"The Most Perfect People"

[OregonWriter14]

"The Most Perfect People"​

(Closed except for those who PM me and are accepted.)

Terry was stripped to his briefs, watching the woman to whom he'd proposed tonight doing a strip tease. Suddenly, there was a loud thump at the apartment's door, followed by a powerful voice. "Terrance Lee, FBI. Please open the door."

He thought it was a joke by one of his buddies, until he looked through the peep hole in the door and discovered six very official looking men with drawn weapons. Terry quickly donned a robe and opened the door, and was about to ask what was going on when he was quickly spun toward the wall, cuffed, and escorted away without explanation.

He was helped -- manhandled, to be more accurate -- into an unmarked car, and as he strained to look up to his apartment for sign of his certainly panicking fiancée, he began to feel ... light headed. "What's ... what's going ... going on..."



He regained consciousness laying on the bottom half of a bunk bed, his hands free of the cuffs and his robe replaced with an outfit that looked like the bastard child of a hospital gown and a decontamination suit. He sat up slowly, feeling a bit disoriented.

He looked around the little room he was in, wondering how he'd gotten here and -- more importantly -- where the hell he was.

A young man was sitting on the top bunk opposite him, feet dangling over the edge as he ate on a chocolate bar with a plain white, generic wrapper. He nodded to Terry, saying, "Peterson Reed ... my friends call me Pete."

"Terrance ... Terrance Lee," Terry returned. "My friends call me--"

"'The Last Hope'," Pete cut in. "Washington Warriors, wide receiver. Rookie of the year, 2016. Super Bowl most valuable player, 2017. Yeah ... I know who you are."

Pete hopped down to the floor and offered out his hand. "Nice to meet you. Listen, that game against Dallas last year--"

There was a series of soft tones from a small speaker on the wall of the bunk room. Pete grimaced at not being able to finish his inquiry, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "We're about to find out what all this is about."

Pete opened the door and stepped out into a long narrow room. He waited for Terry to follow, then -- without being asked to do so -- began the nickel tour for his new bunk mate.

"Four bunk rooms in all, four men to a bunk room, sixteen men to a Section," Pete said pointing toward three doors down the right wall. He pointed to the corner across from his and Terry's bunk room. "Computer, printer, scanner, what not. No power, so ... maybe they'll fire'em up later."

He turned and began down the central passageway between a trio of recliners on his left and the other bunk rooms on his right. He came to another pair of doors and pushed one of them open "Two bathrooms ... the usual, toilet, sink, linen closet ... no bathtub."

"What's in there?" Terry asked, pointing at a door on the left that had an electronic key pad.

"That's a very good question," Pete responded. He didn't dwell, though, pointing out the treadmill and stationary bike before moving onward.

Terry caught sight of some of the others in the Section, all men. He asked, "Are there women here, too?"

"Ladies man ... I heard that about you," Pete said with a smirk. He didn't answer Terry's question, instead returning to his little tour. "Combination kitchen/laundry, complete with ... well, what you'd expect to find in either a kitchen or a laundry. Over here, television, recliners, couches..."

Pete continued forward until he reached an opened door. As Terry caught up, he realized it was a pressure door. If he hadn't already been wondering where the hell he was, he certainly was now.

Pete passed through the pressure door, gesturing Terry onward. After he passed through, he found himself in a large circular room, off which he would soon realize there were nine more pressure hatches.

"Here's your chicks," Pete said, jabbing a thumb no where in particular. "Far as I can tell, we're -- meaning we, the men -- are outnumbered about three to one. Ages range from teens to late 40s, maybe early 50s. I've asked about, but can't find no one younger or older than that."

Terry looked around and saw that Pete's math was just about right. Terry had to search for male heads to count, sitting at tables in the dining area and on couches and chairs in the television viewing area or simply milling about; but finding female heads wasn't difficult at all.

The tones Terry had heard back in the bunk room repeated here in this room, followed by a man calling out, "Please, if everyone will sit down, we will begin the orientation. Oh, there, um ... there won't be enough seats, so ... if those of you standing will position yourselves to allow those sitting to see me ... yes, yes ... that works well."

Terry watched as the others moved to see the man. He tried to estimate the size of the group, and his best guess was around 150. If all 10 hatches led to Berthing Sections that each housed 16 men or women, Terry knew that that meant they were just about to the capacity of the ... of what ever this was.

"My name is Roland Templeton," the man standing up front announced. His voice -- lightly amplified via a little mike on his collar -- filled the room from hidden speakers placed throughout it. "But you can call me Rolly. I am the Assistant--"

He hesitated, a more serious expression quickly filling his face. "I was the Assistant Director of Project Rebirth ... until we learned that our Director wouldn't be joining us. While it isn't yet official, it would appear as if I'm in charge now."

He stuck his two thumbs up before him in an affirmative but weak gesture, accompanying it with a slight Yeah. Terry could see in the man's face that he wasn't at all excited about being the Top Dog in what ever the hell Project Rebirth was.

"Okay ... so..." he continued, "I, um ... I wasn't supposed to be the one standing here, so ... I haven't prepared an explanation of what's going on and why this is happening to you. So ... I guess I'll just keep it short and sweet."

Rolly took another look around the crowd, drew and released a deep breath, and began.

"The world as we ... as you know it ... no longer exists. Right now, as I speak to you, a weaponized virus from an unknown enemy is raging across our nation ... and, by now ... presumably the entire globe. Millions are infected. Tens of thousands are dead."

The reaction from the crowd was quick and emotional, from disbelief to absolute panic. Terry was simply at a loss and didn't react at all. He could have explained away the knock on his door as a joke by his friends, but what had happened to him over the past hours -- or days maybe? -- went far beyond an engagement night prank.

There was the possibility that maybe this was some sort of psychological test that the Government was pulling on them. But that was even harder to imagine than what Rolly was claiming was going on.

In a flash, questions, accusations, and denials filled the room as the people assembled clamored for more information. Most of those speaking out didn't believe what the man before them was saying, and little by little, a portion of the group began demanding proof of what Rolly was saying.

The Director had been standing directly in front of the wall mounted flat screen, which until now had been deenergized. He stepped away from the screen, lifted a remote, and pressed a button. A cable news program filled the screen showing an image of rioting and looting in a large city -- it would turn out to be Atlanta -- and a scrawl across the bottom that, among other things, identified the current estimated death toll for the United States at over 100,000 and for the World at 100 times that.

There was another round of emotion, including cries, sobs, and murmured profane-filled expressions of disbelief.

"How did this happen?" someone asked.

"Who did this?" another piped in.

"Can they stop it?

Before Rolly could answer, a question Terry found even more interesting came from the back of the group. "Why are we here...? Why have we been brought here?"

The desire for an answer to this question was mimicked by several people, and after Rolly had quieted the group down, he explained.

"Some of you may already know this about yourself ... and for the rest of you, this is going to be quite a surprise, hopefully a nice one. You ... each one of you is as close to a perfect person as there ever has been."

There was a multitude of confused looks in the crowd, and finally someone called out, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Ignoring the profanity, Rolly explained, "The CDC -- the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention -- had, for years, been quietly studying the DNA of Americans in an attempt to discover what they informally refer to as perfect people. These people have very few if any of the genetic markers for diseases such as heart disease, stroke, cancer ... so on and such--"

"They been doin' this to us all this time without us knowin'?" someone called out.

"Well, to be more specific," Rolly said, "They've been doing it to your blood ... to your fluids. When you donate blood or have blood drawn in a hospital that gets Federal funding ... or pee in a cup for a urine test, for example when you apply for a government job--"

"I knew it," someone murmured, "I always knew it."

Another round of conversation rolled through the crowd as some of those assembled conjured up their interpretations of Big Brother or the Police State, while still others tried to get the first group to shut up so that Rolly could continued.

The Director continued, "There are a number of other ways that the CDC gets a sample of your DNA for its records--"

"What does this have to do with us being here?" another angry voice called out.

"You ... are those perfect people," Rolly said. "You ... are the people the CDC identified as having the most perfect DNA of all human beings."

Terry stepped out away from the wall, asking a question to which he was already sure he had the answer. "What is the connection between what's happening out there in the world ... and us being perfect?"

Rolly hesitated for a moment before answering. "After this virus has run its course--"

"You mean after it's killed everyone," a voice called in anger.

Rolly hesitated. He didn't want to be blunt or to sound cold, but really that was what he meant. "Yes. That's what I mean. After most human life on the surface has fallen victim to this virus ... after the CDC had developed a vaccine against it, which they are already working on ..."

"Oh my god," a woman murmured from very near Terry. She looked to Rolly and said with a knowing tone, "You expect us to repopulate the Earth. You want us women to ... to what, breed...? To breed with these men ... to repopulate-- Oh my god ... Project Rebirth."

Terry's suspicions about the percentage of women to men had been right on. He glanced around the room again, trying to get a better count of heads now that every one was sitting or arranged around the room's perimeter. He guesstimated that there were about 150 people in the room, pretty close considering that the real number was 120 women and 40 men, not counting the Tech Staff of 20 more who would be living on the level below this one.

He was no scientist, of course, but he was educated and relatively aware and informed. And he had gleaned enough information from University, television, and the internet over his life to know that 150 -- even 180 -- human breeders were not enough to provide a varied enough gene pool to create a healthy human population.

He was about to ask about that when Rolly continued, "The women are under no obligation to breed and produce offspring ... and those who wish to have children but are not interested in ... breeding with one of the men assembled here, are free to take advantage of our In vitro fertilization program."

Rolly's voice was rising in volume as the crowd before him became unruly. Terry noticed two men he hadn't really paid any attention to earlier as they stepped in from both sides of Rolly. It wasn't hard to understand that they were Security for the Director, ready to whisk him away if the crowd got violent.

Before he realized what he was doing, Terry hollered loudly, "Hey!"

The furor became a dull roar suddenly as all eyes turned to Terry. He hadn't had a plan when he hollered: he'd only wanted to stop the ruckus. But he said in a calm but firm voice, "Listen, people. We're stuck here with one another ... a lot of people in a very small place. We're going to have to learn to get along ... to discuss our issues with a civil tongue."

"Who the hell are you?" a man called from across the room.

"The man I want to have my first baby with," a woman said to her female table mates, causing a round of giggles and laughs to flood through the crowd.

Terry's tried to suppress his smile but failed. He smiled to the table full of women, then looked out upon the crowd again.

"Oh my god," a man murmured.

Another said, "Jesus, it's Terrance Lee."

"The 'Last Hope'?"

"I knew he looked familiar..."

The very familiar rumble of realization that he'd been enduring since the beginning of his fame rolled through the crowd.

"Forget all of that," Terry said. "It means nothing now. The only thing that means anything now is that we are all here ... we are all alive ... and--" He looked toward Rolly, who gave him a go ahead, you're doing good gesture. "--and if Rolly is right about what's going on up there, we may be the only people alive very shortly. We need to get along..."

The crowd was beginning to slowly show signs of agreement with Terry.

"And you heard what Rolly said about bree-- About having kids." Terry turned his eyes to the women in particular as he continued. "It's voluntary. And you don't have to ... you know ... do it with any man here."

"The line for 'The Last Hope' starts here," a woman joked, pointing a finger to herself. Another round of laughter flooded through the place.

Terry couldn't help but chuckle this time, as he repeated Rolly's gesture to the Director and asked, "So, Coach ... what's next?"

There was a great deal of soft conversation amongst the crowd, but for the most part Rolly was able to talk over them as some of his Tech Staff began circulating about, handing out pamphlets.

"Please, if everyone could do this for me," Rolly began. "Return to your Bunk Rooms, or at least to your Section. Read the introduction in this pamphlet. It covers the basics: berthing, meals, chore assignments--"

"Chores?" a man asked with feigned surprise. He laughed and said, "Must be why we have so many women."

"Apparently this asshole can't count," a woman said about the 3-to-1 ratio, just loud enough for the man to hear and for the others to laugh at. "My first chore will be to teach him how to use a broom ... and wash his own underwear."

Rolly tried to prevent an impromptu battle of the sexes by returning quickly to the pamphlet. After he'd said his piece, he explained, "Because of space limitations, meals will be served by Section. Section One residents may remain here if they wish, but I would appreciate if the rest of..."

Rolly had lost the crowd: they were already standing and either leaving to return to their Sections or simply standing about, talking, and ignoring him. He caught sight of Terry, smiled, nodded his appreciation, and -- flanked by his two Security Officers -- departed the room.

"We're Section Six," a familiar voice said. Terry looked to see Pete next to him, gesturing a thumb toward their pressure door before turning to leave. "Shall we?"