should say", came the reply, and then the phone went dead. The David issued an edict: We have an intruder. It must be dealt with. The David thought. Glen finished his paperwork, had his daily briefing and went out to

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his marked car in the police pen. "Not that one today Glen, due for a service," Lenny, the police mechanic said. "Long overdue. Take Jeff's. Number 41. He's on leave." "OK," Glen replied. He went back to the issue desk, signed for number 41, picked up the keys, and then got in the car. One thing Glen didn't like, was taking someone else's patrol car out. It was the smells, the eating habits of his colleagues in the car, emanating from the upholstery. Garlic - he hated garlic, this particular car stank of it. "Damn Jeff, needs to change his diet," Glen muttered as he drove off. When Officer Glen Harris was out on patrol, doing his weekly downtown cruise, looking for drug dealers, an all-car call came in, to attend explosion on Duke Street. "Officer down! Officer down! Explosion on Duke Street, Car 21 on fire." Glen flinched, then, went cold. "That's my car," he thought. He was just about to respond when a black Cadillac pulled up in front of him, blocking his way. Another was attempting to get behind him. He reversed quickly and clipped the Cadillac, then doing a handbrake turn, sped off. He started to feel scared, as he realised he was an open target for these walkers. What to do? He wondered. The edict is complied with. Parks Thought.

Glen went to his favourite bar and called Jamie. When Sheriff Barker arrived, Glen looked quite perturbed. He was sitting in a corner sipping a neat rye whiskey to steel his nerves.. "Jamie," Glen said to the sheriff," you are not going to believe this, but that subject you asked me to look into... " "What? The 'walkers'?" The sheriff interrupted. "Yes, the walkers. Well this business is more bizarre that you could imagine." Glen replied. "You'd better start at the beginning," the sheriff said, sitting back in his chair. Glen took a sip of his rye whisky and started to explain. "Well, I checked every clinic and hospital in the city. I found out that there were approximately forty 'walkers' in total. Not a lot among the three and a half million people that inhabit this city, I grant you, but there's more. I did a check on three 'walkers' that were bought in to a morgue. Well, when I say I did a check, I mean the bodies had disappeared, but the check in procedure for any corpse brought in includes fingerprints for identification confirmation, even if they

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have id on the body. Well, these three missing corpses all had their prints taken. Whoever removed the bodies was nothing to do with the morgue that's for sure or they would have removed the check-in records. I did a check on the prints, they were all the same!" "What!" Sheriff Barker said, " That is interesting Glen, very interesting" "It gets even stranger Jamie," Glen said pensively. "I did a check on Officer Park's Prints, same as the others! " "If they were all the same," the sheriff said, "could it have been the same man's prints taken three times?" "No." Glen said. "I checked that. Each set had distinguishing scratch scars, scars that anyone gets during the course of their lives, the actual prints were definitely all the same, including parks!" "The next thing I know my car has been tampered with. If it weren't for the fact that Lenny told me to take another car because mine was due for a service I wouldn't be talking to you now, Jamie." Glen said. The Sheriff paused, then, said. "Have another drink, Glen, I've got a shock for you. I'll let you into a secret Glen, we know something is going on, we have known for some time." The sheriff hesitated, leant forward and looked Glen in the eye. "A stick, Glen. You were a stick, to poke an ant's nest, just to see what would happen. We wanted to see the reaction, to see how organised the nest was, what it would do to defend itself." "Thanks for nothing," Glen said. "There was nothing else I could do Glen," the sheriff said: "Think about it. You would have been poking around out there on your own otherwise." "But I was, wasn't I?" Glen said. "No, Glen. We were watching you all the way," the sheriff replied. "Then what about my car? I was nearly killed in an explosion," Glen said anxiously. "No, you were not, Glen. Do you think it was coincidence that your car was in for a service? Parks planted the device. We knew the set up. The car was carefully examined early this morning. It was found that the device was set to go off on the thirteenth push on the brakes. That ensured that the driver was out and about when the explosion occurred and also in his seat.

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Your car was taken to a quite part of town, and detonated by one of our agents. He took a hell of a chance. He waited until the road was deserted, then let it off. For all intents and purposes you're now officially dead Glen. It will take the heat off you." "What about Parks?" Glen asked. "Yes, Parks," Jamie muttered reflectively, taken out of the equation. He was called to an incident just after your car was exploded. A break-in, at a downtown store. Shot dead as soon as he entered. Sad that, died whilst upholding the law. "Yes, Sad that." Glen added. "What about the body? Glen asked. "In the morgue." The sheriff said: "awaiting collection, I should think, don't you?" he added, not expecting an answer. "We'll see what Re-gens do with their dead, Glen." "Re-gens?" Glen questioned. "Yes, that's what we call them Glen. As the walkers seem to regenerate their body parts we thought it was quite an apt name for them." "Do they die, Jamie?" Glen pondered. "We don't know, Glen. All we know is they can regenerate any limb or organ in their body. Their growth stage from birth, if that's what you would like to call it, is more like metamorphosis than growing and is at an incredible, accelerated rate. Then it suddenly stops, giving them the appearance of being in their late twenties. Now, thanks to you, Glen, we know they all have the same fingerprints. That fact will definitely give us an edge." "What are they?" Glen asked. "I'll tell you Glen." The sheriff explained. "Just over three years ago, an experimental new type of therapy was given to a patient with shattered legs in the Grant Foundation Clinic. Bio-Nano Replicators, whatever they are, were injected into the patient's legs. After three days the patient walked out of the clinic, and disappeared. That was our first 'Walker.' He was in his late twenty's. The researchers suspended the experimental therapy because, during those three days, the patient was in a coma. They realised they had to do more research into the side effects. A year later the clinic burnt

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down and two of the main researchers disappeared off the face of the earth. So did most of their notes, coincidence? Or were they taken out by these Re-gens? We have concluded by directive surveillance and bugging devices in various suspects' houses that the main colony or hive if you like, is situated on a farm due north of the city. With the remaining pieces of experimental notes we have recovered, it has been established that they all come from the original 'Walker' "What four thousand?" Glen asked puzzled. No Glen, not four thousand, possibly up to ten thousand." The sheriff replied. "Glen," he explained. "If they just double every three months, that's twelve times at least. Think about it! You double up two, twelve times, Glen." "Why twelve?" Glen asked. "Re-gens take three months to reach maturity," the sheriff said. Thirty-six months ago or just over, we know the first Re-gen was born. No, not born, created." "How come we have not noticed them before this?" Glen asked. "Why would we, Glen? They go out into the city and work. Look like anyone you might meet. Keep themselves to themselves, earn money, buy or rent apartments. How would you notice any difference?" "What do they want, just to breed?" Glen questioned. "No," The sheriff responded: "Their initial purpose is to breed, then, it gets more sinister. They intend to take over, Glen." "How do you know that, Jamie?" Glen replied. The sheriff answered. "Our intrusive surveillance, bugging, phonetapping, their jobs even. As far as we have established they mostly work in IT- Information Technology. They have been gathering as much information about us as they can. Not our habits or our likes and dislikes, but our logic. How we think, how we perceive. Their use of computers is surreal, their programming data indicate they have exceeded anything we are capable of imputing or creating on a database. Now the pattern has changed. They are trying to get into the civic structure of our society; the City Council and the Police. One, to make the decisions, the

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other to carry them out!" "What decisions and why?" Glen questioned. "I told you, Glen, they are gathering information about us, studying us. The next step is to experiment with us. To see how we react, how we are controlled by our own laws when they tweak them, bit by bit, until they're sure they have the measure of us. Then, I imagine, they will start to migrate to other cities, doing the same, but more efficiently, by what they have learnt here. Luckily for us, Glen, they are not very thorough in their masquerading. They do not have a sense of humour either," the sheriff said smiling. "Think about it, Glen, what would the difference be between a robot and us, apart from the looks?" Glen paused, thought, then said. "Habits?" "Spot on, Glen!" the sheriff replied. The sheriff explained. "It was evident after the initial surveillance that none of them has pictures in their apartments, why? Because they do not have the concept of art, of beauty, none of them have books either. No Hi fi, no TV set, they have no inclination for them. They don't drink, smoke, go to the movies. All in all a pretty droll lot, don't you think, Glen?" Glen replied "Yes, but from what you said, Jamie, bloody dangerous." "Yes, very dangerous. It will soon be time to take them out permanently," the sheriff replied. "What's the plan of action?" Glen asked. The sheriff leant forward again and spoke. "First we double-check our agents and anyone else involved in this. Thanks to you, we have a foolproof way of doing it. Everyone involved will be fingerprinted unknowingly of course; we don't want to start this with the Re-gens in the know. We don't know for sure if we have been penetrated by them."

Two weeks later Glen was invited to a 'Meeting'. At the entrance to the briefing room, each person had his hand scanned before entering. There were numerous men and women in business suits. Amongst them Glen saw Sheriff Barker. Glen walked over and greeted him. The sheriff saw him and said, "It looks as though the action starts

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today, Glen." "What happened to Parks' body, Jamie?" Glen asked. The Sheriff answered with a glint in his eye, "One of the men you are about to hear has been using it, rather, experimenting with it. We decided that Park's was too precious to leave in the morgue to walk or be taken. Our need was greater than theirs, Glen. So, they're missing one body, the last they knew he was blasted with a magnum at close range by a robber. Even their logic must calculate they have one down never to return. Just to be on the safe side, his head was removed from his body." "What!" Glen exclaimed. "A precaution we didn't know if he was capable of regenerating himself, even though his heart was blown out the back of his body. We didn't need him communicating with the hive. Needs must, Glen! The sheriff said. A voice interrupted their conversation. "Ladies and gentlemen please take your seats," the speaker at the front said. They all sat down and the murmuring died away. The lights went down and a screen lit up. On the screen was a map of the city; some suburbs were shaded red. "People this is the situation," the speaker said. "The Re-gens inhabit the areas shaded red, for the most part." He indicated the area on the screen, then carried on. "We have accounted for nine thousand, four hundred, plus two hundred at the farm. In the near future we are going to take them all out simultaneously. This operation will involve an awful lot of people. The facts we know about them are thus: - One, they can regenerate very quickly. Three months from start to end product. Two, they can grow back any part of their bodies that are damaged. Three, they are all the same age. Four, they all have identical fingerprints. Five, they can communicate with each other telepathically." Murmurs sounded around the room. "Yes, telepathic with each other, ladies and gentlemen. What one knows, they all know. That's why we must take then out at the same time. They are also incredibly intelligent, yet stupid." "How do you mean?" someone in the audience inquired. The speaker gave a euphemism. "Intelligence tells you a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom tells you not to put it in a fruit salad. They'd put one in

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a fruit salad. In other words they're not that sharp, son. Their logic is based on pure mathematics. They do not appear to be able to reason." "They sound more and more like robots, Jamie," Glen said. "That's what we have concluded, Glen. A sort of bio-robot, or bio-android, a walking, talking, database." the sheriff replied. He then said, "Our geneticists have studied samples of their cells. Did you realise that each living cell has a nucleus, which contains the DNA of the whole body? Re-gens cells don't. How they regenerate is still a mystery to me, but they do!" The speaker asked for attention. "May I introduce Professor Mellor, he has made some startling discoveries about these Re-gens and how they function. Please listen to what he has to say, you will find it quite enlightening. He will answer your questions at the end." "The first and most important thing I want to say from the start is to tell you categorically that they are not human. Re-gens do not have DNA; consequently their cells do not split into two and replace themselves as our do. How do they regenerate their organs then? Well, to be precise, they rebuild. Strictly speaking, we should not be calling then Re-gens, but Replicators. Their cells really are not cells in any medical sense. As I have explained, they have no DNA, but each cell does have a set of Bio Nano Replicators. They replicate the damaged or missing tissues, consequently replacing the limb. The neural cortex of the whole entity has a memory of the physical body. When part of the body gets damaged, they rebuild it. With the same scars the same burn marks, the same moles, or whatever, and the same fingerprints as the queen." "The queen?" asked a member of the audience. "Yes, the Queen," The professor replied, who we think is Da vid, or rather, was. The first one from whom all the others are copies, be it male or female." "How do you know all this, professor?" a young woman from the audience interrupted. The professor replied, "By studying the severed limbs, a torso, and a decapitated head, of a Regen, courtesy of Sheriff Barker and the police department, recovered from a tragic armed robbery. As they need oxygen like we do, their brains die just like ours. I poked and prodded using an electron microscope in my examination and neural experiments." The professor carried on, "also by hacking into their computer

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systems they use to format their data where they work, copying and down loading their programmes, sifting through it all for answers. Unfortunately, now, they have created a binary type computer language, which we are unable to decipher as yet. We cannot even write a programme to accommodate the data strings. "Do they have any weaknesses?" another member of the audience asked. "Yes, as a matter of fact they do," the professor replied. "Firstly, but not importantly, I have discovered that they are all going to die!" "When?" Another surprised member of the audience questioned Professor Mellor paused, as if playing, adding to the suspense and the anticipation of the audience. "Exactly twenty-seven years three months from their creation." He stuttered, stopped, then said, "I will rephrase that, from the Queen's creation, or to be more specific, the David's creation. They are on a countdown. The reason their growth rate is so phenomenal, then, stops, is because the Bio Nano Replicators have a built-in time clock, which runs backwards. The Re-gens initial burst of growth is rather like the big bang. At the David's precise biological age they stop the replicating. Sure, they regenerate their limbs and look after themselves, but they are all connected to the queen. Don't ask me how, but they are. Their motivation is to breed and to learn. Not what we call learning. But to expand their logic to the point of a supercomputer or an Intranet controlled by the queen. Is this for their survival or is it just to find the ultimate truth? I think they know the clock is ticking. The question is, will the David find a way of lasting forever? Is he interested in lasting forever? Does he even care? I think not, I think he has not even considered the thought. Why should he?" "Because he hasn't much time?" a voice from the audience interceded. "Time," the professor laughed. "Sir," he said to the person, the voice belonged to, "What is time? To you, perhaps, it is a finite lifespan measured by seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, until you meet the grim reaper. To others, it is a set of experiences that get vaguer as they age. To others, it is a period of spiritual awareness, to some a feeling of love of all things. You see, sir. Time is not necessarily a long road to an end. It is how you, in your restricted awareness, interpret it." Professor Mellor carried on his intellectual flow as if he were re-classifying his own hypothesis. "Then you may very well ask, what is reality? Is it our-I stress our-

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concept of the physical, or the meta-physical? Matter is commonly defined as the substance of which physical objects are composed. It constitutes the observable Universe. According to the theory of relativity there is no distinction between matter and energy, because matter can be converted to energy and vice versa. Philosophically, matter constitutes the formless substratum of all things, which exists only potentially and from which our reality is produced because that is the dimension we exist in. Who are we to differ? Who are we to challenge? Certainly not the concept of time, as we perceive it!" The professor hesitated for a second, getting ready to impart his hypothesis in layman's terms on the attentive audience. He wanted to surprise them, to teach them. His lifetimes ambition to educate, impart his theories, was bubbling up in him. He hesitated, cleared his throat, then looking around, explained the emphasis on his main theory; "I suspect the David's concept of time is four-dimensional. Think of a chessboard. If you took one year as each square and you stepped along the squares you would know on the sixty-fourth year, give or take any mishaps, you would be nearing your demise! If you put one Re-gen on the first square, two on the second, four on the third, and so on, what would the David have? I will tell you; 9223372036854775808. That's an awful lot of years, don't you think, for the David to find the ultimate answer, to the ultimate question? Do you not think that stills your concept of time? There will be a hell of a lot of Re-gens on this planet by his demise." He was getting agitated. He hoped he was getting through to the audience. He added, "And we still do not know what the question is that he is trying to answer." "When they experimented on David the living entity, they unwittingly created a super computer, which is trying to answer the ultimate question!" Every fact, equation and calculation the David does is aimed to one purpose, to one question... .WHY?" Do they plan to attack us professor?" an anxious young woman asked. "On the contrary young lady why should they? We are of no perceived threat. If you stood by a beehive, would the bees sting you to death? I think not, unless you took a too keen interest and prodded

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about a bit without the knowledge of a beekeeper, which had a pattern of their habits." The anxious woman relaxed. Then the professor carried on, discarding the interruption to his momentum. "No, young lady, I do think they intend to attack us. We are of no consequence to them, irrelevant. They have no sense of love, hate, and beauty, of music, the arts. No compassion." He again looked at the audience, hesitating, as if to wait for attentiveness from them. He wanted to surprise, to impart his theories; "As you know, they do not have pictures, television, story books, are not interested in flowers, trees, even a sunny day. You see, they are completely soulless. They are just walking talking, mobile data collectors." "Yeah, I know a lot of them," a voice from the audience stated sarcastically, "Used to be called pen-pushers, now button-pushers." The audience laughed. "They must be awfully bored in the evenings when they have finished work, just sitting in their apartments," another voice from the audience muttered out loud to no one in particular." The professor was irritated, but answered, looking sternly at the audience. "Not so," Professor Mellor retorted. "They are assimilating the knowledge they have taken on board during the day. Passing over their data to each other and, most importantly, to the queen, The David. Of course they are constantly continuing their breeding and looking after the offspring. I do think, however, that they intend to take over, to assimilate us into their hive bit by bit. They are going to get into public office, the police, and the army, even at national level eventually." A man from the audience stood up "Professor Mellor, you said 'firstly', on the question of weaknesses, what comes next on your list?" "Well young man," the professor said, looking around the audience to get attention. "Like us, they use neural impulses to think. Unlike us, they are not biological, they are mechanical. Each cell in their brains, for that matter in their bodies, has a set of Nano Replicators in them instead of DNA; these Nanos are machine, mechanical. They enable the neurones to pass information along their neural threads and across their synapses. Just like us. Unlike us, however,

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they are influenced by strong magnetic fields. If one were to hold a magnet in its hand it would temporarily lose the co-ordination in that hand, until it let the magnet go and the Nano-replicators restructured the neurones in the hand. The question I asked myself was why do they have a denser Nano-Replicator suppository composition near the surface of the skin, especially around the skull? My son gave me the answer, in a basic question he put to me, which we all take for granted. "How do computers work, daddy?" he asked me. As I explained it to him, it hit me! The David, he is the-how shall I put it?-the microprocessor. His immediate family are the hard drives, in computer parlance. They are the ones on the farm. He assimilates all the information from his walking, talking, data, 'collectors', then re-distributes it to his hard drives. They are his databases. He is gathering a massive Intranet of knowledge. As to why they have a denser Nano-Replicator suppository composition near the surface of the skin, especially around the skull, to keep out Electro-magnetic fields! Consequently instead of attacking the hive, en-masse, we must take out the David. We, must take out the David. Without him the hive will have no purpose. He is the kingpin in all this. "King Pin?" A by now, nervous, unsure as if he were on the same wavelength as the rest, officer interceded from the very attentive audience. "Yes," the professor answered in a mild tone, collecting himself and building himself up for the finale. "King-Pin. It's an engineering term, the key which holds the entire machine together, not forgetting, we are most definitely dealing with a machine. A computer, by all intents and purposes is, just a machine. Without the King-Pin, the machine grinds to a halt. I am trying to bring you down to the basics. The David is the kingpin. If he is taken out of the equation then the whole machine breaks down well, that is the theory." He had finished his speech and looked back at the speaker and nodded. The speaker stood up and said "Thank you, professor Mellor for enlightening us all. Next may I introduce General McClintock of the marines." He then sat down. The general stood up and said, "Thank you sir. Ladies and gentlemen, now for the plan. What would happen if you put a strong

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magnet near a hard disc full of information? The magnetic force would corrupt the disc, by wrecking the structure of the data. We intend to use an EMP, an Electro-magnetic pulse. This will act as a disrupter in effect, permanently taking out the databases and the king-Pin, the David, in one go. The delivery system of this device will be a high-power microwave bomb, a 'Bear Can'. The device emits short, high-energy Electro-magnetic pulses reaching 10 Gigawatts, which will destroy any complex electronic systems in the area, including the 'Data bases'. He carried on; this concept arose through early nuclear testing during the cold war, when Russian scientists realised that high altitude atomic blasts produced an Electro-magnetic pulse capable of destroying delicate electronics systems on the ground. Hence the term 'Bear can'. We have adopted it. A Radio Frequency Weapon is one that uses intense Electromagnetic pulses of RF energy to destroy or degrade the electronics in a target; they are categorised as High Power Microwave Weapons (HPM). At approximately 19:00 hours Friday night, we plan to explode a 'Bear Can' directly over the farm. It will serve two purposes. One; it will render the David powerless, neutralising the whole farm and thus the network. Two; it will take out any electrical or computer systems they have, preventing them from taking out ours! Our agents will, at the same time, storm the farm and collect all the 'databases'. We will also round up all the disabled Re-gens around the city and take them to the football stadium for assessment. We realise this will be a large logistical operation, that is why we are drawing on the resources of the National Guard. "What if we miss some of the Re-gens?" a voice from the audience asked. The General replied, "We have, by no means, the location of all of them. It is anticipated that they will be wandering around like 'lost souls,' (excuse the pun) after the David has been compromised. It will be easy to pick them up at will. Thank you ladies and gentlemen that is all for now, the general said. The speaker duly dismissed the meeting. Then the lead agents and members of the heads of task force collected their briefs and excitedly went to their relevant command posts to exchange views and co-ordinate their respective rolls. The Re-gens' farm nestled among the rolling hills, which edged

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around the north side of a vast plain, about ten miles out of the city. It was 18:30 hours on the Friday as Sheriff Barker looked at his watch. He was with Glen and a party of government agents, about a mile from the farm. They were waiting for the device to be dropped according to plan. The reason they were so far from the farm was because they did not want the circuitry of their cars, radios, etc to be affected by the Electro-magnetic pulse, which would soon emanate over the farm. Glen was high on a hill looking through a pair of binoculars at the target. It seemed strangely quiet for a farm he thought to himself. His job was to signal to another officer on a hill just above the Sheriffs party by waving a flag as soon as the detonation occurred. His eyes strained to see any movement. There was none. He started to be unsure. He could not inform the sheriff of his doubts, as he had no radio; there was no point in having one this close to the detonation, its circuitry would have been fried. The 'Bear Can' was to be delivered to the target by a cruise missile. If a warplane were used there was no guarantee that it would clear the distance of the Electro-magnetic pulse of the device when the detonation occurred. Then, to Glen's relief, he saw a light in the distance; it was the cruise missile reflecting the evening sun as it skimmed over the undulating landscape towards its target. He watched as it detonated, precisely over the target. Glen immediately signalled to the man on the distant hill, above the sheriff's party, waving his flag frantically. Accordingly the man signalled to the waiting procession of vehicles and men down below, who were eager to go. Upon recognition of the signal, the convoy, in turn revved its engines and sped off, towards the direction of the farm. The David issued an edict: Die. Glen watched from the hill as the convoy arrived at the farm. People spilled out of the vehicles and dispersed towards the buildings in their pre planned co-ordinated packs. He could hear gunfire as the buildings were entered. He started to work his way down the hill on foot. When he got to the farm it was all over. There were lifeless bodies lying all around, dragged out of the buildings by the various SWAT teams and government agents and dumped unceremoniously on the bare earth. Glen inquired as to the whereabouts of his chief, Sheriff Barker. "Over there", said a burly agent, pointing to the main block. When he arrived at the building the sheriff was coming out. "Job

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done, Jamie, he gloated, all taken out as planned." Glen looked behind him into the building. There was a moaning sound, which slowly died away. "They were doing that when we arrived," the Sheriff said, "We took then out as a precaution." "Where's the David?" Glen inquired. "In the main office, still sitting at his chair, brains blown out as a safety measure by one of the agents," the sheriff replied. The rest of the Re-gens around the city were rounded up slowly but surely none of them gave any trouble. They were like lost sheep, either sitting in their apartments or at work, walking about with vacant stares. After the, debrief, the accolade followed, then, the selfcongratulations. Glen was promoted and the sheriff was made a Chief. Both received commendations from the President. None of this was made public. The last conversation Glen had with Jamie was one of self-doubt "do you think all that went too easy to plan Jamie?" "Worked out fine, Glen, sweet as a nut! Don't worry, its over." The sheriff had replied.

The day before the 'ethnic cleansing' operation, the David had arrived in New York. He had logically deduced that he must be more careful in future. The sacrifice that his Re-gens were to make was of no consequence of course, even the collectors, but it had to be made, to satisfy the simple logic of the humans. He knew that they would exterminate his hive. After all, how could they know that there was a computer programme, he created, which sent him anything from any computer system that mentioned Re-gens? He knew about their plans before most of them did. He rented an apartment near the business district and plugged his laptop into the telephone system to start again. The David had concluded that the logical step this time was to start at the top and work down. This time he would not error. This time, he would not put all his eggs in one basket, all his ants in one colony, all his bees in one hive... He calculated... Adapt and survive... The basic instinct, he had calculated from the human logic. Most worrying, for humanity, he decided to... smile. A week later, he dated the young, new, Mayoress. It was time to build his new hive...

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