by Edge O. Erin
“We’re always looking for the best and brightest, and while you certainly qualify in that regard Corporal Rand, we’ve no immediate openings for you, and I dare say Commander Baturu-Heim would be upset to lose his star apprentice.”
“Understood My Lady.” He maintained his poise and deference to her.
“You may call me Mariot, though, when I was a child, they called me Riot.”
“They?”
She realised her mistake and tried a cover-up, “You know, like you, the children we grew up with.”
“I see My Lady.”
“Mariot.” She could not suppress a desire to be liked instead of desired.
“I must confess that, my inferior sex notwithstanding, I feel of too low a position, let alone familiarity, to refer to you by your first name.”
“I understand completely and sincerely appreciate your respect. But… and forgive me for what will surely come as much of a shock to you as it was to me… our common origin dictates something less formal.”
He was a composed individual, but she sensed concern as well as curiosity.
“Please continue, Mariot.” She admired his sense of the moment, if not his honesty.
“You see, Cooper, we are twins.”
The bewildered look in his eyes translated into a single stuttered word, “Se… Seriously?”
“I’m serious.”
“But…how?”
“Understand that what I am about to tell you is highly classified, and should you reveal it to anyone, not only will I disavow any knowledge of it, I will be forced to make your life, well, uncomfortable.”
She looked into his eyes. Her veiled threat was met by a steely resolve conditioned and bolstered by something she could not understand.
Cooper dissipated the tension somewhat by saying, “Please continue, Mariot.”
“We were both brought into this world by a surrogate mother, you ten minutes after me and both of us unrelated to our birth mother whose name I do not know, or care to know.
As a female Red, I remained on the Ghan Estate and you, being deemed little more than a vehicle to ensure I developed an assertive, if not aggressive aspect, were scheduled for termination. However, an administrator of a now-defunct ‘sister’ project that aimed to create ‘Super-Soldiers’ felt otherwise. He saw you as a ‘wonderful specimen’ and ‘Grade A material worthy of enhancement.’ In short, you never lost your memories; you never had any. You were cultivated, just like me.”
She looked at him; his face did not evidence what must be awfully disturbing. Maybe she had said too much? She replayed every word in her mind and, upon reflection, could see how it could be considered cold and potentially fuel a desire for unauthorised enquiry, if not retribution.
He was eyeing her curiously; surely, he didn’t recognise the half-second pause she took for analysis and reflection? She was not a machine! But he was her brother, and he was part of her in some way. No, even if Mr X had tinkered with him, he was nothing compared to her! She sensed her countenance morphing from puzzlement to anger to compassion and back to anger.
“Do you sense you are different and does being enhanced explain anything to you?” she asked frustratedly.
“I feel normal, and I think if I were somehow engineered, I would feel it on some level.”
“Perhaps, and I’m sorry to put it this way, but it could be the only explanation,” she paused, “maybe, you fell short of some standard and out of compassion, were mind-washed and put in the orphanage?”
“Perhaps, anything is possible. But I certainly do not feel inadequate or foreign.”
He stopped talking and just seemed to be thinking. Was it his version of introspection, or perhaps he was reconciling some previously incongruous elements of his being or past?
She looked at him again. He still had not moved. Why? Was he in shock? No, he had blinked and was breathing normally. She could also see something else in his eyes, was that pity or empathy? Why would he feel sorry for her? She was one of the most influential people on Earth! She was far from inadequate or a stranger to herself. And inadequate? How preposterous! She was so much more than him! Should she desire, she could have him demoted or even killed! No, no, he was her brother, sort of. And it was she that had sought him out and gave him information that could in some way imperil him.
Just as befuddled as before, internal analysis gobbled up more fractions of a second.
“Mariot, are you ok?”
“Ah, yes, yes, I am… thank you for the asking.”
Under the circumstances, it should have been her asking him that. Was there more to him than met the eye? Involuntarily she flipped down her Cyclops as she so often did in private when a puzzling situation demanded further examination. But of course, this time, she was not alone, so she abruptly flipped it back up. Her nervousness had to have been evident to him, so she did something she didn’t recall ever doing before: she apologised.
“I’m sorry for springing this whole thing on you… and for my strange behaviour… clearly, I’m not hardwired for this.” Oh Goddess, what a choice of words!
“It’s OK, Mariot. If I weren’t too stunned to speak, I too would’ve fumbled with my words. Honestly, I’m very thankful to you for sharing this with me. It’s so much to process, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”
“Yes, indeed.” He was something special, the type of individual who could help her pry free from Ghan hegemony.
“I have to ask. Why are you telling me this? To be honest, it sounds like science fiction, but since it’s coming from you, it must be true, right?”
“As far as I can tell, it is the cold, hard truth.”
“And the why, Mariot?”
He was going to make her come out with it. Well, she thought to herself, it was she that baited the hook, so she had best be prepared to set it and reel in. She would have to employ her characteristic deceit in an attempt to convey a quality Mary had, ‘empathy’.
“As a man, you would know what it is like to be ruled over, not to be seen as equal or worthy… essentially to have a lid put on your potential, correct?”
She saw her words and manner had registered in him. Maybe she had it in her to be empathetic after all? But to what end? Perhaps after she eliminated those in her way… and those that could potentially replace her, she could experiment with it.
“Yes, sometimes it isn’t easy, but it’s the way of the world… it probably won’t change in my lifetime.”
“But if you had the opportunity to change it, would you?”
She saw a new emotion in his face and eyes. It looked like guilt and fear. Interesting…
“How to answer that, My Lady? Should I say ‘yes,’ man should be the equal of the woman and that ‘yes’ I would work to realise that, if I could, that would make me a subversive.”
This Cooper was no dummy.
“Understood. And if I were to indicate there is a limit on what I can be or achieve due to my nature and my beginnings, then I would be as guilty as you.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we aren’t those people.”
“Indeed.”
They sat there in silence, absorbed in their thoughts, yet connected in a strange way.
“Cooper, for whatever reason, I’m not much of a people person, so, for now, I think we take time to process this and then get together later. How does that sound?”
“We’re alike in our solitary nature, and I agree, we need to take some time to come to grips with this.”
“Fine then. I will reach out to you.”
“Understood. Until we meet again.” He walked over and extended his hand.
It was the first time since becoming the leader of PEDE that she shook hands with someone she genuinely liked; it was humbling and horrifying.
She cancelled her next appointment, another first, and just sat there, thinking and thinking and thinking.
Cooper left the building, and as he walked down the crowded street, conscious of being watched, he knew his
entire world was in serious jeopardy. Artfully, he lost his tail and found himself sitting on a crate in a machine shed that was on the verge of collapse. Cooper listened to the entire conversation again, for he had secretly recorded it with his Wristpad despite knowing he was taking an enormous chance doing so. By the time he left the building, he was smiling.
Chapter Twenty-One
Initially quiet and reserved, once Cooper opened up to people, they found he had an infectious personality, that he was quick to laugh, and his self-deprecating and sarcastic sense of humour was endearing. He nearly always found a way to make her laugh, but he wasn’t himself tonight, and she knew it.
“You might as well tell me what is wrong before we both get in a funk.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just tired.”
“Ya, and I’m just going to embroider Jasker’s blankie with the cover of the Red Articles.”
He had to smile at that one.
“C’mon, out with it, my love.”
Having little choice, he revealed it all.
“Do you believe her?”
“No. I mean ‘mostly no’. I was starting to believe I could be her brother… The missing years almost made sense, the possibility of subtle enhancements not too far-fetched, but…”
“But what?”
“There was this feeling that she and I were never close. If two people shared a womb for nine months, there would have to be this feeling, a connection from before the dawn, you know?”
“Ya, I get that. But still, feelings don’t trump evidence.”
“Yes, I know… that’s why I pinged Jon. He said there was no way I could’ve been subjected to accelerated growth and that their tests were showing I was definitely not bipaternal, as in no evidence of a shared father, as with most Menhancers.”
“Whoa, what a relief!”
“Damn straight. And then there was how artificial Riot acted at times, and how she reacted when I said I didn’t think I could be engineered, as I never felt inadequate or foreign.”
“Clearly, those are words she tries to avoid thinking. She’s probably never thought of herself and how she came to be as anything but ‘advanced’ and ‘special’.”
“Exactly! She almost had me fooled with her attempts at empathy, but she transitioned so quick from employing a false equivalency to trying, albeit subtly, to enlist me to help her on some level.”
“Ya, that’s botched.”
“Totally, but it did strike me as sincere that she did feel lorded over and wanted to break free and be her own person, to realise her potential.”
“I get that, but for her, that potential would be Queen of the World or some cruxed-up Dictator.”
Cooper couldn’t contain a smile before saying, “The Emper-whore?”
Claire laughed, “Ya, I love it!”
“Or Smiktator?”
“Equally good!” Claire giggled, but then became serious.
“Will you have to see her again?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“But what if she asks?”
“I might have to as alienating her would be a mistake. Plus, this would be a huge opportunity for intel.”
“You’re right. Hey, does Riot know about us, I mean you and I, Jasker… our family?” Her voice trembled with emotion.
“We never discussed it, but she would certainly know I am married and have a child. Your name wouldn’t mean anything to her.”
“But oh my gosh, what if she asks to meet me, or have us visit her? She would be sure to see a familial resemblance.”
“I will do everything I can to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“I know. But do you think it’s possible, like even one in a billion, that you’re siblings?”
“Probably not even one in a quintillion, Claire.”
“So, you’re saying there is a chance! If so, you and I are practically related!”
He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not, so he grabbed her hand and kissed her softly on the cheek. He knew she would quickly figure it out, but better to say it so she would know he didn’t see any cause for concern.
“Dear, she isn’t even related to you if you think about it. Even if we bucked the one in the quintillion odds, she and I would share no genetic material. It would be like two tubbies involuntarily sharing a cramped, liquid apartment for nine months and then going their separate ways.” He winked at her, and continued, “And ya, I did say ‘tubbies’.”
She giggled and poked him playfully in the forehead, “You nutcase, you always make me laugh.”
“Not to worry, we will be okay, I promise.”
“Tip-of-nose-touch swear?”
“Tip-of-nose-touch swear.” They touched noses and started making dinner.
***
She had just received the account of Mariot frequently murmuring the name “Claire” in her sleep, which gave her pause for a report on Cooper Rand was opened to a page that indicated a “Claire” as his significant other. It was probably just a coincidence, but she had this sense of a mystical concept, ‘serendipity’. Despite being instructed that decisions were to be made logically and linearly, life had begun to impress upon her an inexplicable circular nature of things that occasionally involved feelings and unquantifiable data.
It motivated her to pursue the nagging ‘feeling’.
A background check of Claire Rand turned up desperately little. For income, she worked part-time at a bookstore. Her birth certificate was issued by a clinic that no longer existed, and her former surname, “Page,” seemed bogus, for there was no record of her parents, “Recto and Verso.”
Using her security credentials to perform an in-depth search, she found Claire had never voted, been arrested, and except for the harvesting of red coral — which a fair number of poor people did — there was no suspicious activity. She had no school records, and her library card, unused for eight years, did not have a photo or valid address. It all added up to “Claire Page,” being a conjured name.
Perhaps Claire made good use of her Cyclops on GhanNet? She opened Cyclop-Scan and was perplexed to see that beyond those required to be viewed, Claire had not downloaded any free Ghan material! Who did not observe at least some free content? This showed that Claire wanted nothing to do with the Ghans, and that fact said a lot about her. She must hate the Ghans and, or what they stood for and that level of hate, as she had once read, “could only be ignited from a place of love or fired by betrayal.”
She pulled up the file for Mariot’s funeral and obituary; listed as one of her surviving loved ones was a younger sister, a Spica C. Ghan. Was “C” short for Claire? She poked further. Nothing conclusive, the “C” was just there, like a placeholder.
What happened to this Spica, and where was she now? It only took a few minutes to find she had been given up for adoption and that there was no record of her beyond her eleventh birthday. She couldn’t locate an adoption record, another mysterious one. Spica was eleven in year twenty-three of Abigailius’ reign, which was the same year the Cyclops had been tested and trialled at the Goddess of the Ghans. She pumped her fists and wrapped them together three times as she always did before a contest. “Game on!” she growled. She brought up the archives for Cyclops retinal scans for the Ghan children at the time and lo and behold, there was one for Spica C. Ghan! She loaded it into the authentication software package. Now she pulled up a retinal scan from Claire Rand’s file. She synced the two and hit analyse.
Seconds later, she got the results, and it was a match of the highest order. Got you, Spica C!
***
As there was no imminent threat to his person, he donned his Cyclops and enabled the transmission:
With the Biodome’s exterior now complete, work on the interior has accelerated to replicate Prometer’s near-Earth environment. As new data comes in from long-range scans, minute adjustments will continue to be made, and it is fully expected that the three-month acclimatisation period for all included will be successful.
He did receive the weekly “Biodome News” bulletin, and Jing, Lester’s replacement, had taken it upon herself to supply him with the inside scoop, which very much supplemented what he got from his lone contact working at the facility.
Within the Biodome were micro-domes where “atmospheric adjustment” tests were being done on an ongoing basis. Homeless, petty criminals and undesirables — which encompassed many in the minds of the Government — were ‘recruited’ and put inside. Sometimes the environment was hospitable; sometimes it wasn’t. The most common ailment was lesions and sores, but the occasional person died, most often from respiratory issues. It was awful, but practical science, and while he found it hideous and cruel, he couldn’t argue with the results. Mini-sized Biodomes corroborated earlier tests and reduced the number of iterations necessary to fashion a liveable Biodome that purportedly mimicked life on Prometer. Prometer would have its own set of germs and bacteria, so antidote development was crucial, as was enhanced immune system science.
Recently, “normal people” started being used, and now they had prepped a medium-sized dome to accommodate and test more valuable assets. The theoretical became real when he received a personal message at the end of the bulletin; Mary and Cheriot would not be going to the Ghan Estate from Bang Block but to the Biodome.
The day was quickly approaching when Wakees, scientists, security forces, cooks, cleaners, and the rest plus, of course, Riot and the Grace’s Representative, would enter the Biodome. And except for times when some would be shown on Feed, the official news service of MESI, they would not be seen again.
He raised his glass of water to Bien, “Lord, I hope this day is good!”
***
There was no way of knowing the scope of Wezer’s betrayal. Evidence continued to accumulate that he had long been playing both sides against the middle.