Legacy of Seconds

by Edge O. Erin

  Logically, laying eyes on Mariot was just part of the plan. For her protection and that of MEM, the other part wasn’t explicitly revealed to her. It was enough to see Mariot and do as she was told. So, she slipped off her right shoe, turned it over, and give it a vigorous shake as if there was some foreign material, like a small pebble, stuck in it that needed to be removed. She waited a few seconds and put the shoe back on.

  She turned on her heel to leave, but not without another glance at her sister. ‘I promise to get you out of here, Mariot!’

  Claire made her way out of the secure area much as she did when entering. There was no cause to be overly stressed, so she ambled away from Mauder’s shed. Her Wristpad throbbed.

  “They’re on to you! Get out as fast and safely as you can!”

  What in the world? How? It had been going perfectly!

  She picked up her pace, but not so fast as to draw suspicion.

  “Stop that woman!” She heard the security guard scream, and out of the corner of her eye saw the woman hop aboard an air launch.

  Claire popped on her modified air launch and set off at a speed the guard could not approach.

  Only a bit farther now and she was in the river. She would stand a chance then.

  Only another 150 feet now!

  Suddenly the old lady from the train sprung up from the base of a flowering shrub and flipped a garden hose up that caught her foot and felled her from her ride.

  Claire got up and started to run, but she must’ve twisted something for she stumbled and fell. She began to get up, and the old biddy hit her on the head with a hoe.

  By the time she got her bearings straight, security guards were on her. Next thing she knew, she was lying bound and gagged on the floor of an air-ride.

  “Take her to Bang Block!” a voice commanded.

  ***

  The microbot cluster was activated when it hit the floor. A self-diagnostic affirmed complete functionality. They homed in on Mariot and parodied the Neurosignalling. Moments later, and piggybacking the grid of the estate, a second signal went out. Jon received and translated it and was delighted Mariot had been pinged!

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The correspondence came in the form of symbols and themes and, as such, were ambiguous.

  ‘Hello? This is us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘We are two, but one as we sleep.’

  ‘My sister?’

  ‘We are like sisters.’

  ‘Stepsisters?’

  ‘No. We are copies of you.’

  ‘Clones?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Enemies, like the doctors?’

  ‘No, not enemies.’

  ‘Can you help me wake up?’

  ‘We can try, but we are also prisoners.’

  The symbols became confused, and hours passed before they continued.

  ‘I am trying to wake up, but they won’t let me.’

  ‘Try harder. We believe in you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The communication stopped and did not return.

  ***

  “Hear me now Wezer, Jon Ghan-Arn is too valuable an asset to be given to the Government. Imagine what he and Mr X could accomplish together!”

  “Oh, I agree. But if Scorp cannot be found, another asset will have to take his place. If not, I’m probably done for.”

  “We know where Scorp is.”

  “Oh!” It was becoming real now.

  “Coordinates?”

  “More Menhancers? The cost per unit has gone up… supply and demand., you know.”

  “Yes, and agreed.”

  Yazmin sent him the coordinates.

  “And we are in agreement, Jon Ghan-Arn is not to be surrendered.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Then, unless I’ve reason not to trust you any more, this is goodbye.”

  “Until we meet again.”

  The transmission ended without a response, so he added it for her, “It will be my pleasure.”

  That same morning, he delivered Scorp in exchange for as early entry as possible into the Biodome.

  ***

  It was not only the first time he communicated directly with the Grace’s Second, but the first time he met her and, in fact, any of the reigning Triumvirate. He was impressed, intimidated, and apprehensive.

  He had been brought to the meeting under an armed escort and joined two others in a business conference room, all seated on one side of a long table with the Lady sitting at the head of it, in a high chair that was somewhat ‘throne-ish’.

  Enjang Ghan looked at them individually and carefully, saving her most prolonged gaze for him. It reminded him of when he was examining and/or augmenting a microbot, focused attention on something less intelligent than you, but still useful if sufficiently equipped.

  She was flanked by two security guards, both women, and both grand in stature. They were two of the most beautiful and fierce-looking women he had ever seen.

  As for the Grace’s Second, she was dignified and dapper. She had probably dressed more simply for this meeting, but the red, white and black pantsuit was still exquisite, as was her comportment.

  There were no pens or paper, tabletop interfaces, floating holo screens, and no introductions.

  Enjang nodded at her security, who each moved into opposite corners of the room, drew some sort of long, cylindrical rod out, and suddenly vanished from sight, well nearly anyway.

  He took the rods to be phantom shades, which he heard could function as privacy screens as well as weapons. He resolved that if he were to be eliminated by one of those angelic phantoms, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  The Lady took a drink of water and began:

  “Riot isn’t here for a reason, and if she should hear of this meeting, each one of you won’t live through that same day. To assure our Prometerian venture’s success, another clone, the one called Tiot, shall be made ready, placed in stasis, and be included in the mission. Should Riot fail, falter, or worse, Tiot shall be activated and replace her. Said activation will be coincident with Riot’s termination and will be outside of the influence and control of the Wakees or for any other person on the ships for that matter.

  “Your orders are as follows:

  “One, enhance the present monitoring and analysis system and replicate it on the ships.

  “Two, provide the architecture for real-time analysis, minus the transmission delay of course, back to Ghan Command and Control.

  “Three, design a PIP interface for the stasis chamber such that new information can be uploaded to Tiot.

  “And finally, four, create the procedures necessary to awaken Tiot remotely.

  “This shall be accomplished at the CV-and-V facility adjacent to the Biodome, with Cheriot — and to a lesser degree, Mary — serving as test subjects as we obviously cannot compromise Tiot. All necessary guidelines, information, schematics, etc. shall be provided to you forthwith.

  “Questions?”

  He had many, and when the others didn’t ask anything, he piped up. “First of all, I have to thank you so very much for this incredible opportunity to be part of this Goddess-blessed mission.”

  Her hand did a wheel turn that basically said, “Ya, ya, get on with it,” but she did add, “Most welcome. Your questions and concerns?”

  “To this juncture, Riot Junior has been pegged as Riot’s most likely replacement. May I ask what has changed, and are we to have a backup for Tiot?”

  “I gather you have not been kept apprised of the latest developments…” she cast an irritated glance at the other scientists in attendance … “so let me illuminate you.

  “Hitherto it was believed that the accelerated ageing process was uniform and free of outliers. However, just recently, it’s been established that clones do not age uniformly. We can now say that Mary is ageing faster than Riot, and they are both again faster than Cheriot, while Tiot is ageing slower than all, including Riot Junior.

  “Given the
potential wrinkles and rigours of space travel, Tiot is a prudent choice, and, as you know, she has established herself as a stable individual with high cognitive function.

  “As for a ‘backup of a backup’, I am satisfied with the current level of redundancy. Moreover, Riot Junior has been selected for another initiative.”

  “Very well, your Eminence.”

  “Any other questions or concerns, specifically ones that cannot be answered by your esteemed colleagues and in light of the fact I am a very busy woman?”

  It was his cue to be quiet, and furthermore, his other issues and concerns were better left unsaid.

  “I’m good, your Lady, thank you kindly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Most shipments to Demghan Hill generally arrived via air-launch, but some goods, and in this case — goods and services — came by shipping container.

  ‘Cave-Port’, as the harbour and hollowed-out complex at the base of Demghan Hill, was called, allowed for the import and export of goods and materiel that officials could more plausibly and effectively turn a blind eye to.

  Both men reached for the handle and then subsequently withdrew their hands simultaneously, then glanced at each other with about the same level of affection, which was very little. The truth was they didn’t much like each other, and it wasn’t just from the combat test. Two alpha males both answerable to a greater alpha female made for testy testes.

  Having a greater need to assert his authority and control, Jop stepped in front of Ruprecht and pulled the shipping container door open. He then ordered the Transfer Detail to join Ruprecht in marshalling the ‘unfortunates’ inside the specifically designed shipping container.

  In this case, individual pods were furnished with a small cot, clean, but lumpy old mattress with equally lumpy pillow and blanket, a bar of soap, one large bucket of water, a change of clothes, a towel, a dim light that always stayed on, a nutrient squeeze, and a poop bucket.

  The proceedings were watched over by the prison commander to where the prisoners would toil in work camps until their dying days. All were men, and most were either criminals or had found themselves unofficially judged as enemies of the state, or a vengeful elite. Usually, he would be part of the welcoming party, but this time he had to be here to witness the offload of another set of containers.

  Labourers loaded, Five Fins nodded his approval to the Chief Deck Officer and made himself scarce. He put off departure until the following morning under the guise of a reward to his hard-working crew.

  By arrangement, the prison transport vehicle had arrived just in advance of a larger ship that was offloading some precious cargo. Predictably they had let the prison ship in first to allow more time and security for Insight Tactical’s flagship Advantage to berth and offload. He couldn’t help but shake his head, in the way Emaris did, at her dash and hubris.

  Hunting and hiding could be done in plain sight, providing one understood the nature of his surroundings. Here in the bowels of Demghan Hill, there was an aura of iniquity and shame; people cloaked themselves in its shades of grey and shadows of power. As such, an old man draped in its attire was hardly noticeable.

  A pervading sense of fear, secrecy, denial, and self-loathing lent itself to avoiding eye contact and conversation, and he found himself entering secure areas and looking at shipping manifests. At a guard’s station, he read a report about numerous unscheduled visits to one of the ‘sisters’ by a Commander Jop. There was another that disclosed the date that clones were to be moved to the Biodome.

  Advantage had come in, so he made his way back to cast his eyes on Yazmin’s product.

  He always enjoyed the process of offloading. It was a fusion of worlds, the coalescing of wants and needs and…

  He felt a slight nudge.

  Cooper said calmly, “Not to worry, Five Fins.”

  “I wondered when you might show up. Surely those marching off the Advantage will be of interest to you, and MEM,” he replied quietly,

  “And familiar?”

  “Some of them, probably.”

  “Do you know why they are so?”

  The old man stroked his short beard. “You’re not safe here. When they come off the boat, the secret will be loosed.”

  From their partially hidden vantage point near a pile of discarded ropes and buoys, they would see the Menhancers marching out.

  “Don’t I know it. In fact, there may be one among those I killed before, or at least thought I did.”

  It was then a man who had been listening in stepped out of the shadows.

  “Don’t I know it, Cooper, or whatever your real name is.”

  “Clearly, I thought I finished the job, Beriit.”

  “It’s Ruprecht now. Well, in your defence, a knife buried in the chest and having that person be part of a good old-fashioned book-burning generally does the job.”

  “And yet somehow you survived,” Five Fins offered.

  “More or less. Speaking of ‘less’ old man, why don’t you slink on back to your retirement community? I have business with this man. He owes me something, and I’m not going to let Jop or my boss collect it on me.”

  An alert pulsed on Cooper’s Wristpad and its vibration indicated it was of the highest order. He stole a glance at it and read the worst news of his life:

  “Claire’s real identity has been discovered, and while she completed the primary task, she was caught leaving the Estate and was being taken to Bang Block. Riot knows of her connection to you. Do not go attempt a rescue!”

  Beriit’s Wristpad also pulsed redly; then a siren started going off.

  Another older man appeared, one that Cooper recognised as Two Gills. “Captain, we should go.”

  “Take this man with you.”

  “The Menhance clone?”

  “He’s not; he’s trueborn.”

  Cooper went to ask him more about it, but Five Fins waved him off.

  “Go now!” Five Fins ordered.

  “Hey, wait a damn minute, you old coot. This man is mine!”

  He went to shove Five Fins, and two knife blades flashed, one sliced into the liver, and another went in one ear and out the other. Beriit-cum-Ruprecht, fell to the floor, dead, with no return from it.

  Cooper looked at the old man, who somehow appeared decades younger, and a lot like him.

  “Go now, Cooper, with Two Gills… west of the Cave Port.”

  “But?”

  “Now!”

  Two Gills grabbed him by the arm and tugged him away.

  Five Fins pushed the corpse into a corner, smashed his Wristpad, and used a knife to fillet out the man’s tracking chip before covering him up with old rancid ropes and some rotten, stinking fishnets that would keep him hidden for quite a while. He then got into a tender and made his way to the prison ship, but not before tossing Ruprecht’s chip aboard the Advantage.

  ***

  The report was correct; the second wave of interrogation had indeed morphed into torture. This wasn’t atypical, particularly when Riot was involved. If a captor weren’t divulging information in this place, methods would be employed to force the intel out of the person. He could see Claire’s rough condition through the observation window in the room adjoining the interrogation chamber. Riot might not get much out of her; from all he heard about the woman, she was as tough as nails. Then again, Riot was a hammer.

  Riot elbowed Claire in the jaw, and a tooth bounced across the table. This was getting out of hand! He pressed the com button. Nothing. It had been disabled. For Red’s sake, Riot! He saw Riot grab the tooth from the table and start squeezing into Claire’s forehead as two guards held the prisoner fast to the restraints. He turned towards the door to intervene but decided against it. Go in there now, and Riot would know his loyalties were still divided.

  He saw Claire smile at the PEDE chief, an angry, hateful smile yet with a countenance suggestive of understanding, of “knowing”. She should know smiling at a torturer would only make said persecutor more re
solute, creative, and determined in their efforts. She might understand that it didn’t matter, that she could well die in the room, and the smile said, “I will forever have one over on you.”

  Riot backed up a little, and she ran her fingers roughly through her hair. She was vexed. He saw Claire laugh a bloody laugh and mouth the words, “I know you. I know from where you come.”

  Then some words he didn’t comprehend. “Fake,” he understood. He was quite good at lip-reading, a skill he had acquired in his spying and stealing days. Whatever was said, it caused Riot to move the palms of her hands down her face, clearly a sign of concern and frustration, if not deep thought.

  Riot had the guards move away from the captive. He had seen this before and knew what was coming. She delivered a powerful sweeping leg kick, such that her shin collided with Claire’s head. Typically, this rendered the captor unconscious, but not Claire. She shook it off, even as a hematoma was developing. Good chance it had broken an orbital bone. He had to stop this! If Riot killed Claire, his life was probably forfeit. He coolly asked his attendant to get him some sparkling water, which he knew they didn’t have in this wing and would take about ten minutes to acquire.

  After the attendant left, he left the room, went to the interrogation room door, and looked inside. Riot glanced at the window and saw him, then abruptly turned away.

  So, it’s like that, is it? He stepped to the retinal scan to gain entry, but it blinked red. He tried again. No luck. So, she had done that too. He would have to use the manual override. He keyed in his nine-digit passcode; still, red. He tried it two more times. Nothing. Cruxing bitch!

  He looked through the window again. Riot looked right at him as she grabbed Claire by the hair and slammed her face into the table, over and over. Claire barely moved, but when she did, he could see her nose was smashed, and her face was a mask of blood. Some of her skin seemed to have remained stuck to the table. This was Riot being best at her worst.