Death of a Clone

by Alex Thomson

  BANANA IS THE first to arrive. An Ay steps out, and patches through. “Leila?”

  “Who is it?” I reply, suddenly terrified that it might be Ashton.

  “Alistair,” he replies. “What the heck is going on, Leila?”

  “I crashed. Someone tampered with the brakes, Alistair. I could have died.”

  He pauses, his breathing crackles. “You all right?”

  “Shaken up; bit bruised. But I’ll live.”

  “Let’s take a look,” he says, and I climb out.

  The two of us open the bonnet again, look at the brake fluid reservoir, and he dabs at the leaked fluid.

  “You’re lucky,” he says. “Could have been nasty. But I’m not sure it was deliberate, Leila. These jeeps are pretty basic, they develop faults all the time.”

  I slam my glove on the side of Tomato. “Dammit, Alistair. Why is everyone so determined to believe these are all ‘accidents’? Can you not just accept there’s a killer here?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “I’m not going to argue about it. I know you must be pretty emotional right now.”

  I laugh, catch my breath. “Emotional!”

  “Anyway, there’s not much we can do now. Do you want a lift to the depots? Then I can tow this back to base.”

  “You think I’m just going to crack on with some work? Are you insane? Someone just tried to kill me!”

  He shrugs, looks around as though someone might rescue him from this awkward interaction. “Take it easy,” he says. “I thought you said you were all right.”

  And right there, I can see it: the reaction I’ll get from the Overseers, from the other Families. Politely dismissive of the melodramatic and emotional Ell. After all, why would anyone want to kill her? Claiming someone sabotaged the brakes will serve no purpose, other than to alienate them further.

  Play it cool, then. Don’t let the killer know I’m rattled.

  But be ready. Make the most of Jeremy as an ally: someone needs to keep an eye out for more attempts on my life. Because the most important thing now is to stay alive—whatever it takes to avenge Lily.

  “Forget it,” I say to Alistair. “I’m a little on edge right now. Jumping at shadows. Can you take me back to the base?”

  Alistair fixes tow cables to Tomato, and at this point Cabbage turns up in response to the flare, driven by what looks like a Bee or a Jay. I let Alistair tell them what happened, and get into Banana, sulking. Thirty cycles ago, I would have chewed my left arm off for this kind of drama, but the reality of it is a lot more prosaic. I count my bruises and give up when I get into double figures. Being an amateur detective is seriously overrated.

  11

  EARTH

  ANOTHER DAWN HURTLES past, another cycle. Predictably, the Overseers made a fuss about Tomato (more than they made about my injuries, that’s for sure), but I placated them, and didn’t stir the pot with my suspicions. What’s needed now is a low profile. Let the killer think I’ve got all the questions out of my system.

  Ashton has proved elusive—he went to sleep when he got back from his shift, and my next work shift starts before he gets up for his leisure shift. But I am playing the long game.

  Not biding my time. There’s a difference.

  I’m avoiding the Jays. Jeremy has tried to talk to me on a couple of occasions, but I’ve fobbed him off. In a couple of cycles, he, and assorted Ays and Bees, will start accompanying me to the depots to learn the ropes. But for now, I’m cross with them—partly humiliated that they all knew about Juan and Lily and I didn’t; partly annoyed that there’s a load of information that they’ve been holding back from me—and not acting on it. If I’m going to solve this murder, I’ll have to do it alone.

  There has been a fault with the water purifier, and various Ays and Jays and Mr Ortiz have been in their element, marching in and out of the communal cabins, half-suited, with stern faces. Lots of hushed discussions and arguments about the back-up purifier, etcetera. They act like they are worried, but they live for this kind of mild drama, breaking up the tedium of the cycles. Nobody asks me my opinion, not that I would be any help.

  So instead, I’m avoiding the fuss and taking refuge in Mr Lee’s cabin. He seems distracted, but happy to chat intermittently while he examines some papers.

  “How are you feeling about the recent announcement, Leila?” he asks. “You okay with it?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, in a way—it’ll be good to have those replacement Ells, won’t it? I’m not that fussed about the delay, not like the others.” A pause. “How about you, are you annoyed by it?”

  “It is what it is. Obviously it’s frustrating, but… it’s nobody’s fault. Raging and cursing won’t change it.” He stops fiddling with his papers and picks up the photograph of his family. “I just want to see my boys again.”

  Mr Lee doesn’t talk about his pre-Hell life often, so I always listen closely to this kind of thing. “They were only kids when I left,” he says. “They’ll be grown up now. Young men.” His voice is sad and empty.

  “Why did you come here, Mr Lee? Didn’t you want to watch them grow up?”

  “Of course I did. Of course. But… sometimes, family life—Earth family life—is complicated. I made mistakes. If I could live it all again, I’d be with them now.”

  “What about Mr Reynolds and Mr Ortiz, do they have families?”

  “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  “They must be lonely.”

  “Family life’s not for everyone. Look at the brothers and sisters here. I think an Ay or a Bee would struggle on their own, but you’re coping very well. You’ve always been pretty self-sufficient.”

  “So what will it be like on Earth?” I ask him. “Will I live in a house with lots of other Ells? Or could I meet someone, have my own family like you do?”

  “I… don’t know, Leila. Don’t forget, the whole programme was still in its infancy when I left. There hadn’t been many returns at that point.”

  “Do you think I’ll like Earth?” I say. Mr Lee is usually reluctant to talk much about Earth, so when he’s in this kind of mood, you have to milk it.

  “Like it? Well… you’ll see things you never thought possible. Beautiful, breath-taking sights—I could try and describe them, but I wouldn’t be doing them justice. On the other hand, you’ll need to be careful.”

  “Of what?”

  “People. People always let you down. Plenty of hucksters, crooks and human garbage on Earth. If they get a chance, they’ll cheat you, lie to you, take advantage of you, screw you over, and manipulate you. Innocent brothers and sisters from the Asteroid Belt will be easy pickings for them. I’m sure there’ll be safeguards in place, a system to manage your introduction to Earth life. There’ll have to be. People will look after you and help you settle in—like you say, maybe you’ll live with some other Ells. But just be on your guard.”

  I shiver. “I’m pretty trusting. That’s my problem.”

  I look again at the photograph of his family. Two small boys and a smiling, dowdy woman. They look like warm, friendly people. Just like the twenty-four women in Mr Reynolds’ cabin. I couldn’t imagine any of them taking advantage of me or lying to me.

  “So I’ve got a question,” I say. “When they designed us, why didn’t they make us… perfect? Nice?”

  “I’m not sure I…”

  “I know none of the families are evil, or nasty or anything. But we’re all flawed, aren’t we? The Ays, the Bees, the Jays, the Ells—we’ve all got personalities that can be difficult to work with. If they went to the trouble of shaping us, why not make us perfect?”

  “Look, I’m no scientist. But I do know that the people who managed the whole process, they didn’t fully understand what they were doing. They adjust and tweak, and try out various things, but they can’t really know what a Family is going to be like, not until they’re brought out the vats. No matter what they do, they can’t stop the human spirit taking over. You can’t create p
ersonality.”

  He returns to his papers, and I kick my heels for a while, drumming rhythms against his cot.

  “Hey,” I say. “Guess what I learned?”

  “What?”

  “Lily was sleeping with Juan. The last sixty cycles.”

  “Really?” He looks concerned. “Like I told you, it’s to be expected, the attraction between Jays and Ells. But you need to be careful with the Jays. There is some truth in what Mr Ortiz said: back on Earth, the vast majority of murders of women were committed by their male partners.”

  Could Juan be responsible? I find it hard to square the emotion I read on his face with the coldness required to stand by while Lily asphyxiated. Unlike the Ays, I can’t picture Juan losing his temper and lashing out at Lily. I guess what it boils down to is: how well do I really know the Jays?

  “How do you think other people on Earth will treat us?” I ask Mr Lee. I’m aware I’m turning into a bore, pestering him with Earth-based questions, but none of us really have a clue what to expect. Even though we’re in awe of the people that gave us our lives, it’s a bit optimistic to think they’re going be at all interested in us.

  The Ays think it’s just going to be a larger version of Hell, with more people, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be… awkward. Cagey. We’re all complex creatures, and you can’t just butt into a new planet and expect everything to carry on seamlessly.

  It’s like—if six Pees suddenly turned up on Hell, do we really believe we’d welcome them with open arms? Hey, Paul, lovely to meet you! Let me introduce you to the gang!

  “What do you mean?” Mr Lee asks.

  “I mean, are people going to be calling us by our brand numbers, and ordering us about, like Mr Reynolds does when he’s in a cranky mood? Or will we kind of slip into society without anyone noticing? Will people even be able to tell we’re from Families of brothers and sisters?”

  Mr Lee says carefully: “The thing you have to remember about Earth, Leila—you’ll have picked it up from your reading, I dare say—the thing is, we like turning everyone into tribes. It’s how we all rub along. People stick with people of the same country, same religion, same colour, with the same amount of money. People who like the same music, the same books, the same clothes. We trust people who are like us. So… I’m not going to sugar the pill for you, Leila. I can say pretty safely that the Families aren’t going to find it easy to integrate, not at first. It’ll be tribal, all the way.

  “Do I think Earth residents will start befriending brothers and sisters, even having children with them? No. Not yet. In a few generations, you might see change. But you, Leila—your allies will be the other Ells, and the other Families. The differences you have with the Ays and Bees will seem pretty trivial when you leave Mizushima.”

  BACK IN MY cabin, I think about his answer. It kind of makes sense. But it does beg the question—if we’re going to be pariahs there, is it really going to be worth the trip, the millions of miles and thousands of cycles it will take to travel to Earth? It is beautiful there, by all accounts. The landscape—infinitely more lush and varied than the grey, jagged rocks of Hell. But let’s not forget, that’s from the perspective of people raised on Earth. And anyway, is that enough? Plus, a whole load of other questions spring to mind—like, what are we going to do there? More sorting and packing? ’Cause that’s all I’m trained for. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my reading, it’s that you don’t get something for nothing—there’s no space for freeloaders.

  So what will we do? Mr Lee doesn’t know. Nobody knows.

  I’M THINKING ABOUT the Jays, and what Mr Lee said about them, when that image comes back to me again. The bare leg, the burst packet of powdered milk. The malty smell. Only this time, the frame of the image widens out, and I can see it all. And it’s me, I’m lying there in my cot in a messy sprawl of limbs and sheets, with a Jay. The packet of powdered milk is lying on the floor with some mugs, some powder spilling out under the cot. My long white fingers are stroking his chest, and the curly hairs that sprout there. But the surprises don’t end there, as my gaze lazily stirs to one side, for I see a mirror image: an Ell (Lil! Even in this daydream my eyes start to prick) and a Jay, lying in the cot together, naked, dozing.

  That’s all I can see, though, no matter how many times my mind tries to rewind and see it again. So now I’m wondering, what was that? A fantasy? A forgotten dream? Or a memory, something that really happened, too early in our lives to recall?

  Ugh. Was it Jeremy? Does he remember? When I get these pictures/memories/fantasies, my head aches even more than usual. I want to discuss this with someone from another Family, to see if they have them too, but who? The Jays, I just can’t trust, and anyway, talking to them about us being in a sweaty tangle of limbs—well, that would just be gross. Something tells me the Bees wouldn’t admit to it, even if they knew what I was talking about. And the Ays? Come on, I know they don’t have daydreams and half-memories. Their imagination is like a giant empty house, bare of furniture, a clock ticking away in one corner.

  12

  LYING BASTARDS

  THE NEXT CYCLE, I’m due to be at the base at the same time as Ashton and two other Ays—the perfect chance for me to take a closer look at them. That gives me a bit of time to pursue the Reynolds line of inquiry. So, during my shift at the depot, I pick up Reynolds’ photograph from its hiding place and bring it back to base.

  I find Brenda in the Bees’ cabin—she’s the Bee I trust the most, the one I think most likely to help me. We greet, and without any preamble, I show her the photograph Lily stole.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  I explain about Mr Reynolds’ cabin, how I had a look around, and found the twenty-four photographs. “Now, you don’t need me to tell you something funny’s going on,” I tell her. “The Jays, they know too, but they can’t—or won’t—explain it. So I figured I’d come and show you—he’s your Overseer, after all.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I mean, I thought this might have something to do with Lily’s murder. Do you think?”

  Brenda takes the photograph, examines it with a kind of frosty grandeur. In that moment she looks both scary and magnificent.

  “Thank you, Leila,” she says. “My sisters will be interested to hear about this.” She gives a bitter laugh. “What a bastard.”

  “What?” I say. “What is it?”

  “Leila, Leila. How many times have I told you? The Overseers know nothing. They’re liars, frauds.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “What you’ve got to understand is—Reynolds is weak. Easy to manipulate. He told one of us the truth some time ago, when he was maudlin and homesick, and doped on pills. Which one of us he told, we can’t remember. Perhaps it was me. But it was soon after our arrival on Hell. Ever since then, we’ve reminded each other, passed the truth back and forth, so it never gets lost.”

  “And the truth is…?” I said, wary suddenly.

  “The Overseers aren’t Overseers, Leila. They’re prisoners.”

  “Prisoners?”

  “We’ve all heard how Earth is suffering from overpopulation. But according to Reynolds, the worst overcrowding is in the prisons, which are bursting at the seams. Some—the worst criminals—are just waiting there for the state to kill them as punishment. Sometimes they’re clogging up the prisons for orbits, the process takes such a long time.”

  I nod—I’d read about this plenty of times. “Some get hangings. Some get the electric chair. In some places, you get shot.”

  “Well, some bright spark came up with an idea to cope with the overcrowding. Rather than have them marking time, waiting for execution, cycle after cycle, they give them a choice: fast-tracked execution, or a trip to the Asteroid Belt, to do a job nobody else would take—to serve as an Overseer.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Seven Earth years, serving their time, as we serve ours. Then when it’s over, a pardon and a return to Earth.”


  “He must have been lying,” I say, but I’ve got that feeling creeping up the back of my spine, when you realise you’ve made a horrible mistake, that feeling of Oh, bugger.

  “And for most of them… it’s an easy choice. Off they go to the Asteroid Belt. Guaranteed death or a seven-year prison sentence on Hell? That’s not really any kind of choice at all, is it? You cling to survival—it’s human instinct.”

  “But how could they not have told us all?”

  “And it makes sense, when you think about it,” says Brenda, ignoring me. “How are you ever going to persuade a free man to go to the Asteroid Belt? Two years to get here, seven years as an Overseer, two years to get back. That’s a quarter of your adult life gone, stranded in space, every comfort of Earth denied to you… and for what? Who’s going to come to this shithole, Leila,” and she’s raising her voice now, and I’m getting alarmed, “except for a bunch of murderers, rapists and spies who have no other alternative?”

  “So they’re just here to keep an eye on us,” I say, “keep us in check. And if they don’t, they’re buggered too. No way back home.”

  “Exactly,” Brenda says grimly. “The bastards. The lying bastards.”

  “And the photographs?”

  “As Reynolds told it, he accidentally killed a man in a fight, outside a bar on Earth. One stupid mistake, and the state decides to execute him. We never really doubted him; it was more the big lie that we were focussed on. But now I’ve seen these photographs… come on, Leila. What do you think he really was? A serial killer? A serial rapist? Somehow, he managed to keep the photographs as souvenirs. Trophies. All the women he killed, or raped—or both.”

  With a lurch, I think of Mr Lee. “And the others?” I say quietly. “The other Overseers?”

  “Fedorchuk was already dead at this point, I think, we didn’t talk about him. As for Ortiz, Reynolds said he’d boasted that he’d been in a gang, and killed nine men from rival gangs. Mr Lee—” She gives me a pitying smirk. “Your Mr Lee was a dark horse. Kept himself to himself. But a nasty piece of work, I’m afraid, if the state wanted to execute him.”