Xn

by Clint Townsend

  “Subset?”

  “Generation B.”

  The man finished scribbling his notes and ripped the section of paper from the sheet. He slowly and diligently folded the misshapen piece of paper into a square and placed it carefully into the exterior breast pocket of his suit coat.

  “Have you received your Arena assignment?”

  “No, sir. Our subset is still undergoing training. We should be done with simulations by the end of next week and then deploy to the island for the remainder of our certification testing.”

  “Are you experiencing any problems with anxiety or feelings of anxiousness?”

  Titan once again darted his eyes to the other clones at the communications center.

  “Don’t look at them. They can’t help you. You focus on me.”

  “No, sir, not really.”

  “No … not really. So … there is something wrong.”

  The man in the dark suit watched Titan’s chest begin to rise and fall as his demeanor changed from confident and stable to nervous and doubtful.

  “I … I just want to do well, sir. But I feel like … like I’m not keeping….”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” the man said, placing his hand on Titan’s left shoulder, “Plenty of people have phobias and fears.”

  Like a caged cat, Titan began looking about the control center to see if any of his team members were watching.

  “Whenever you’re finished with your responsibilities here, why don’t you come up to the Nursery on seventeen and we can have a more intimate and thorough conversation. Hmm?”

  Titan could feel himself shaking and unable to concentrate. He knew the members of his team were watching and listening. He tried to suppress his feelings and control his voice “But sir, I … I don’t have any problems that I need to….”

  “Just notify the deck officer that I am requesting a session with you and he will approve and assign your elevator codes for access to seventeen. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  The man in the dark suit turned and removed a vibrating phone from his pocket. He moved about slowly as he mutedly spoke.

  Titan returned to his seat at the communications center. He slumped in his chair and wiped his eyes, trying desperately to control his breathing and stifle his emotions. A green flag flashed on his computer screen, notifying him of an incoming message. Titan sat upright, drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and scooted himself to his desk and keyboard. He clicked on the message and a small window opened on his monitor.

  The message read: “Don’t go.”

  Titan sat silently, staring at the message. He saw the reflection of his friend on the screen directly to his right.

  “I can’t not go,” Titan wrote out on his notepad and gingerly pushed it to his right.

  The clone seated next to him carefully pulled the pad across the console and began to write. In a moment the other man pushed the pad back to Titan. The new message read: “You know what happens when someone complains.”

  Titan casually glanced around before writing his response and turning the tablet so his friend could read the words, “Nobody dodges Dr. White.”

  CHAPTER 5

  EVALUATION

  Engenechem occupied the top three miles of the seventeen-mile-high SUBOS tower. Mile fifteen was used primarily for the creation, development, housing, training, and education of the male clones. Mile sixteen was designated for the very same purpose, with the one exception that it was for the female clone program. Over the years, the clone development initiative came to be known simply as the ‘EC Project’ to the Engenechem employees. Under their breath, however, the staff referred to the clones, every clone, as ‘the twins.’

  The US Department of Defense enlarged the Nevada Testing and Missile Range to a massive 22,500 square miles. Even though Area 51, Groom Lake, and Edwards Air Force Base were already within the boundaries of the test range, the Pentagon and Joint Chiefs of Staff all thought it prudent and in the best interest of national security to increase the footprint of the military base. An area measuring roughly 150 miles by 150 miles square was designated as appropriate and defendable by the top brass of the US military.

  Representatives of the United Nations overwhelmingly agreed to relocate their operations from the New York facilities to the SUBOS tower. In doing so, not only did the foreign governments of the world expect the American taxpayer to foot the bill for the astronomical expense, but they demanded that each country should have their own military present and that the SUBOS tower and surrounding area should be designated as a neutral international zone to be governed by the UN.

  That idea was not met with much enthusiasm.

  Engenechem president and CEO Cain Wyczthack made his objection to the proposal abundantly clear when he attended the G20 Summit in Las Vegas the month prior. When the motion was brought before the panel by the Chinese Ambassador to the UN, Cain was asked for his opinion on the matter.

  Dr. Wyczthack, in his customary black wool suit, rose from his seat and strode majestically to a podium and microphone facing the representatives. He tilted his head down and calmly but firmly stated “No!” and took one step back away from the microphone. Cain pressed his lips together tightly and slowly cast his notoriously dubious glare across the room. After a brief pause, he bowed, ever so slightly, flashed an insincere grin, and exited the meeting with his lawyers, secretary, and bodyguards following behind him.

  ***

  “Ugh!” the woman groaned. “If I’d have known that all I was gonna do on this project is ask the same questions all day long and take notes, I would never have submitted my application to this stupid company!”

  “You and me both!” replied a female coworker standing next to her.

  “And this elevator ride … what’s it take, forty-five minutes to reach the labs?”

  “I don’t know, but what I do know is after around sixty seconds I’m ready to bust my way out of this tin can. I’m extremely claustrophobic.”

  “They give me the creeps sometimes with the way they look at me when they’re answering the questions. It’s almost like they’re studying us.”

  “Doctor White was sitting in on an evaluation right next to me while I was finishing with one of the Centaur class, and I could tell….”

  “Oh, don’t even get me going on Doctor White!”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Long story; forget about it.”

  “Okay, so I’m going through the sleep sequences and out of the corner of my eye I can see Doctor White leaning over towards me. Then I look up into the glass partition behind the Chloe and from the reflection it looked like he was trying to smell me!”

  “Ooh! Gross!”

  “Tell me about it!”

  “Well, all I can tell you is you got out light.”

  The elevator stopped on Seventeen B and the stainless steel doors quickly parted. The conversation between the two lab assistants came to an abrupt halt as they stepped out. Their faces became void of all expression as they strode to the security gate of the Engenechem laboratory. Dubbed ‘The Nursery,’ both Seventeen A and B were the locations for the first stage of the clones’ evaluation and testing.

  “Take it easy,” whispered one of the women.

  “You know it.”

  “Ma’am may I see your access badge?” an armed security guard politely asked as the first assistant approached the portal to the Nursery.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  A small army of sentinels, laden with automatic firearms, presided over the only access point to the Engenechem evaluation center, and were under the direct command of Dr. Wyczthack. One of the officers checked her identity badge and verified her accessibility authorization while another authenticated her schedule and zone assignment. Still another guard completed a retinal and thumbprint scan of the woman before she underwent a pat down. The last stage of security inspection required every person entering or leaving the Nursery to undergo a full body scan.

  “Ha
ve a nice day, ma’am,” the last centurion commented.

  “Oh, yeah, you do the same!” the woman drolly answered.

  Every day, all day long, the clones came to the Nursery to undergo a full evaluation. The Evan clones went from their development zones on Fifteen A to the Nursery on Seventeen A. The Chloes underwent their inspection on Seventeen B, coming from development zone Sixteen A. Every clone, no matter their stage of growth or education, was required to go through mandatory testing once a month.

  The first phase of the evaluations was the identity of each clone: name, generation, subset, and primary and secondary applications. Cain, a devout Socialist and atheist, believed that it was the higher power’s duty, responsibility, and right to determine the life path of subordinates who lacked the intellectual capacity to think clearly for themselves, and that personal sacrifices from the individual were more than necessary for the advancement of the mass collective.

  “Name?” a technician would ask one of the clones as he, or she, would enter an examination room. Even though each clone had an RFID chip embedded in their left shoulder muscle, Cain enforced the idea of psychological submission by making the clones repeat what they were told their plight in life would be.

  “Evan, Juno, Twenty-Five, Waste Disposal and Resource Management.”

  “Evan, Hades, Eleven B, Civil Engineering and Metallurgy.”

  “Chloe, Atlantis, Four C, Water Purification and Agriculture.”

  On and on it went, hour after hour, day after day.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Are you sleeping well?”

  “Do you experience any periods of depression or anxiousness?”

  Psychological profiles were assembled for each and every clone. Tests written by the likes of Cal-Poly, MIT, NASA, and the CIA were implemented to measure psychological, emotional, and physical progress. Running, weights, swimming, cycling, push-ups, chin-ups, abdominal crunches; the clones were subjected to all manner of physical activities. Survival simulations were conducted, with some going to such a high degree of intensity as to implement food, sleep, and sensory deprivation; there was no end to the barrage of tests and simulations the clones not only had to endure but were required to pass. Or else.

  “What do you think of the other members of your control group?”

  “If there were a weakest member in your subset, who do you think it would be?”

  “Do you think you’re special?”

  “Are you happy with the way you look?”

  “Do you like living here?”

  It was all a head game to Cain and Dr. White, albeit a highly lucrative one. To them, the clones were, simply put, disposable and expendable. A new batch of cloned embryos could be generated in roughly one week and artificially inseminated into the birthing mothers well within two hours. One batch, or as Cain referred to it ‘a new crop,’ contained one hundred embryos at a minimum. Engenechem could, for all practical purposes, produce more than 5,200 clones in one calendar year for both Evan and Chloe. To the investors of Engenechem and the federal government, this number was too conservative. What the US military, pharmaceutical and medical communities needed, and were willing to pay through the nose for, was bodies. Trainable, educated, nontraceable, disposable bodies.

  “Chloe, Athena, Nine, Cryogenics and Animal Husbandry”

  “Chloe, Hera, Twelve D, Electrical Engineering and Viticulture”

  If a clone were, at the time of testing, found to be lacking in physical and intellectual capacity, then both Cain and Dr. White were notified and the clone was subjected to an intense interrogation before being placed in isolation. The clone would then have his or her blood drawn, as well as every other member of their control group. A complete analysis of the entire batch would be conducted with the original clone remaining in quarantine. Once a DNA map was assembled for each specimen, Cain and Dr. White would compare the chromosomes and make the determination if the failure of the clone was due to chemical makeup or a behavioral error. In either case, it ended up not mattering what the explanation was for the failure of the clone to successfully pass his or her testing. Every conclusion resulted in the same correctional action taking place: termination.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE CARBEL

  “All right, let’s take it down a notch,” the man ordered, “My name is Riggs Woodburn and I am the principal instructor for your NBS training and certification. Who can tell me what that acronym means?”

  Several of the Evan clones raised their hands.

  “Yes, you, what does the acronym NBS mean?”

  “Neutral Buoyancy Simulation,” the humanoid answered.

  “Neutral … Buoyancy … Simulation. Correct. Thank you. Can anybody tell me why you are to undergo NBS training?”

  The same Evan quickly raised his hand but did not wait to be called on and promptly stood.

  “To prepare us for EVA projects after we have ascended to an island.”

  “Correct again, thank you. Do you mind telling me your name, class, series, primary and secondary applications? And what is an EVA project?”

  “Evan, Armada, Nine, Digital Encryption and Satellite Telemetry. EVA is the acronym for Extra Vehicular Activity … any function an astronaut or cosmonaut performs on the exterior of his or her vehicle is considered an EVA.”

  The other clones sat silently, staring forward as Riggs and Armada Nine carried on their conversation.

  “An Armada class, eh? There’s a rumor that several of your kind have blown the ceiling and they’re contemplating implementing a third application to your education and training regimen. True?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, good. We’ll double our efforts to keep up with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay, moving on. Behind me are three 80-foot pools. This is where we conduct our training course. You will be divided into three companies consisting of at least thirty members. You will take part in every simulation of EVA. Assembly drills, distribution of materials and parts, inventory control and accountability, suit pressurization, temperature control, and proper safety protocol. The EVA itinerary and project completion schedule as set forth by this company is daunting, challenging, extremely dangerous and, above all, inspiring. You will meet these challenges and surpass all expectations and projections. Now, if you will all please come and get in one of three lines, my staff will fit you for your suits and place you in your respective divisions.”

  The NBS facilities were massive. The feather in the hat of Riggs Woodburn were the three temperature-controlled 80-foot pools. The enormous tanks were designed and engineered for the sole purpose of conducting large-scale construction project simulations, as well as demolition, salvage, and repair. The clones stood in line, single file, and listened closely to Riggs as he and his team of ‘tailors’ made measurements and quick alterations to the clones’ temporary suits.

  “After you have been properly fitted with your suit, helmet, and gloves, please return to the riser and link your identity credentials with that of the helmet. This will enable us to more effectively monitor and track your movements.”

  When at last the fittings were complete, Riggs again addressed the pod of clones.

  “Space is a most inhospitable place to be if you are a human and lack the resources to survive. At any given moment you can be bathed in sunshine and seconds later be in the dark. The dynamics of temperature change can swing from 250 degrees Celsius in direct sunlight to more than -100 degrees in the shade. Our primary construction, preparatory, and assembly zone will take place in the lower levels of the mesosphere. The SUBOS reaches a maximum elevation of 17 miles. Atop of the SUBOS is the Aerie … a kind of staging and holding area to which the base of the CARBEL is affixed. From there, the carbon elevator rises an additional 8 miles to meet with the temporary landing dock on what we lovingly call ‘The Island.’ Any questions thus far?”

  Riggs noticed that while the group of clones were focused on him and remained silent,
Armada Nine surveyed his brethren, looking about as if he anticipated one of them to raise their hand.

  “When you are entering the CARBEL, you will be wearing one of two issued suits that are custom fit to each one of you. There are minute differences in your dimensions and weight, but generally speaking you’re all the same size. These are not the space suits from yesteryear. We didn’t watch Star Wars or 2001 to come up with the design. We went beyond. If you will all please stand up, we’ll now go through the safety features.”

  Riggs and his team spent the next hour reviewing the technical aspects of the space suits with the clones. As he and his division leaders took turns explaining the evolution of the garment, Riggs kept his eye on Armada. He noticed that while the class of clones were diligently absorbing the information, they displayed no outward expression of emotion, whereas Armada was obviously invigorated. Armada smiled, looked about the pool room, nodded his head in agreement from time to time, and held direct eye contact with each of the division leaders as they spoke. In the back of his mind, Riggs was thinking that Armada appeared to be genuinely happy.

  “Okay, if you’ll leave your helmet and gloves and follow me, please,” Riggs announced. “We’re now going to show you what you will all be working with.”

  Riggs, the division leaders, and company of clones walked briskly past the bank of recoil spools to the NBS locker room. Gargantuan in size, the facility had an impressive and extensive collection of equipment used in the tanks for making the training exercises as realistic as possible.

  “Feel free to take a look around. Here we have examples of the panel sections for the living quarters you’re to assemble. The pieces were fabricated to our exact specifications and are made of materials that, when submerged in the tanks, will be remarkably close to the actual handling weight once they are deployed to the Island. We wanted to maximize our lifting capacity while accommodating both size and shape with functionality, so we will be constructing cylindrical dormitories, cylindrical research vessels, and tubular connection tunnels to facilitate the movement and transfer of personnel and so on. These quarter sections will be stacked and tied by size and secured to the landing dock on the Island. The quarters are being fabricated by one of the Engenechem subsidiaries in Ohio. Ten–, twenty–, and forty-foot diameter vessels will be assembled by hand, by you, while orbiting the Earth at over 17,000 miles per hour. Any questions thus far?”