by S. M. Lynch
“This is where they first farmed clones… at least, we believe so, anyway.”
He didn’t reply, but I hadn’t needed to say it. He knew when he saw the logo on the wall—two identical faces—what this place had stood for in the past.
We walked through the airy atrium which once would’ve welcomed in the world’s foremost scientists and doctors. Then, glass double doors that would’ve opened automatically stood before a laboratory, locked in place. I used a pulse of energy from my gun to shatter the glass, allowing us passage through.
There were sleeping pods, which I’d only seen once before, in a facility just outside New Jersey. My mother took me there when I was eleven, to explain what she was, how she’d come into being… everything. It was scary, but once I’d come to terms with it all, I understood why she’d told me. So that I would have empathy for people like her.
Kyle stared at the pods, though didn’t seem to recognize what they were for. We walked all the way to the back of the laboratory, and that’s when we met a big red door, sealed shut. I used Mom’s xGen to get it open, also shutting down any chance of us alerting anyone else we were here.
All this power at my command… my father’s command… and yet we hadn’t been able to save the world. We still weren’t sure there was any saving the world, at all.
Beyond the big red door, there was a warehouse stacked with drugs they’d used during the process. There were also two large chimneys, where they’d burnt the bodies of failed attempts. It made me ache to think that there might have been one or two other versions of my mother, before they picked the most viable candidate.
“It’s nightmarish,” he said, mumbling. “I hope I was abducted and not born like this. Truly.”
He seemed to feel the same as I did—horrified by it all.
“Cloning was outlawed in 2064, but there were already tens of thousands in circulation, looking just like you or I… going about their lives. The extermination of the species got underway, eventually. With no orders from Officium, they were troublesome and most had to be put down… just wasn’t any way of controlling them. I would like to say cloning doesn’t still happen, but we cannot be sure of it.”
I watched him swallow hard and he turned with red eyes to ask, “Is this why Officium did what they did and released the virus? To force medical advancement?”
“They certainly gave themselves carte blanche, didn’t they? And ousted the competition.”
“All just to achieve the ability to create clones?”
I took a deep breath. “The director, Crispin Childs wanted to live forever. He cloned himself a couple of times before he was happy with the one he picked, in the end, to harbor his memories and carry on his legacy.”
Kyle gulped. “What in the—”
“His primary clone tried to regain power after the original Childs died in 2063. There was also the back-up clone that did the jobs Childs was too cowardly to carry out. He’d had his adrenal gland removed so he didn’t know fear. That ultimately, was how he met his end, at my father’s hand. And the other clone, also… bought it in the end. Everything they’d ever worked for, lain waste to… and for what?”
Kyle rubbed his chin and stared around at the drugs stacked high on metal shelves, reaching right to the ceiling. Their medical experimentation had cost not just the lives of countless clones, but precious materials which could have saved real lives.
“Do they have the cure for cancer? For diabetes? For all the diseases?” he said, even sounding slightly awed, when he thought about it deeply.
“They have much more successful treatments available now. Ironically, the virus of 2023 revolutionized medicine; its hitherto undiscovered DNA and chimera-like changeability inspired so many new treatments for other diseases. Replicating how it fends off all other viruses to be dominant, scientists have unpacked the virus’s DNA and applied its mutation to create some formidable treatments for things like cancer. But unfortunately, there are as many people cured as there are diagnosed. It’s not a clean world. Cancer-causing forever chemicals like PFOA are out there, in most people’s blood, and they know nothing about it. The cloning program didn’t just cost billions of dollars, it resulted in thousands of tons of carbon and hundreds of tons of waste.”
He looked sad, because he understood, completely. “I read about the Teflon thing at college. A hundred years have gone by since… stands to rights some other crooked conglomerates would find something else deadly to maximize for their own gains.”
“Officium were the worst of the worst. And now, this is what we’re left with. It seems a never-ending cycle of nothing ever improving… because whatever we do, it’s using up fuel, pumping more dirt into the air and always, always marginalizing someone, or something.”
He seemed to view the place with reverence and sadness as we made our way back out. It was a mausoleum, a graveyard, not just of ideas that’d been wrong… but where innocents had died, and been created just to die… and where humanity’s shame would forever linger.
“But fear makes people do strange things,” my mother used to say, “and that’s why nobody did anything to stop the evil. Everyone was just too scared. The truth is the only thing that can set you free.”
THE CHECKPOINT BEFORE Paris was heavily guarded and I felt the anxiety in Kyle as I held his waist, our bike approaching. This was the trickiest thing about my life: getting into cities without being identified as my true self.
“Relax, let me do the talking. Do not, I repeat, do not remove your helmet.”
We pulled up and a guard came over.
His chin jutted out and he said in French, “ID, please.”
I handed over our two U-cards from the left breast pocket of my cargo jacket. The gendarme took our ID into a portacabin office and ran our details through the system. They came back clear, as I knew they would. When he returned, he was eyeing us closely, holding up our U-card photos against us.
“Would you remove your helmets?” he asked.
I flashed my diplomat badge and he took it from me. “We’re on urgent business. Another sighting of one of those damn clones. If you wouldn’t mind, sir.” My French was perfectly accented to make me sound like a born and bred Parisian (true, in actual fact) and the man grinned in response.
“I see. You may be on your way.”
The barrier was raised and Kyle slowly put the bike into motion, over-egging it a little, clearly desperate to escape and vying not to prove it.
“Come on, step on it, mate,” I demanded, and he pulled back the throttle.
We came into the city from the west, finding the parks full of homeless, much the same as York’s ghettos back home. Just people, trying to survive, as always.
“When you come across any sign for the Sacré-Coeur, follow it,” I told him.
“Sure,” he said, and eventually, as we passed the beaten-up Arc du Triomphe, we saw a sign and followed directions.
I knew quicker routes and ones that avoided lights, but I couldn’t be bothered hassling him at every turn. We’d find our way there, eventually.
When we made it into Montmartre, I asked him to park the bike in an underground garage beneath a tower block. It was free to park bikes all over the city, but here was best—safe and out of sight. We then set off on foot and caught the gaze of several people scuttling along the streets. I was tall but I also had the benefit of being born from a strong gene pool, which made me stand out anyway. Kyle walked behind me and got fewer looks, being that most men were around his height. I expected it was more that we were wearing military-type clothing and both appeared to be soldiers of some kind.
We made it to Camille’s house and I swiped my U-card at the iron-tight side entrance, which led straight down into the basement. We were off the street quickly, breathing a sigh of relief once the darkness of her house had swallowed us whole.
“We’ll lay low a day or so. Just in case,” I told him. “This is Camille’s family home. It’s the safest place in this city. Nobo
dy knows this is hers.”
We’d give it a few days, then maybe start using the front door instead!
“What about your family home?” he asked, searching my face in the dim light—the basement lit only by the odd crack in the blacked-out windows.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
We entered the house and it smelt homely. Not like home. But homely. Home for me smelt like my mother’s orchid perfume, Dad’s severe sandalwood cologne, burnt dinner… and something else. But the less said about him, the better.
“Help yourself to food. Nobody’s staying here at the moment but Camille always keeps the place tidy and her elves must’ve somehow known we were coming.”
There was not a speck of dust to be found.
We entered the large kitchen and Kyle looked around, like he’d expected something resembling her abode in York. Camille’s Paris house was modern and lacking the eccentricities of her other place. The high ceilings, complete with skylights, let lots of light into the kitchen and adjoining sunroom which she’d turned into a casual dining room, with a long table and window seats on three sides. The kitchen cabinets and counters were bright red or white. The floor checkered and the American fridge enormous.
I opened the fridge and found all the usual long-life staples such as oat milk, orange juice and butter substitute. The freezer contained fruit, premade meals and one of the most contraband products on the planet—chicken wings. I hadn’t had chicken in years. I took those out and they were the first thing to go on a tray and into the oven.
Kyle roamed the adjoining lounge and took in the airiness in there, too. The floor-to-ceiling chimney breast and the delicate chandeliers, large sofas, soft rugs and gilt mirrors. Camille had taste.
“Why do we have to lay low?” he shouted through.
“Hopefully we got here undetected but you never know. If we lay low a while, they won’t think our arrival means anything.”
“Why are we here, anyway?” he asked. “Apart from our tour of the death labs this morning?”
I couldn’t stifle a chuckle, but held it in behind my hand, only just. The kid had a dark sense of humor. So did I.
“If you’ve been sent down here, then they will be expecting a report when you’re recalled. I’ve got a few things to show you in Paris. If you like, we can visit a few other places, too.”
He came dashing towards me, in fear. “Recalled? What do you mean?”
I gulped because he looked truly terrified. “It’s just what I imagine they will do.”
“They?”
Neither of us knew precisely who “they” was, but we’d already hazarded a guess.
“I can only do my best to protect you while you’re here. You might not be stolen back, who knows? Like I said, I can only do my best while you’re in my company.”
“But I don’t want to leave you,” he suddenly spat, furious at the thought.
I was scared by his outburst, but not because it was verging on violent—because I could tell I’d imprinted on him like a mother to a new baby, and he couldn’t stand the thought of having to leave me.
“We’ll figure it out,” I assured him. “Just trust me. I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe. I promise. A Hardy never breaks their promise.”
He chewed his lip, not entirely convinced.
However, when he tasted chicken straight out of the oven, he may have realized there were benefits after all, of being around people in the know—no matter what danger that posed.
Chapter Ten
AFTER THEIR CHICKEN LUNCH, ARIADNE handed Kyle a device he could use for his own. She told him, “It’s restricted. I used to have it when I was younger, so it’s safe and you won’t end up looking at something you shouldn’t. Whatever you find, go for it, enjoy. I’m going to head up and prepare our rooms.”
He hadn’t liked to mention it, but she seemed tired, and he wondered if she was intending an early night. Since they’d visited Camille in York, she’d looked worn around the eyes, like maybe she’d suffered a waking sleep last night… something nightmarish. Maybe it hadn’t done them much good catching some z’s in the car on the outskirts of York, but it was more than that… she was emotionally drained, he could tell. Maybe it had been all the reminiscing about her mother, Seraph.
That got him thinking…
He did a search using the device she’d given him, and read everything he could find on Seraph Maddon. She’d been some kind of militant journalist, because apparently, that’s the only way you could get the truth back in the 2060s. Seraph resembled the image he’d built up in his head of her, having listened intently to Ari’s and Camille’s stories. Ari was the spitting image of her mother except she had black hair. Seraph had been noticeably fiery, with shocking blue eyes, the same as Ari’s.
He ate up all the information on the mother he could find, then turned to the grandmother, on whom there were essays… books… textbooks, even. She’d passed into legend since her death, which was odd. While Eve remained revered, in her posthumous descriptions, Seraph was still referred to as “rebel, radical, relentless, unrepentant, refusing to give up the fight on behalf of clones”. Seraph had agreed with their extermination at first, but came to see that some clones were different to others. She’d gone from wanting rid of them all to trying to save what few remained, and he wondered why that was, given it was obvious she’d known about her own status, all along. Or had she?
Knowing what he knew, he was fairly certain Camille and Ari had only told him about Seraph being a clone because they believed to a large extent he was one, too. In his own mind, he had no idea what he was, only that the world seemed too much, and Ari too pretty… and his purpose still elusive. He only knew he’d been trusted with this information because his own humanity was still up for debate and he was as much in danger as Ari, who was harboring him, if not more so.
He took a big deep breath when it came to looking up Ari’s father. The man was lauded a hero. A saint. A freaking pillar of humanity. While his wife had been branded a criminal virtually, he was held up as some kind of deity. The man who brought about Officium’s downfall, aided by the Operator’s work all the years of her life. The Operator being Eve’s codename. So-called because she’d been the contemporary equivalent of the switchboard operator, connecting everybody important to everybody else.
By the time Kyle had finished reading up on Ari’s family, it’d started to get dark. There were so many other issues he wanted to know about, but for now, they would have to wait.
Where was she?
He climbed the stairs looking for her, roaming the bedrooms. When she couldn’t be found in the first two, he started to panic. However, the last bedroom along the corridor was largest—no doubt the master—and he found her curled up on top of the duvet, hair sprawled around her. She must have lain down intending to nap, and had fallen into a deep sleep. So, perhaps she’d just been physically tired, then?
He stood staring at her, wondering if there could be a more perfect girl out there. He didn’t think so. Her brutal existence had shattered him to the core. The more he learned about her world, the more he felt he couldn’t leave her alone in it. He still didn’t remember much of his previous life, but he was sure he wasn’t of her time. He was from another place entirely, because this one, he really didn’t recognize.
He sat on the edge of her bed and whispered, “Ariadne… Ari… wake up. Ari.”
“Wha—” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. “It’s gotten dark.”
“Yeah, it’s seven, or something.”
“What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, reading. Catching up. I thought I’d better wake you. I’m feeling hungry.” That pang in his stomach was definitely hunger.
She sat up and the way her dark hair fell around her shoulders caught him up and he was stunned, yet again, when she looked him in the eye. She was looking right at him, too. He knew he was nothing compared to her. Still, he hoped…
“Were you staring at me as I slept?”<
br />
“No, of course not.”
“Good.”
She left the bed and swooshed into the en suite bathroom, raising her voice as she peed.
“Your room is along the corridor. I put your bag on the bed. Why don’t you wash and change before dinner? You didn’t shower this morning, remember?”
There was definitely an undertone to her words, and when he pulled his t-shirt away from his body, he discovered a pong all right.
“There are clothes in the closet. More of my cousin’s old things, I am afraid. They ought to fit though, okay?”
“Okay!”
He ran along and carried out the tasks she’d mentioned in the en suite of his own room. He still didn’t understand why people had these separate rooms to sleep and wash in, but maybe it was a cleanliness thing. To protect from passing germs to one another? He was many things, but mainly, he was a sociable creature, and being apart from her didn’t feel safe, or right.
The shower took care of cleaning, offering soap and foam for his hair at different intervals, so why was he still ending up sweaty and gross?
With a towel around his hips (because she didn’t appear to appreciate his nakedness), he searched the bathroom for something to help him with this stink problem he had. Maybe it was a male thing. Maybe he wasn’t functioning properly. Finally, his hand landed on a bottle of antiperspirant and he somehow knew that went under his arms. He also sprayed a bit on his chest and a tiny amount on his stomach. Fragments were coming back to him.
Something inside told him he’d spent many, many years naked before arriving on Earth two days ago, and for him, being naked had become more natural than this wearing of scratchy, itchy clothes. It also got cold at night which he didn’t like and he’d never had to bother with cleaning before, nor feeding.
He swiped his hand across the steamed-up mirror and groaned at his own reflection. His yard brush of a haircut wasn’t to his satisfaction, and there didn’t seem to be anything in the bathroom cabinet for that. So, he just left it alone.