Ascendancy

by Karri Thompson

  “Probably to GenH3 for questioning and containment.”

  “They’ll never let him go. He’ll be locked away for the rest of his life—or worse yet—they’ll…” But I couldn’t say the last words. The thought of Trail being killed sent a sick sensation through my chest. “How many people have to suffer because of me?” My throat tightened as I held back my tears. “Maybe I should just turn myself in.” I turned off the interior obscuras, dropped to the floor, and caressed the tiny, golden egg on my ring. The nest of diamonds sparkled in the morning light coming in through the curtains.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting next to me with bent knees and propping the baby against his thighs. He tickled her belly and she smiled. “Turning yourself in would mean turning Victoria in, too, and I know that’s not the life you want for her.”

  “I know. I just…I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “And if we gave up, we’d have nothing to negotiate with, and we’d never get to raise our twins.”

  I rested my head against his broad, comforting shoulder, and he kissed the top of my head. “You take Victoria and I’ll find us something to eat. You’ll feel better once your stomach’s full,” he said.

  At the word “eat” a hunger pain rang through my abdomen. At least Victoria still had plenty of formula. I gave her a bottle and within minutes she was asleep.

  “Hey, come here. I want to show you something,” he said.

  I set the baby on the carpet, ducked when I passed the living room window, and met him in the hall.

  “Do you remember when Trail told us he only had one spare room, so the two of us had to share a bed?”

  “Yeah,” I said and followed him to a closed door. “Well, this is actually a three-bedroom house. Here’s the reason Trail only had one spare bedroom.”

  He opened the door, exposing racks of water and canned and packaged goods. Free-standing shelves took up the bulk of the room, leaving just enough space for one person to weave around them and avoid knocking boxes from the walls. In awe, I entered first and scanned the carefully stacked food items and supplies, including rope, light sticks, a small knife, and several first-aid kits.

  Michael picked up and clicked on the largest light stick and shot the beam to the ceiling. “These are infinity lights. Very expensive. With his meager plant-worker’s salary, I’m surprised he spent the credits on more than one.”

  “What are these?” I asked as I held up a tiny rack of liquid-filled glass tubes.

  “Amazing,” he said. “It’s a collection of single-dose medications. He has everything. Antibiotics, antivirals… Hell, he even has a round of organ sustainers.”

  “This amount of food and supplies could support a family of four for a year,” I said. Michael poked at an institutional-sized bag of dried beans. “But why would he—”

  “Because he’s a prepper.”

  “A what?” He walked to a far shelf stacked with books.

  “A prepper, meaning he was preparing for ‘the end of the world as we know it.’ During my time, it wasn’t uncommon for people to stock up on the food and supplies they might need if they became the victims of a natural disaster, economic collapse, terrorist attack, asteroid strike, Armageddon, or even a world-wide pandemic. I guess mankind didn’t prepare very well for that last one,” I half joked.

  “No, I guess they didn’t, and I understand why. I mean, before I realized what the regional governments were capable of, I would never have thought to prepare for any kind of world tragedy,” he said, shaking his head and examining the row of books in front of him. “Hey, check this out.” He held up a book. “This one’s called Government Collapse and Chaos: A Survival Guide.”

  “Let me see that for a minute.”

  At first glance the book appeared damaged, its pages worn from hundreds of readings, but as I flipped through it, I realized its condition was due to the fact that it was homemade, its pages machine duplicated, but its cover cut from a sheet of cardboard and the pages bound to the spine with glue.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve held a real book in my hand,” he said, taking another from a lower shelf. “There’s an old set of medical textbooks in one of the labs at GenH1, but with Liaison, there was never a need for me to refer to any of them.” He ran his hand along the length of spines. “Geez, where did he get all of these?”

  “He made them, or others did,” I said and bent down until I was eye level with the row of books. “These weren’t meant for Liaison. That’s why a hard copy was the only option. The only people meant to see them were the people Trail wanted to,” I added, pulling another book from the shelf and remembering what we had learned about Trail when Michael had read his file. Trail had filed two complaints against his employer for privacy breaches. He also thought the government, through the local power plant he worked for, was trying to brainwash him. In Liaison, Trail was identified as a non-conformist with paranoid tendencies.

  But maybe he wasn’t paranoid, and he knew something was going to happen—something he had to prep for. What that was, I didn’t know exactly, but the books on his shelf were basically government-takeover manuals.

  “I think he was planning for a coup.”

  “A what?”

  “A coup d’etat. An armed revolt against the current government with the hope of overthrowing it. Look at these titles: Explosives Made with Items in Your Home, Weapon Procurement in a Non-Weapon World, Beating Brain Augmentation Therapy.”

  “So you think he planned to be part of a…what did you call it…coup?”

  “It sure looks like it. And I have a feeling that Trail isn’t the only prepper in this region. These manuals could have been mass produced by hand and distributed to others just like Trail,” I said, holding a trio of the makeshift books against my chest.

  “What are these?” He pulled his hand from a cardboard box sitting in the lowest shelf and held out a black, rubbery band about three inches wide. Like a deflated balloon and as thin as one, it stretched when he pulled on it, and then snapped back into place. “This box is full of them.”

  I took another one from the box. Below a cluster of random white dots were the words, “alea iacta est.”

  “Have you seen anything like this before?” I asked.

  “No. Never.”

  “It looks like Latin.”

  “What’s Latin?”

  “An ancient language originally spoken in Rome. It was a dead language even in my century. And what about these dots? Do you recognize them?”

  “Nope.”

  At first, the sprinkling seemingly random, a mistake of the manufacturing bot, but it was no mistake. Every band in the box was marked the same way. The dots and their distances, just like the Latin verse, had to mean something significant and symbolic.

  “I know. A secret society!” I blurted.

  “A what?”

  “You know, like the Knights Templar or the Illuminati,” I said before I realized Michael would have absolutely no idea what these two groups were. “The Knights Templar were a religious military group formed in the twelfth century to protect Christians traveling to Jerusalem, and the Illuminati were a group of freethinkers who supposedly wanted to create a one-world government based on atheist principles.”

  He tilted his head and his eyebrows came together. I had to dumb this down to thirty-first-century talk.

  “A group of like-minded people start an organization, one that continues to recruit members. Because it is a secret society, members identify themselves through some kind of symbol and maxim. I bet that’s what this is.” I lifted the band. “Trail must belong to a group of people who plan to rally against the government. And if that happens—”

  “It will never happen. Not in the regions. They’re wasting their time, and they’re also making themselves vulnerable, putting themselves in danger. This government could never be overthrown. You know how powerful it is. You know what happens to people who pose a threat.”

  Yeah, I did. An
d it looked like Trail had paid for it with his life. But if this secret group was big enough, if it could actually depose the presidents and create a true democracy, then…

  I huffed. What was I thinking, getting myself all worked up over something that would never happen? I was pretty sure there weren’t enough freethinking clones to form a militia large enough to take over one region, let alone three regions.

  “You’re right,” I said and dropped my head. Although my first impulse was to toss the band back into the box, I shoved it in my pocket instead.

  “Hey, let’s find something to eat.” Michael patted my shoulder. “I’m starving. And then the two of us should try to get some sleep.”

  Within minutes we were in the kitchen slicing open vacuum-sealed packages of dried meat, dumping crackers onto a plate, and drinking glasses of water. Using Trail’s first-aid kit, I’d applied antibiotic cream to Michael’s wound and dressed it with tape and gauze.

  “So,” said Michael, plopping down on a kitchen chair.

  “Yeah, I know. We need to figure out what to do from here.” I took the band from my pocket and gave it a stretch. “I wonder if Magnum’s a part of this group. He fits the profile. He’s been hacking into and tricking Liaison for years. They’d need someone like him.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not like we can ask him, right? Since it is a secret. In fact, we’re better off avoiding any attempt to contact him. After what happened to Trail…” His hand curled into a fist.

  “Right, and who knows if we’ll ever see him again.” I sighed and covered his fist with my palm. “I’m keeping one of these for good luck,” I said, then returned the band to my pocket. “As a show of support to Trail and the other members. Even if their efforts are a waste of time, at least they’re trying to do something, making a stand.”

  That’s what we had done, after all—we had taken a stand by demanding that the Van Winkle Project take place on Tasma. It just didn’t last. Like Michael said, the government was too strong to fight. I wondered how long it would be until they hunted us down.

  I leaned down to give him a hug, and he pulled me onto his lap. Aside from Victoria, Michael was the only good thing to come out of my awakening. I didn’t know how long we’d have together, but I realized I wanted to make every second with him count. Twisting to face him, I brought my right leg to the other side of his body and kissed him gently at first, and then a little harder as he brought his hands to my back, massaging his fingers against my shoulder blades.

  His lips moved to my neck, and he slid his hand through the hair at the base of my head. I lay against him, savoring his warm breath at my throat as his chest pressed against mine.

  “Duck!” Cradling my body, he scrambled to the floor, bringing me down with him.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “I saw something outside. A shadow. It looked like a person.”

  “Victoria! I need to get her.” Crawling on my hands and knees, I entered the living room and picked up my sleeping baby.

  “Behind the couch. Let’s go.”

  “Watch her,” I said, and rested her on the floor next to Michael.

  Drawing the laser pistol from my waist, I scooted to the edge of the couch where I could see the back door.

  “I locked it,” he whispered, “But any Security guard or SEC can open it.”

  The door slid open. I aimed my pistol, my arms and hands trembling.

  “Magnum!” I called and jumped up. Shoving the pistol into my pocket, I raced toward him and threw my arms around his body. He had already done so much for us, helping us escape GenH1, meeting us here with Victoria, and now he was here again.

  Michael rose from behind the couch, holding the baby. When I released Magnum, Michael gave him a welcoming smack on the back followed by a manly hug.

  “How in the world could you have known we were here?” I asked.

  “That’s exactly what we need to talk about,” he said.

  Chapter Six

  “There’s something you need to know,” said Magnum as the three of us sat away from the window and on the living room floor. “Something you shouldn’t be privy to, but now…” He shook his head. “With the way things are developing, with what’s happened not only with you, but with…” He shook his head a second time and mashed his lips together.

  “With what?” I asked. “Please. If there’s something we should know, you need to tell us.”

  “And I will. I’ll tell you what I can without breaking, I mean, never mind, I—”

  “You mean without breaking an oath?” I said cautiously, waiting for his reaction before I said more.

  His jaw lowered, and we stared at each other, unblinking, silently challenging the other to speak first.

  “Alea iacta est,” I said clumsily and one hundred percent sure I’d mispronounced it.

  “Alea iacta est,” he repeated perfectly. “But you’re not a member, how do you know?”

  I pulled the band from my pocket. “There’s a whole box of them in Trail’s spare room. Between that and the other stuff we found, I put two and two together, and—”

  “Don’t say anymore. Let me tell you what I can. First of all”—Magnum rolled up his sleeve, revealing a band on his upper arm that matched the ones Trail had—“anyone wearing one of these is someone you can trust. If that person gives you instructions, follow them.”

  “Just like that? No questions asked?” said Michael. “I’m not comfortable with that.”

  “Neither am I,” I said. “I need to know more about this society you’re in—what it plans to do and—”

  “I can’t tell you those things,” said Magnum. “You just have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but that’s not enough. I need to know—”

  “You don’t need to know anything else,” he said, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Just know that we’re on your side.”

  The rebel without a cause, cloned from James Dean’s DNA, was obviously a bigger rebel than I could have ever imagined. And harder headed. Those bands connected Magnum and Trail, and the two of them were obviously connected to something even greater. They’d known each other all along, but had pretended they didn’t.

  “You want us to trust you. But you need to trust us, too. We’ve been implanted with information inhibitors,” I said, tapping my temple. “We’d never tell, and if anyone tried to force us using an augmentor, you know it wouldn’t work.”

  “It’s for your own safety, Cassie. Besides, this goes way beyond me. I don’t have the authority…please don’t push me to say more because I can’t and I won’t.” He spoke sincerely, but at the same time his tone was a bit threatening.

  I was certain I couldn’t bully him into telling us more. “Fine, but can you at least tell us how you found out we were here?”

  Magnum explained that his nephew Marshall, who apparently is just as adept as his uncle when it comes to technology, worked as a tier four tech at GenH3. Back when Trail was apprehended and confined, Marshall had told Magnum.

  Using his technology prowess, Marshall secretly met with Trail, and Trail told him Michael and I planned to make Tasma our final destination instead of Region Three, Sector Two.

  “So when we were with you, planning our escape from GenH1, you knew about Tasma?” I asked Magnum.

  “No, I didn’t at the time, but as soon as Trail told me that’s where you were three were headed, I dug deeper into Liaison’s restricted files and found out all about it.”

  “But how did you know we were back in the region and not in Tasma?”

  “Chu-Lung.”

  “Who the hell is Chu-Lung?” My head spun I was so confused. “I’m sorry, Magnum. I’m just feeling so clueless right now.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” He smiled, his cutie-pie dimples a striking contrast against a face full of concern.

  “Chu-Lung is Shen-Lung’s brother. He’s a geneticist and organ-transplant specialist, so he was privy to the Van Winkle Project. Chu-Lung’s c
ommunication with Shen-Lung through Liaison was severed a few days ago. Since I’m the lead tech, Chu-Lung called me. Asked me to re-establish his connection. But I couldn’t override it. When I told Chu-Lung the loss of contact was deliberate, he admitted to me that he suspected foul play all along. In fact, he implied that Harrington had something to do with it.”

  Michael exhaled between tight teeth and shook his head.

  “Harrington was behind this? I knew it!” I said while clenching my right fist in the air.

  “As far as we can tell,” said Magnum. “I don’t know if Tupolev is involved, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure that Shen-Lung isn’t.”

  I was almost one hundred percent sure about that, too. Shen-Lung had treated Michael and me with the utmost respect. He had been kind, sympathetic, and apologetic, and so far he hadn’t done anything to lose my trust in him. Hopefully his lack of communication didn’t mean he was dead.

  “Me too,” I replied. “And I’m guessing Tupolev doesn’t have anything to do with this either. Shen-Lung and Tupolev both disappeared before the raid, and I bet it wasn’t at their free will.”

  I told Magnum that Shen-Lung didn’t seem like himself on the day we left for Tasma, and we filled him in on all that had happened since we’d last seen him. We also told him we were parents to a set of twins. His jaw dropped with the shock.

  When I said their names, VW2 and VW3, my heart wilted, and I choked back tears. I could only hope they’d been raised with love by whoever was parenting them, and that they weren’t being treated like lab specimens—given just enough of the necessities to keep them physically healthy and ready to fulfill their forced duty when they reached puberty.

  “Have you heard anything about them?” Michael asked. He reached for my hand, and when I extended mine in return, I noticed it was shaking. His hand was warm, but its sweet heat couldn’t soothe my sad heart.

  “No. Until now, I didn’t know they even existed. I’m not surprised, though. If I hadn’t been on staff when Cassie was awakened, I’d be as clueless to the Van Winkle Project as everyone else except Dr. Little and the Region One government.” Magnum shook his head and uttered something under his breath, something like, “And that’s why we do what we have to do.”