by SD Tanner
“How will they do that?”
His eyes lit with mischief and he leaned into the table again. “Well, now that’s the interesting thing about this specimen…”
“She’s not a lab rat, Dunk,” he growled.
Frowning at his comment and sounding almost petulant, Dunk Two replied, “That’s exactly what she is.” With a faint shrug of his shoulders, he added thoughtfully, “Although I can see why you’re attracted to her. She’s fascinating.”
Giving him a knowing smile, Dunk Three added, “We heard about your date. Maybe you’d like to breed with her.” Glancing at Dunk Two, he added cheekily, “It could save us a job.”
Glaring at him, he replied firmly, “It wasn’t a date. I just think she should see more than the inside of the medical center.”
Dunk Two shrugged. “If you want to take her for a walk then I have no objections, but next time stay out of the prison.”
The muscles in his jaw contracted with cold rage. “I saw what your virus did. They disintegrated. We had to shoot the dying.”
“We watched the footage,” Dunk Two replied, sounding bored. “We already knew what the virus would do to the enemy DNA.” Sounding a little offended, he added, “What sort of scientists would we be if we hadn’t known?”
“Why don’t you ever consult with me about this stuff before you do it?”
Dunk Two and Dunk Three shared a confused look between them. Finally, Dunk Three replied, “It’s not your job to deal with the research.”
“How is wiping out a species research?”
“You’re not going to be here, Ark. Your job is to run the Bombardiers to extend our borders and send back anything we can use. Our job is to make use of whatever you send and eliminate any risks to Earth. A planet full of enemy DNA is a risk and we wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t get rid of it.”
Clearly, nothing he’d said to his brother had sunk in. Either Dunk Three was blindly following the status quo or he hadn’t agreed with him. “When did you dispatch the pod?”
“A few days ago. Why?”
Not bothering to answer him, he stood and walked into their shared living quarters. Dunk Three followed him, firmly closing the door behind him. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s up with you, you haven’t been the same since you started long hauling in space.”
He turned to study the man he called his brother, noticing he looked more tired than he usually did. The burdens of CaliTech and the Guild were already weighing heavily on his shoulders, just as they were on his.
“Do you ever wonder if there’s a better way?”
“Better than what?” Dunk Three asked, giving him a puzzled look.
“Better than destroying an entire species on the off chance they could become our enemy.”
Sighing deeply, Dunk Three sat on one of the sofas with his shoulders slumped in defeat. “We talked about this the last time you were home. Like I said, they’re a weapons cache so we need to get rid of them.”
Sitting on the edge of the sofa opposite him, he replied, “But they don’t know that’s what they are.”
“Ignorance is no defense.”
“But who are we to put them on trial in the first place?”
“We’re the guys who can kill them so that makes it our decision.”
The idea that Dunk Three could become his enemy made his chest ache. If he did what he was planning to do, and Dunk Three stayed committed to the Guild, then they could no longer call one another brothers.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
Dunk Three grew still, narrowing his eyes at him in the same way Dunk Two had. “Why would you and I fight? What do we have to fight about?”
“I don’t want to do what the Guild want.”
“What does that mean?”
Taking a deep breath, his mouth pulled downward. “I don’t want to explore space finding new lifeforms for the Guild to abuse.”
Seeming to relax, Dunk Three nodded. “Is that all? Then don’t explore space. Run the Bombardiers from Earth…or Ark Command. It’s probably for the best.” Giving him a warm grin, he added, “I don’t want you disappearing in space so this could work out better for both of us.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I don’t want the Guild to keep doing what it’s doing.”
“Like what?”
Feeling frustration rising inside of him, he blurted, “Controlling everything. Taking away people’s rights. Killing fetuses on the off chance they could turn into enemy aliens…”
Dunk Three raised his hand as if to ward off his attack. “Wait a minute, Ark. That’s not fair. Someone has to be in control and, providing you don’t get yourself killed, one day that’ll be you and I. And the Guild doesn’t take away anyone’s rights. It provides a good life for thirty million people, plus we send medical supplies to other countries. As for the unborn, well, we can’t have the enemy in our backyard. It’s too dangerous to do it any other way.” Giving him a sympathetic look, he added, “I know it sounds harsh, but there are reasons for everything we do.”
Sitting back in his chair, he looked at his brother and a sadness swept through him. He was so indoctrinated with everything they’d been taught, he didn’t understand the brutality of the world that would one day be his. Dunk Two had never shown any sympathy for anyone and it seemed neither would his brother. As identical twins, only separated by age, Dunk Two and Dunk Three thought and felt exactly the same way. He’d been a fool to hope that Dunk Three could separate himself from his replica.
“I’ve decided to become a Bombardier now.”
“Already?”
Standing, he shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, there’s no reason to wait.”
Not bothering to wait for Dunk Three’s reply, he walked into the bedroom to collect the one thing he wanted to take with him. In a box under his bed were pictures of his grandparents and mother. Old and faded by the centuries that separated them; Tank had given him the photos when he was ten, telling him to keep them hidden. Looking down at the two pictures in his hand, they were imprinted in his memory almost as well as his own face. Still human, the picture showed a man and woman smiling happily at the camera. According to Tank, the photo was one of the last taken before the great battle against the enemy. His grandfather was standing in full Navigator gear with his helmet up, as was his grandmother. Armed with heavy looking weapons, if anyone looked closely enough, they would notice they were holding hands.
He envied their confidence, so sure that what they were about to do was right. His world was not so simple and he wondered what they would have done in his place. Slipping the photos into his pocket, not wanting to speak with the Dunks again, he used the back entrance to leave his old room and headed towards the medical center.
CHAPTER TWENTY:
Not Born of Woman
(Dunk Three)
After speaking with Ark Three, he returned to the office where Dunk Two was still sitting at the meeting table. Taking the seat opposite his older self, he studied him dispassionately. Eventually glancing up from his tablet, Dunk Two said, “He’s always like this.”
The comment struck him as odd. “What does that mean?”
Leaning back into his chair, Dunk Two studied him with equally cold eyes. “His mother was the same way at this age. Full of talk about fairness and honor. It’s this sort of hotheaded behavior that made Dunk send the first Ark into space.”
Ark Three’s grandfather stood for all things honorable, and many still hoped that he and Lexie were still alive, trapped on a planet just waiting to be found. No one had ever suggested that Ark was ordered into space to get rid of him.
“Is that what Dunk did? Did he force the first Ark into space?”
Dunk Two shrugged his thin shoulders. “I gather the two didn’t see eye to eye much.”
“What didn’t Ark agree with?”
“I never met the first Ark, although I was raised with his daughter.”
No one ever talk
ed about Ark Three’s mother much and nothing was ever said about his father. He’d always assumed she’d left Earth to fulfil her destiny to explore the universe.
“What’s happened to her?”
Looking out of the window, Dunk Two’s eyes grew distant, but then he shrugged dismissively. “She disappeared in the same way her father did.”
“What about Ark Three’s father? No one ever talks about him. Is he dead? Did you kill him?”
Dunk Two’s thin lips twisted in contempt. “You have a very low opinion of yourself.”
With a soft snort, he replied, “That depends on how much a man is made by nature versus nurture. Just because we’re made up of the same genes doesn’t mean we have to be the same man.” Flicking his head at his older self, he added, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Sighing at his persistence, Dunk Two replied, “Ark Three doesn’t have a father.” Smiling as if he was sharing a private joke, he added, “Or rather he has many fathers.”
He was implying that Ark Three was the result of gene blending, a reasonably new approach Dunk Two was taking to improve the human race. The other countries in the Guild had objected to his latest plans, saying the rest of the world would become slaves to a race of super beings. As far as he knew gene blending hadn’t been tried, but Dunk Two must have been doing it for at least twenty-one years.
Twisting his mouth in disgust, he asked, “What did you do?”
“Nothing much, we just customized a DNA strand by gene splicing the best from multiple donors. It means Ark Three carries none of the weaker genes that would make him vulnerable to diseases in later life. His DNA includes the best genomes available, making him smarter and stronger than his predecessors.”
“And his mother agreed to this?”
“She had nothing to do with it. We harvested eggs from her before she…left. Ark Three wasn’t carried by any woman. He was hatched in the same way you were.”
Shaking his head, he muttered, “Not born of woman.”
“That’s not the plot of Macbeth,” Dunk Two replied dourly. “He was conceived in the usual way and then taken from his dead mother. You and Ark Three on the other hand didn’t have a mother at all.”
“Ark Three kind of did in that, even if he’s the byproduct of multiple fathers, at least he was created from a single egg.” Giving Dunk Two a cold look, he added, “Whoever parented you and I have been dead for well over two hundred years.”
Dunk Two eyed him curiously. “Would you rather not be alive?”
It was interesting question and not one he’d ever asked himself. In many ways, he felt his life wasn’t real. He was only the replica of a man he’d never met, reliving his existence so that he could continue to control everything he’d built.
“Am I alive?”
Smiling almost to himself, Dunk Two replied, “Ah, the existentialism phase. You’re wondering if a life that isn’t unique is your life.”
It annoyed him the way Dunk Two knew his every thought before he did. Nothing he did was new and Dunk Two always had an answer before he’d even found the question. “You already know the answer so you tell me.”
“It depends upon the answer to your first question. How much of a man’s character is formed by nature versus nurture? If you believe nurture can change the core of a person then every life is unique.”
He could remember the first time he’d become aware of himself. At the age of two, he and Ark Three had been sitting in their high chairs waiting to be fed their evening meal. When he’d looked across at Ark Three he’d been banging his small hands on the table, excited that his dinner was about to be served. It was then that he’d realized he was not just another child, but he was his brother, forever destined to be part of his life. Staring back at Dunk Two, he wondered if he felt the same way about Ark Three’s mother. They’d been raised together, so did he share the same bond with her as he did with Ark Three?
“What’s Ark’s mother like? Do you see her as a sister?”
Dunk Two’s face darkened and his eyes dropped, staring blankly at the table between them. “Not exactly.”
“Then what is she to you?”
Time seemed to hold its breath until Dunk Two finally stared back at him with dulled eyes. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
If asking about his relationship with Ark Three’s mother was the wrong question then it meant Dunk Two knew she was dead. The real question was why.
“Why did Dunk kill her?”
“I think you’ve just answered your other question about nature versus nurture.”
Their originator wasn’t a man to leave anything to chance, controlling everything that happened even from his near grave in the cryogenics chamber. Ark Three’s mother must have argued with Dunk so he’d eliminated her. Clearly, Dunk Two hadn’t intended to make the same mistake with Ark Three, which was why he’d been genetically engineered in an attempt to manipulate his character.
Leaning into the table and reaching his hand across to his clone, he asked, “My question remains valid, what was Ark Three’s mother to you?”
A sadness flickered across Dunk Two’s eyes, but then it vanished as if it had never been there. “Our personality disorder doesn’t allow us to love.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Do you know what love is?”
He couldn’t honestly say that he did. After reading about it, watching it in moves and even seeing it displayed in front of him, he couldn’t find the emotion inside of himself. From everything he’d read and seen, love was a feeling so strong that one person would die for another, but he couldn’t imagine himself being so self-sacrificing.
“I know the theory.”
Dunk Two’s face creased with a rare and genuine smile. “You’ve just proved my point. For most people love is an emotion as natural as breathing, but not for you and I. We don’t love anyone, only science and power.” Almost affectionately patting his outstretched hand, he added, “You’ll just have to be content with that.”
Not wanting it to be stained by Dunk Two’s bitterness, he quickly pulled his hand away. “What’s true for you doesn’t have to be for me.”
“Are you sure about that? We’re the same person. We have the same brain. We think the same way. We draw the same conclusions. Why would you feel anything different to me?”
What Dunk Two had just said was true, but something about it didn’t sound right to him. Without thinking, he blurted, “Because you’re lying.”
“In what way am I lying?”
“You loved her and you still do, but you let Dunk kill her so you can’t admit that even to yourself.”
When the blood drained from Dunk Two’s already pale face he knew he’d hit a nerve. It wasn’t that they couldn’t love someone, they just didn’t choose to. Acknowledging his insight was right, he nodded at his clone. “We’re the same as everyone else. The only difference is our ability to mask our feelings even to ourselves, and that makes us capable of doing anything to achieve our endgame.” Standing, he nodded again. “Don’t try and lie to me. I am you.”
Gazing up at him with a sullen sneer, Dunk Two nodded. “Yes, you are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
The Little Death
(Ark Three)
After speaking with Dunk Three, he was done, determined and resolved to take the next step. His brother, if he could still call him that anymore, wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. Blinkered to the truth, deliberately or otherwise, he wouldn’t change what was, preferring to enforce a bad doctrine. Far from being disappointed with his brother, he was hurt. From now on, Dunk Three was interchangeable with Dunk Two and he suspected he always had been. Anything he was prepared to do to Dunk Two, he had to be willing to do to his brother. That acknowledgement wasn’t resting well with his gut, making it contract unhappily every time he thought about it.
Walking along the medical center corridor, he found the door to the transformation room on the ground floor. Every Bombar
dier was born in this room, created from the manipulation of their cells to become something other than human. His squad were waiting for him inside of a cream-colored waiting room, next to the one containing the cylindrical chambers. Naked under their blue medical gowns, they would be transformed after him.
“What happened?” Cardiff asked.
“Nothing useful.” Turning to the doctor standing with the squad, he said, “I’ll go first.”
Together they walked into the transformation room. He’d already been inside of it before so the layout was nothing new. Transformation was an infection made up of two viruses. One was designed to modify his DNA while the other would kill all of his cells except those of the brain and the reproductive system. It would be a race against time to destroy and rebuild the rest of his body at a cellular level. Sometimes it didn’t work and the person would die, but the medical engineers had spent centuries perfecting their technology.
In the middle of the room were four clear flat backed tubes, each with cuffs designed to hold him immobilized. When he’d first seen the tubes, if they’d been made of iron they would have resembled a torture device from the middle ages. These tubes were constructed out of toughened glass and the cuffs were colored a light grey in an attempt to make them look less threatening. He was under no illusions about the process he was about endure. It would take the virus less than an hour to rebuild him, but the speed came at a price and that was agony. The virus would continue to run inside of him for another month to rebuild him, but the bulk of the change would happen now.
They could dope him, but he doubted it would fully shield his mind from being torn apart and rebuilt from the inside out. He needed to be on his feet from the moment he was done, so he wasn’t keen to be drugged.
Stripping out of his Navigator tracksuit, he stood with his back against the wall inside of the tube. “Let’s get it done.” As the technicians snapped the many cuffs into position around his head, arms, legs and torso, he added, “No dope.”
From behind a bank of screens, the doctor looked over the top of them. “Err, I don’t think you want to do that. They don’t call it the little death for nothing.”