Legacy of Seconds

by Edge O. Erin

  Previously, Keeper — whom she was to address in public as “Mr Kyle” or “Shopkeep” — had trained her as a ‘Learning Facilitator’ and teller. Now she was also learning proper ‘Intake’; not just of books, but assets and information as Kyles Books was a critical intelligence station. While employment provided credits her family desperately needed, ‘knowing’ represented an even more valuable currency to the movement.

  Shopkeep, who looked the prototypical bookworm, said he had full confidence in her and, as such, would be in the back and just to buzz her if she needed help. She reckoned a lot happened ‘“in the back” and that he and Hitch must bear a tremendous weight of responsibility. Being able to contribute was rewarding and so much better than chipping coral! The open sign came on, and five minutes later, the first customers came in.

  The forty-something lady’s red hair was masterfully tinged with burgundy, and while her clothing was minimalist, the mix of contemporary and classic bespoke a woman of high-quality, and possibly deep pockets. She thought Ghan or related families, but ladies of that class didn’t occasion nondescript, backstreet bookstores. The child, evidently her daughter due to her red hair, dark eyebrows, and complexion, held her hand and looked at her in a way that suggested love and devotion.

  She overheard the words, “I’ve missed you so much,” “Me too,” and “Happy,” so they were clearly profoundly attached, yet occasionally separated. There was no haughtiness about them since they had exchanged polite nods and smiles to her as they made their way around the store. Finally, after scouring many a shelf, they came to the counter, and the cute little girl carefully placed some books down by the old-fashioned till.

  “Is this everything, ladies?”

  The girl glanced at her mom, who gave her an approving nod.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl said politely.

  Claire counted them up.

  “OK, that will be 57 credits, please and thank you.”

  The little girl fished in her pink purse — which was cute in all its innocence — and cast a look of permission at her mother.

  “It’s quite a lot, Mom. Is it a fair and worthwhile investment, or should I haggle? These aren’t new books, after all?”

  Claire had to stifle a snicker and exchanged a smile with the mom.

  “It’s not for me to say, Shia. Let me ask you this. Are the books new to you, and what amount is that information and ‘feel-good-of-ness’ worth?”

  The little girl moved her head musically back and forth while at the same time, her eyes described a calculation in the ether. Finally, she nodded.

  “I feel it is a prudent investment.”

  “Then feel free, Shia.”

  “Great, and Goddess be gobsmacked, and me-mind be open a crack!”

  Claire and her mom both laughed.

  “Now daughter, where on Earth did that come from?”

  “Just a line from a funny book I read.”

  The woman looked at Claire. “My apologies for that, she doesn’t get out much.”

  “Oh no problem, she’s adorable!”

  “Hey, I’m right here!” The wink Shia gave her made her day.

  “Indeed, you are, young lady, and I must congratulate you on a wise purchase.”

  Claire bundled the books in a paper bag and was about to watch them leave when she extended herself, “Wait, I see that you are the one-hundredth customer of the month, and that entitles you to a special prize!”

  “No way!” The little girl practically bounced her way back to the service counter.

  “Yes, way!”

  “What did I win?”

  Claire was making it up as she went along.

  “You can pick any book you like so long as it is forty credits or under.”

  “Wow! Can I get a few books so long as they are under forty credits?”

  “No, dear, just one book, but it can be a forty-credit book if you like.”

  “Hmm… I would have to weigh that… and you can call me Shia.”

  Claire really liked this child. “Weigh-away, come what may, even if it takes all day Shia… eh.”

  The girl giggled and smiled at her.

  “Do you have a book on cryptology?”

  “Cryptology?” Obviously, this was one very bright little girl.

  “Yep.”

  Claire searched, and Kyles Books fulfilled its reputation for the exotic and esoteric.

  “We have one book, From Cave Art to Cryptology: Signs and Symbols Through the Ages. Let me get it for you, and you can see what you think.”

  Claire found the book high up on a somewhat dusty upper shelf and brought it to the counter.

  Shia looked at the cover, and her mother pointed at the name of the co-authors.

  “An ‘Arn’? Is he related to us?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I will definitely take it then!”

  She flipped to the back cover; the tag said it was fifty credits. “Oh no, it’s too much!”

  Claire had it covered, “Actually, we just took 20% off those books and haven’t got around to changing the tags yet. So, it is, in fact, forty credits.”

  “My Goddess, this really is my lucky day!”

  “It would seem so.” The mother clapped her shoulder softly and beamed a smile at Claire.

  Claire processed the freebie, and after a sweet and sincere string of “Thank yous,” the mother and daughter left. She felt even better about taking the job and was so thankful to Cooper for making the recommendation.

  A few minutes later, the mother came back in just as Claire was counting out fifty credits from her wallet, and the finely dressed lady nodded approvingly.

  “I guess you caught me in the act.”

  “Quick-thinking on the 20-per cent off. It was lovely of you, Claire.”

  Claire grew wary, “How did you know my name?”

  “As perhaps Kyles Book’s largest benefactor, it’s in my interest to know who works here.”

  The lady sensed her apprehension, “Not to worry; your secret is safe with me. Here, this is for you.”

  The lady put a gift certificate into her hand, it was for a full and free visit to the Ghan-Arn Salon and Spa, a location of which she had only ever walked by for it was way beyond her budget. She knew a daily visit had to be worth more than five-hundred credits!

  It left her stunned. “I, I don’t know what to say… this is… fantastic…thank you ever so much!”

  “My pleasure. I know you are the kind of person that sees an altruistic act as a reward unto itself, but sometimes goodness needs to be rewarded.”

  “Thanks again.” Claire eyed the gift certificate as if it were gold. She would really surprise Cooper one day, or night. So dreamy was she that she didn’t see Keeper sidle up beside her.

  “Ah, I see I just missed my two favourite customers.”

  “They are definitely very nice.”

  “And that little one, Shia Ghan-Arn, may well be chosen as one of the Wakees for the Prometer mission.”

  Claire was at a loss for words, and she made a promise to herself and that little girl to always listen to Prometer-related announcements.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was peculiar for him to recall a dream, but then again, it was singular in its peculiarity. To be standing by a moonlit lake holding hands with an elderly man from a bygone time and his niece Shia as an adult woman was beyond bizarre. He had felt such a deep connection to both as energy pulsed between them.

  The man was, as history and anthropologists had long-established, from the time before the nuclear holocaust that devastated the planet in antiquity. He was well over six feet tall, had dark hair, sported an athletic build, had angular features and boasted penetrating and powerful blue eyes. But he had a disarming smile, and his grip on his hand was as reassuring as it was firm. The contrast in size between them reminded him of a picture taken when he was nine and his brother thirteen.

  Being modern humans, he and his niece had eyes and
ears that were about fifteen per cent larger than that of the bigger man, and their skin had a reddish hue while the man was Caucasian, with the pinkish-white skin that generally branded one inferior.

  The scene shifted from the moonlit night on the shore of a tranquil lake to a time and place that was remote, yet familiar: predominantly a pollution-shrouded industrialised landscape with apartment complexes wedged against a natural world clinging to existence. A mushroom cloud rose in the distance. It was an ominous sign, and the man squeezed his hand. The scene shifted to a cave with art and symbols on the wall, and then the man was gone. Now he was just holding Shia’s hand, and despite her face being a chimera of sorts, her eyes were imbued with the character and wisdom of the man. A shadow moved over the two of them then, and while fear gripped him, he could not help but turn his head. A gigantic hairy hominid stood over him. His eyes moved up the hominids frame in a desire to see the face and understand, but a blinding light extinguished it all, and he found himself standing alone by himself outside his family’s cabin. It was then that he woke up.

  ***

  He’d not received news about Lester, and this was almost as disturbing as the dream he just had. If Lester told, he might as well head down his rabbit hole right now. Even if Lester had not talked, the facts would put him in a precarious position. With Lester’s identity confirmed, they would know who his supervisor was and their concern/suspicions about Mary. He would have to work some magic to avoid being sacked, or worse, ‘de-sacked’ and join the ranks of the eunuchs at some prison labour camp.

  When he showed up to work, he would have to portray Lester as unstable and operating without consent. He’d prepared for that side of things by keeping some video clips of Lester being consumed with Mary, including an expertly edited clip of Lester acting irrationally in his office. Of course, going that route would open him up to criticism; why retain his services, why not report it to HR? He would have to argue that despite Lester’s eccentricities, the man had served dutifully and expertly… that his data-analysis capabilities made him rather a savant, even if an idiot version of one. Throwing Lester under the bus would suck, but chances are he was already dead, so if the bus rolled over his carcass, then so be it. Ugh, it wasn’t a warm fuzzy, self-love moment, but he would do what he had to do for the cause. It was decided then; he would employ tactics, particularly deceit and self-preservation, in the same way as the enemy.

  ***

  “Ohww…” The small man squirmed under the needle.

  “Seriously?” The nurse furrowed her brow and glanced over her shoulder to where Yazmin watched from behind the dark, one-way glass.

  “Subject is a wimp. If the procedure is successful with him, it will be successful with anyone.”

  The small man wriggled uncomfortably under his restraints.

  The apparatus was lowered, and tubes snaked down and attached like suckers all over the man’s small frame, even onto his diminutive manhood. Drills moved in from above, below and to the sides.

  “System is in place.”

  The doctor looked towards the glass, and since there was no interruption, she continued by pressing some buttons on a bedside control pad.

  “System is online.”

  “Proceed,” Yazmin commanded, though the voice was synthesised to be something other than her own.

  The doctor pressed some more buttons, and the tubes and drills began to move rhythmically and systematically. The swooshes, zzeers, tchoo, siss, swoosh, zzeer, tchoo and siss sounds made for a musical, mechanical, macabre dance.

  The doctor was looking at a screen projected somewhere between her and a white wall.

  “Everything is proceeding normally; the subject is responding favourably. Just a few more minutes.”

  Yazmin tapped her feet to the sound of the theatre.

  The tubes stopped pulsing and gyrating, and the drills went silent.

  “Initial procedure successful; moving on to Phase 2.”

  Phase 2 was the best, and she always found it hard to resist not going into the room to witness it, to smell it, if there was a smell to it. But behind the glass was her world, had to be her world.

  A second doctor moved into the room, rolling a unit in that looked like a tanning bed.

  The doctors both looked at the mirror.

  “Continue,” Yazmin ordered.

  The subject was moved from the operating table and onto the base of the other ‘bed’.

  A switch on the bed was turned on, and a dial rotated clockwise, which induced a vibration that Yazmin could feel in her toes and then through her entire body in the adjacent room… it was like sex, only better.

  “Wait for it,” she told herself and half giggled like she did when she was a child and squishing gels.

  Suddenly the subject was floating in the air between the two beds, and a nearly transparent sheet of material enveloped him.

  The doctor moved the dial slowly counter clockwise until the subject rested on the bed again.

  The doctor looked at the viewer to analyse the subject’s condition. Yazmin prided herself in knowing a great deal, and she did, but electronic readouts and numbers were about as appealing as cold oatmeal, or her husband, devoid of passion.

  “Phase 2 complete. Third and final phase upon your command.”

  Yazmin lit a long cigarette, inhaled it deeply, then took a moment to cool and calm herself.

  “Please proceed.”

  The doctors laid a heavy grey covering over the bed, with the covering reaching down to cover the floor several feet beyond the bed, then stepped behind a protective screen on the far side of the room.

  “On your command.”

  This next part was fantastic, and she purposely avoided learning precisely what went on under that shroud. To discover all the secrets would rob the process of its magic.

  “Go.”

  The one doctor tapped something on the command screen, and the shroud puffed up and became taut over the bed while staying tight to the floor. It turned white, a beautiful white, like the colours of an angel’s wings, or so she imagined. Then the shroud settled, and a deep blue aura was left over it. The aura was like an ocean setting down on a cloud.

  Beneath that cloud, the man was reborn.

  ***

  He appreciated these quiet times with Cheriot. He seldom had the time or the inclination to sit with her after sex, but he reckoned she deserved more from him.

  Today he had both the inclination and the time; modifications were being made to the security system, and he had fifteen more minutes of unmonitored access. He dug out a clean cloth, wiped Cheriot’s face more thoroughly, and looked into her eyes. On some level, he felt she must be enjoying their time together, but she never showed it. Maybe she wasn’t hardwired for intimacy, but surely the attention must mean something to her. After all, who else did she have in this place, apart from him? He saw her regularly and ensured she received proper nutrition. He arranged to have the monitor put on the wall, which showed nature scenes and such so she could have something to occupy herself.

  He looked at her expectantly, but nothing, so he gave her a bit of slap. “Don’t you appreciate what I do for you?”

  To his surprise, her eyes moved to his. It was not a look of appreciation, but one of contempt. He could not help but step back.

  “How about I turn off the monitor for a day or two? Maybe then you will appreciate me!”

  He saw some water building up in one of her eyes. The cloth he used to wash off her face must’ve been too wet. He used a dry one and wiped the moisture away, but it came back… this time to both eyes, and then a tear rolled down her cheek. She was crying! She felt things, after all!

  “No. No. I’m sorry. I won’t turn off the monitor. I was just… never mind. I won’t. Stop crying now! If you are still teary-eyed when the doctors come in, it will be bad for both of us. A change in your condition will mean more tests, and I suspect you don’t like those.”

  More tears. “Oh, for God’s sake,
stop it!” He shook her shoulders hard.

  He dried off her face. It seemed she had stabilised. Man, she was one cruxed-up unit!

  “Time for me to go. I have the weekend off. Be a good girl now.” He kissed her on the cheek and exited.

  ***

  On the other side of the wall, Mary sobbed.

  “How long has this been going on, Cheriot?”

  No response. “Cheriot?”

  “Seven hundred and twelve days, nine hours, and forty-eight minutes.”

  “My Goddess! Just him, or are there others?”

  “Always him, though Ms Troublesworth sometimes hurts me.”

  “How badly are you damaged?”

  “The wounds heal.”

  Adept at compartmentalisation, Cheriot was able to turn off aspects of herself and survive what might break the minds of others. Regardless, it filled Mary with an anger she had not felt before; it was a deep, abiding, seething anger that cascaded from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and back again, leaving her sick to the stomach. It was sad and horribly wrong, and she felt guilty for she had known Cheriot was being tested at the Ghan Estate and Bang Block but had been told it was ethical and scientific and that she was given time to read, exercise, and get proper rest. She had not cared enough to check on her, or any of the other clones. For so many years, she had been selfish and consequently was deeply ashamed.

  “Do you ever get some time for fitness or rest, any free time?”

  “At the Ghan Estate, they allow me some time each day alone in the gymnasium or the library, but here it’s just the chair except for times they walk us around in our shackles, as you know.”

  It was terribly wrong. Given Cheriot’s predicament and that she was complicit in her confinement, all she could offer was an apology and a smidgeon of hope. She apologised and told Cheriot of her recent experience… of the one who must be their original that had reached out to her.