by Drew Avera
“What did she do?”
Roach felt her face sagging under the weight of the memory.
“She failed out of training and hung herself.” She shook her shoulders as if she could shake away the sadness. “Come on, let’s get back with the others.”
Chapter Twenty
“Almighty God, you love everything you have made and wash over us with your unending mercy. We rejoice in your promises of healing, joy and peace to all who love you. In your mercy turn the darkness of death to the dawn of new life, and the sorrow of parting to the joy of heaven; through our Savior Jesus Christ who died and rose again and who lived forevermore.”
The priest, Robert Franklin thought, looked very distinguished in his full clerical robes and collar. The lighting up on the pulpit had a golden tint, as if they were outside in the garden rather than deep underground.
Nothing but the best for the President. The late President.
“Amen,” he murmured along with the rest of the crowd gathered in the chapel.
It was a small chamber, centrally located amidst government offices and fallout shelters, and he supposed it had been placed there on the supposition that the survivors of a nuclear strike would really like a place to pray afterwards. Yet there weren’t that many in attendance, few enough for seats to be available for he and Nathan. The dupe Nathan looked simultaneously bored and annoyed by the service, but Franklin was fascinated by the way mortals dealt with death. It hadn’t occurred to him until very recently, but he was no longer among them.
He’d been so fixated on lengthening the lifespan of his own dupes, living a full life instead of switching bodies every ten or eleven years, he hadn’t realized the long-term consequences. He could live forever. Just the ability to re-telomerize his DNA could extend his natural life from decades to centuries. The only limit was his brain. His research had shown him the human brain could only absorb a certain amount of memories before it began to erase earlier ones to record new ones.
But that’s all right. Once I straighten this world out, there may be parts of my life I’d rather not remember.
“We meet here today to honor the life of Harriet Madsen. We give thanks for her life and ask God to bless her now that her time in this world has come to an end.”
The priest was old, for a mortal. Probably seventy, lines deeply etched into his leathery face, and Franklin wondered if the man considered his own death when he delivered these services.
“For Harriet Madsen, the journey is now beginning. But for us, there is loss, grief and pain. Every one of us here has been affected - perhaps in small ways, or perhaps in transformative ones- by Harriet Madsen. Hers life mattered to us all, to this whole nation.
“It is important for us to collectively acknowledge and accept that the world has fundamentally changed with her passing. We are all grieving. Life will not be the same - nor should it be. Together, let us open our hearts and commemorate the impact Harriet Madsen had on us.”
Bitch cost me two extra weeks is the impact she had on me.
A deep sob drew his eyes to his left, to General Sam Point. The man’s soft, hound-dog jowls were quivering, tears streaking his face. The man was in bad shape. He hadn’t shaved, and from the smell, he hadn’t bothered to shower, either. He wasn’t certain because of the overpowering stench of cologne and perfume in the chapel, but he thought Point stank of alcohol as well.
Normally, he’d find this worrisome, but the man was nearing the end of his usefulness.
“Harriet Madsen is now safe. She is already on her way to heaven to enjoy all which awaits there. Let us say this final farewell to her body as we commit Harriet Madsen's physical form to its natural end.
“Harriet Madsen, we bless you and thank you for being a part of our lives. We honor your life on Earth and we pray for your peace ever-after. We will not forget you. Go well into the kingdom of heaven. Please stand for the prayer.”
Chairs scraped against the wood floor and Franklin wondered why the chapel didn’t have wooden pews like the churches he’d attended as a child. Perhaps it was multiple use, like for dances and birthday parties. He tried to imagine the military officers and politicians and bureaucrats gathered for the funeral shaking their asses to ancient dance music or getting drunk and eating cake.
“They’re interring her ashes back home,” Point told him, as if Franklin cared. He made appropriate noises though, looked suitably grim. “Her family wanted them. That’s why they’re not having a burial here.”
“I hope they know how much everyone appreciated her service and sacrifice,” Franklin said diplomatically. He put a hand on Point’s shoulder and squeezed, past the point of comfort to the edge of pain. Point’s eyes went wide and he seemed to come back to himself. “Sam, how is the production schedule?”
“Right on time,” the man said, perhaps a bit too loud. A few heads turned, giving them dirty looks. Point shrugged. “The last of the mechs should be off the production line by morning after next. Plenty of time before the meeting.”
“Give courage and faith to those who are bereaved, that they may have strength to meet the days ahead in the comfort of a reasonable and holy hope, in the joyful expectation of eternal life with those they love. Amen.”
People milled about, obviously unsure whether it would seem unfeeling to leave the service so quickly. Conversations took up in muted tones from those who stayed near their seats, competing for the award of the most sensitive.
“Nathan and I will be heading out to finalize some arrangements for the arrival of the Russians,” Franklin told Point. “Their insistence on changing the meeting place has required us to adjust our plans.”
“Is it going to be a problem?” For the first time since the assassination, Point seemed focused on the plan, which Franklin found encouraging. “I mean, I know there’s a good distance between here and there, but on the positive side, it’s got fewer…” He glanced around. “…complications. No one lives around there anymore.”
“A problem?” Franklin repeated. “No. But it will require some extra preparation. Nothing we can’t handle.” He caught Point’s eye and tilted his head toward the man. “How about you? Can you handle things here without us? I know this is a difficult time for you, and we can’t have you coming to pieces.”
Because you dying so soon after President Madsen would be terribly suspicious. Though I suppose a suicide wouldn’t be questioned too closely, out of grief perhaps…
“No, I’ll be fine,” Point assured him, rubbing a sleeve across his eyes. “I can take care of things.”
And I can believe that as much as I like, I suppose.
“Very well, then. The next time we see you, I hope it will be to toast to our victory over the enemy.”
Point was struggling to smile confidently as Franklin walked away, Nathan at his side.
“Take a good look at these people, Nathan,” Franklin said softly to his companion as they headed for the exit. “It’s the last time you’ll see any of them alive.”
“Well, this is certainly progress,” Nathan said, looking at himself. And himself, and himself, and himself…ad infinitum. Well, not quite infinity. Just fifty times over.
They were lined up for inspection, wearing identical flight suits, identical haircuts, and identical faces and he wondered if it was any harder for them than it was for him. After all, he’d had weeks to prepare for this, whereas all of them had—he wanted to say “hatched,” though he knew it was inaccurate—in just the last two days. They all shared an expression as well as a face, a vague disorientation. They knew what they were, but they still hadn’t accepted it.
“You’ve done very well, Dr. Kyusaku,” Franklin told the lead technician, who was standing off to the side of the formation of Nates with her arms crossed, beaming as if all fifty of the dupes were her own children. “And your financial compensation will reflect it.”
“The hell with the money, Mr. Franklin,” the woman sneered. She wasn’t pleasant to look at, even when h
er lips weren’t twisted with disdain, but her work was the important thing. “You know what I want.”
“Yes, of course,” Franklin said with his usual, smooth manner. “Once I am more or less in charge of things here, you will indeed have your own lab and the funding and freedom to take your research in whatever direction strikes your fancy.”
Nathan didn’t conceal his scowl. The woman was a wannabe Dr. Mengele, and he hoped Franklin had the brains to have her taken out behind the building and shot rather than let her conduct her twisted experiments. He came to attention, despite the civilian clothes he was still wearing, and barked a command.
“Troops! Attention!”
All fifty duplicates of Nathan Stout snapped smartly into place, the soles of their combat boots scraping against the bare concrete of the old warehouse’s floor. Nathan paced back and forth in front of them, looking at himself from every angle. It was incredibly odd seeing the back of his head, seeing profile shots of himself. The lighting hung from the ceiling cast a pale and sickly glow on everything, and he cursed the coverings taped over the windows, wishing someone had taken them down once the dupes were incubated.
“I know you’ve been briefed,” he said, pitching his voice to carry. It echoed off the open bays of the warehouse, only vanishing when it hit the plastic sheeting of the makeshift clean room they’d assembled weeks ago at the other end of the building. “And I know you’re still confused despite that. Trust me, you’ll get over it. I,” he put a hand on his chest, “am you, just a few weeks older. We’re all here for one purpose, and that is to help our old and true friend, Robert Franklin….” He motioned at Franklin, who waved agreeably. “…overthrow the corrupt and self-aggrandizing traitors who have pissed away the greatness of this nation and allowed enemies foreign and domestic to beat her into submission. Bob is the only one who has the resources and, more importantly, the will to do what must be done.”
He saw eyes following him, despite the fact they should have been at attention and looking straight ahead. He sniffed a silent laugh. He’d always hated pricks who kept troops at attention longer than they needed to, and he wasn’t about to turn into one. He came to attention again himself, because you only gave formation commands from the position of attention.
“Troops, at ease!”
They relaxed, a time-delayed clone-stamp copy, hands clasped behind their backs, heads following him as he continued to pace.
“You know your part in all this, but you may wonder, why you? Why me? Why Nathan Stout instead of fifty random mercenaries? And that’s the question I’m here to answer, because I’ve asked it myself. Nathan Stout is the perfect soldier for this mission because Robert Franklin needs a man who he can trust implicitly, who can pilot a mech better than anyone else and who he knows will not act out of fear or blind impulse. Screening a group of mercenaries for those traits would take months, and then, could you honestly trust a man or woman who would sell his loyalty for money?”
He jabbed a finger toward them.
“You are loyal, you are faithful, you are trustworthy because it’s a part of what makes you Nathan Stout. What makes us Nathan Stout. We are about to embark on the most important military mission in the history of this nation, and I won’t lie to you, some of you will die. But the thing that makes you Nathan Stout will survive. Nathan Stout is immortal.” Their looks were thoughtful as they considered what he’d said. He knew they’d believe it, because he did. “You’ve been given the briefing materials on your tablets. I wish we had the opportunity to rehearse the operation, but we’d need mech trainers for that, and getting the mechs is part of the operation.” He grinned broadly. “I have faith that working together won’t be a problem for you.”
He came to attention again and called the others to the position as well.
“Number One, front and center!”
Each of them had a number on a tab where the name tape would be on a regular flight suit, for obvious reasons. The numbers had been assigned at random, just as the leadership positions would be. Number One ran up to the front of the formation and saluted. Nathan returned it, feeling absurdly like he was playing soldier with himself.
“You’ll be in charge of the mech wing. Three, Ten and Eighteen will be your squadron commanders. If you’re hungry, eat now. If you have to take a dump, do it now. You have two hours before we board vehicles and head to Cheyenne Mountain. Are we clear?”
“Clear, sir,” Number One assured him.
“Do your duty, gentlemen. Dismissed.”
As the men filed away, Robert Franklin stepped up beside him, clapping a hand on his arm.
“Why Nathan,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up, “you seem absolutely beside yourself.”
“Fuck you, Bob,” Nathan commented quietly. “I knew you were going to make that fucking joke.”
“Still, that was well done. But then, I’d assume you know how to motivate them. The question is, are you up to this? I know you have the training, but you’ve always been more of a pilot than a gunman.”
Nathan regarded him sidelong.
“I can do whatever I need to do. You know that.”
“I do indeed, my friend.” Franklin said. “Which is why you’re perfect for this job.” He nodded after the others. “All of you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Nate Stout closed his eyes and let the cool morning air wash over him. He hung precariously from the side of the locomotive by one hand and one foot, indulging in the feeling of falling through space. Below him was a drop-off of at least two hundred meters, a steep slope down from the tracks into the gully below. Cool metal, wet with the morning dew, slipped under his fingers and he felt so tempted to let them slip away.
Death would be so much simpler. Why the hell does everyone fight so hard to avoid it?
“So easy just to let go, hmm?”
His eyes snapped open and his grip tightened instinctively on the railing. Svetlana was standing on the platform, watching him with a knowing smile. Nate pulled himself back onto the metal grating beside her, feeling her warmth against the morning chill, the gentle brush of her hair against his skin in the teasing wind of the train’s passing.
“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
Svetlana put a hand over his, and his skin tingled where she touched.
“I have been there, Nathan. Yet we still keep hanging on, do we not? Because to surrender to it would be quitting, and neither of us is built that way.”
“It feels good this morning,” he told her. It seemed like a safe reply. If anything was safe with Svetlana.
“Yes, it does.”
She leaned in closer to him and kissed him. Her lips were incredibly soft for someone so jagged and deadly and he would have stayed there forever if he could. She pulled away from him slowly, reluctantly.
“I wish we could have had more time.” There was a wistful note in her voice, a deep sadness in her eyes. “I would like to have made you happy. You deserve some happiness, Nate.”
“We all do,” he said, shrugging. “But that’s not the world we live in right now, is it? I’ll be happy if this works and we don’t all wind up dead.” He grinned, taking her hand in his and squeezing. “Tell you what, if we live through this, I’ll take you to the best restaurant in the New Cheyenne Mountain Metropolitan Zone.”
She laughed, a sound somehow wonderful and dangerous at once, the rumble of a she-leopard before it pounced.
“Is that really what they call that collection of shanties and shacks that’s grown up around the old base? How wonderfully pretentious. So like the American government.”
“Hey, if you lovebirds are through swapping tonsillectomies, we need to get our shit ready to go.” It was Bill, of course, or Wild Bill or whatever the hell the guy wanted people to call him. “We’re gonna be at the drop-off point in an hour, and you all are on your own from there.”
“The others should be on their way,” Nate said. “You’re going to hang around and wait for us in
case we need to get out, aren’t you?”
Bill laughed sharply, as if Nate had asked him if he wanted to stick his hand in a gator’s mouth and tickle its tongue.
“This is a fucking train, boy. You come back here with Army troops on your ass, you think I can outrun them in this thing?” He rolled his eyes. “No, y’all are on your own. Good luck and all, but if things go to shit, you’re walkin’ home.”
“You see, I like this guy already,” Conrad Barron said, the soles of his boots tapping down on the metal grating of the platform as he came off the ladder from the next car. “Every man for himself, that’s my motto.”
“And don’t we know it,” Catalina Loughlin commented, coming up on his shoulder and giving him a disdainful glare.
“Oh, Thor’s swinging cod, why don’t you two get a room?” Bubba Brooks was in a flight suit, for a change, but still had his Hawaiian shirt on over it, and still wore the sunglasses. Nate wondered if he’d wear them in the cockpit.
“What the hell you mean, you redneck Viking?” Barron demanded, rounding on the older man with indignation in his tone and his eye.
“Yeah, I have to go with Barron on this one,” Catalina said, glaring at Bubba. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I dunno, dudes,” Bubba said, raising his hands in surrender. “I just get the whole sexual-tension thing with you guys, like those old-timey sitcoms you can watch on GeezerTube on the nets. Maybe it’s just me...”
“It’s not just you,” Svetlana muttered, and the Barron and Catalina both turned their glares on her. She shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a spy. Watching people is what I do.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the clacking of the wheels on the track, before Bill finally broke it.
“Jesus tapdancing Christ, you folks are like a fucking telenovela. Hey! You see that curve up there?” He pointed ahead, where the track twisted around a hillside. It seemed close, but distances out here in the west could be deceiving, Nate knew. “That is where this fucking train stops. You’d best be ready to un-ass this vehicle when I reach it, because that’s when I throw this puppy into reverse.”