Wine, Women and War

Donnie blinked.

‘So? Better them than us.’

Prime looked up from her work.

‘Say that again?’

‘Um, better them than us,’ Donnie murmured, and added, ‘I think I’m having Deja-Fu.’

‘Deja-fu,’ asked Prime.

‘Yes, the feeling I’m about to get beaten up again.’

Prime blinked at him, frowned then asked, ‘Explain to me why you signed-up with The Church of Elvis will you?’

She stood, her work completed, and strode slowly towards him.

‘Well…’ said Donnie backing away.

‘We don’t have the right to decide who lives and dies,’ she said, backing him into a corner. ‘Our role is to prevent unnecessary death.’

‘By sacrificing ourselves?’

‘If necessary,’ she whispered mere millimeters from his face. She raised an eyebrow, tilted her head slightly, then kissed him passionately.

* * *

In a dimly-lit room, in a quiet underground maze, beneath a bustling multistory shopping centre, two opposing groups met face-to-face for only the second time.

For all intents and purposes, the discussions had gone well in that no gunfire had been exchanged. This had the potential to change at any moment, however.

‘You’re saying your methods are better because they’re natural,’ scoffed Colonel Panix, tossing a document across the table.

‘Certainly,’ said Caroline Rook. ‘We control the DNA, we control the donors and the offspring.’

‘Control the donors, that’s what you call it is it,’ said Panix with indignation. ‘When we agreed to a full and frank exchange of information, I wasn’t expecting–’

‘And what about your methods, Colonel Panix,’ asked Miss Rook, eyes narrowing. She stood, then leaned forwards over the table with the palms of her hands flat on its surface. ‘Your methods of hacking people’s brains apart to increase certain traits that you feel are suitable for the next generation of humanity.’

‘How did you–’

‘I’ll note this information wasn’t in the official documents you provided for this meeting,’ she said tapping the report before her, then added with a liberal dose of sarcasm. ‘Holding out on us, Panix? The survival of the species is one thing, but this is butchery.’

‘Take that back,’ Panix hissed savagely. ‘We’re saving mankind–’

‘Mankind,’ spat Miss Rook. ‘Humanity!’

‘What about your manipulation of genetics,’ asked Panix.

‘We don’t butcher people,’ said Miss Rook. ‘Our programme is far more humane. Survival of the species is never served by saving the weak.’

‘You’re murdering children,’ yelled Panix, standing and thumping a fist on the table. ‘Boys are dying in their thousands to service your programme–’

‘They are carriers, not creators.’

‘I’m two steps away from walking out of this room and calling for a war-council,’ yelled Panix.

The door burst open.