Preserving Will

by Alex Albrinck

  Peter helped Gena to her feet. “How did you get in here?”

  Gena recognized the tone; Peter knew the answer to his question, but either he didn’t want to believe that answer, or he wanted her to believe it. There was no anger or threat in his tone; he was curious, and she felt comfortable in his presence. Was that another effect of wielding the Energy?

  She took a few gasps of air to steady her voice. It didn’t work. “How… how is he… I saw him… you saw… that man…”

  Peter held up his hand. “We had to start the cloning process before we were able to talk to Mark and Deron, Gena. The process takes hours to complete, and we had a deadline we couldn’t exceed to get them back in place. By the time Mark made his choice, the process was too far along to stop. Clones live only a few days. He’s enjoying himself, keeping busy, learning a lot about who we are and what we do, before…”

  Gena’s horror mounted. “You’re going to let him die again?”

  Peter sighed. “I’m not going to let him do anything, Gena. Mark was given the information needed to make a decision. The lifespan of our clones is well-known. It’s inevitable. We’ve never figured out how to expand that lifespan.” He paused, watching her mounting ire. “I’m respecting his choice, Gena.”

  “It’s not a choice!” she hissed, gesturing at the room. “You can describe what this new life would be like with words, but words can’t do it justice. He might well have believed you were bluffing before, because the story you offered was too far-fetched to believe, even with the little magic show. Now, though? He needs to know what his reality is.”

  Peter shook his head. “Why would you want to do that to him? So we show him the reality, show him the video of his death, show him what we—and you, apparently—can do. To what end, Gena? What happens if he does change his mind? We just told him of the great life he could live… but because his original chose against living that life, he’s going to die in the next seventy-two hours, at most. Nothing can save him. Why make his final hours anything but a true joy?”

  Gena glared at him. “I’m talking to him. And then… we’re going to save him.”

  Peter sighed. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Gena. You’re only going to hurt him… and yourself.”

  Gena ignored him as she walked into the room. Peter made no effort to stop her.

  Mark was watching the cloning machine at work, watching as the machine took a small sample from his skin and rebuilt a living hand from the tiny cells. He looked up as Gena entered the room, smiling. “Hope I didn’t scare you before. I tried calling you, but the signal was too weak. Did you get my message?”

  She shook her head. “I need to talk with you.”

  He spread his hands. “I’m right here.”

  “What day is it?”

  He frowned at her. “It’s Monday, of course. Peter asked me to help him plan a birthday celebration for Will Stark. I told him it’s your birthday as well, and we should be sure to include you in the party. Are you here early?”

  She shook her head, tears of exasperation filling her eyes. “It’s not Monday, Mark. It’s Thursday. The people who live here… they’re not normal. At all.”

  He laughed. “Gena, now you’re being silly. Of course they’re not normal; they’re obscenely rich. I’m not sure why you think that makes it Thursday, though.”

  “Look at your phone, Mark.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. “OK. What am I looking it?”

  “Look at the date, Mark.”

  He glanced at it, and then frowned. “I don’t get the joke, Gena. It’s—”

  She pointed at the phone. “Open your news app, please. Read the top story.”

  He frowned, but did as she’d asked. His eyes widened. “How can the Starks’ house have burned down? I would have seen it, would have needed to let the fire engines in. And Peter wouldn’t have asked me to help him out if something like that was going on.”

  “Read the article, Mark. There’s far more.”

  Mark tapped the phone, sliding down through the article on the screen.

  She knew he’d found the key details when he dropped the phone. It fell to the titled surface with a loud clatter, and the screen shattered.

  “This isn’t like you, Gena. Why would you do this? Why would you play a joke like this on me?”

  “How could I get an article like that on a major news site, Mark?” she snapped. Why was he blaming her for telling him the truth? “I know it’s hard to believe. But I know it’s true, because I watched it happen, and even though I experienced it happening directly, even I don’t believe it. But the reality is what’s in the article, Mark. Three days ago, you died, as did Deron, in an assault that led to criminals entering this neighborhood and burning down the Starks’ house, with Mrs. Stark and Josh still inside. You haven’t read far enough yet, Mark, but later that night, they came to our apartment and killed me, because I’d unknowingly given them information that helped them succeed in their attack, and they didn’t want me around and able to identify them.”

  Mark shook his head. “This is insane, Gena. If we’re both dead, then how are we still talking to each other?”

  “The people in this neighborhood? They’re… different. Not because they’re rich, but because they can do things I’d call magic. I don’t know if it’s magic, but it seems like it. And they can make clones of people, Mark.” He snorted derisively at this, but she ignored him. “They brought me here because they knew this would happen, and told me they could make a clone of me to live through the time when the evil people came for me. They asked you the same question, if you wanted a clone made to die in the attacks, and we’d live on in secret afterward, with their powerful organization of people just like them. It was the same thing they’d asked me. I said yes.” She paused, unable to continue.

  He recognized the implication immediately. “And I said no?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why am I still here talking to you?”

  “The timing was such that they had to start the cloning process before they had your answer. When you declined… they couldn’t turn the process off.”

  His eyes widened. “So… I’m… a clone. Of myself?”

  She nodded.

  He studied her face. And then he started laughing, uncontrollably laughing. “Okay, okay, I get it. I give up. You got me, Gena. You totally had me going there. For a minute, I actually started to believe this was real.”

  Gena said nothing for a moment. He watched her face, and she could feel his fear growing, fear that she was telling the truth. She knew her sensation was no mere hunch, either; she knew his sense of fear with a certainty like nothing she’d ever known before. “They told me… clones, they don’t live long after they’re… created.”

  His eyes widened. “But…then…” He took a deep breath. “I guess you aren’t joking, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “How long do I have?”

  “How long do you want to have?”

  “You said clones don’t live long.”

  “They don’t live long yet. I think they have the chance to live a very, very long time. So, knowing what you know now, that these people offer an opportunity unlike any other, that I’ve chosen to take advantage of it… would you still make the same choice? Would you still choose to let your life end?”

  Mark turned away and began to pace around the room, thinking.

  At last, he turned back to face her. “I know that before I would have chosen to ignore the cloning offer. But now? I’d choose to live. I don’t know what I was thinking when they asked me the first time; maybe I thought it was a joke, maybe I thought that, knowing what was coming, I’d be able to escape. But I was wrong.” His eyes moistened. “I’d prefer to live, Gena. To be with you.”

  She nodded, and the tears streamed down her face. “Then I’ll help you.”

  He smiled, moving forward, and they embraced.

  Then he sagged toward the gr
ound, a gulping, gagging sound emerging from the back of his throat.

  She pulled away far enough to see his face, to see the sheer terror in his eyes. It was the terror of a man who knew, in that instant, that he was dying.

  “No!” she screamed. “You can’t leave me again!” In that instant, she knew the man who could save him, knew the name of the man who had performed this same miracle once before. As Peter rushed into the room, as Judith appeared there an instant later, materializing out of nowhere at the sound her distress, Gena screamed for Adam’s help.

  He was there in an instant, assessing the situation even as he materialized near Gena. Her grief was overwhelming, even more powerful than earlier in the week, for this time, Gena knew that this end wasn’t what Mark wanted, or at least accepted. Adam knew why she’d called out to him, blasting out an emotional plea that he could feel from so far away. Perhaps there was an attachment that had been formed over the years he’d worked to save her life. Whatever the reason, he was here now.

  And he knew it was already too late.

  Death had come too quickly for Mark. Where she’d wrongly been proclaimed dead by human medicine, Mark was truly gone. There was no spark of life left to salvage, no matter how much he wanted to save him for her, to give her that ultimate gift of happiness.

  He did the only thing he could do. He held her in his arms, warming her with the familiar cocoon of security and warmth, allowing her to drain her eyes of tears against his shoulder as Mark crashed headlong into his true final oblivion.

  XXV

  Transition

  February 7, 2030

  Adam checked his appearance in the mirror. His hair was mostly gray, with just a few flecks of his natural brown showing through. The aging simulator had recommended he lose some hair as well, but Adam had elected to ignore the simulator’s recommendation, even if it was just a cosmetic change.

  He walked out of the bathroom and climbed into the taxi waiting for him.

  The month since the fire had been hectic, but things were starting to stabilize. News crews had provided near round-the-clock footage of the powdery remains of the Starks’ house. Their neighbors stated in interviews that they knew of no one who might want to hurt the Starks; after all, few had done more to improve the quality of life of everyone than the young couple. Three of the four remaining estate owners had put their homes on the market within a week of the attack, citing a fear that the community was cursed, and the risk of further attacks were risks they’d rather leave to others.

  With a sales pitch like that, they’d gotten no showings and received no offers.

  The Alliance members didn’t mind, for they had no interest in selling. The houses gave them a public base of operations in the human world, and the community would receive far less attention now than when the Starks had lived there. Those were exactly the sort of conditions the privacy-conscious members of the Alliance preferred.

  Eventually, the news crews and cameras went away.

  Three days earlier, Myra VanderPoole had been found dead in her home by her driver, Frank. There were no signs of foul play. She’d died of old age, and the stress of recent events had likely hastened her demise. The surviving residents would be attending her funeral today, and had invited an “old friend” named Adam Trask to join them.

  Adam’s taxi pulled up to the cemetery. Those attending the funeral service would arrive shortly, part of the caravan trailing the hearse. Adam paid the cab driver, added a bit extra so that the man would wait around for a bit, and then walked to Myra’s grave site at a leisurely pace. He sat on a bench nearby and pulled out his mobile phone.

  They’d put in place an elaborate scheme to get the funds amassed by the Starks into Alliance possession. A direct transfer of everything to an unknown person, or an obscure charity, would raise too much suspicion among the Aliomenti. They’d settled upon “stealing” the money, setting up the lawyer and the Trustee to take the blame. That plan had seemed brilliant until he’d met the two men whose names would be forever tarnished for their apparent theft—and loss—of the Starks’ fortune. Both Millard Howe and Michael Baker were good, honest men who deserved better. Adam had used actual and lightly modified private email communications to provide evidence that others were guilty of the destruction of the Starks’ estate after their deaths, and would show Howe and Baker as innocent victims caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both Howe and Baker, along with Baker’s wife and son, would be offered the chance to disappear from the human world and join the Alliance after the conspiracy was revealed.

  He activated the secret functionality in his phone and ran the app tracking the high speed microtransfers of funds. Ashley, Archie, and Judith had helped set up the massive network of interconnected bank accounts and shell companies needed to execute the entire scheme. The apps would trigger monetary transfers from the primary account of the Starks’ Trust into hundreds of different shadow accounts, each of which were “swept” daily into dozens of other accounts. The web of transfers would take decades to unravel, if someone had the means and patience to do so, and by then they’d have the entire amount elsewhere and the majority of the accounts shut down. According to the app, it would take just under four days before the Trust funds ran out and the media descended upon the “embezzling” lawyer and Trustee. He’d need to be back in town before that happened to work with the men and protect them from the public anger and outcry that would follow.

  Adam deactivated the app and the hid the special Alliance features before pocketing the phone. There’d be more time for that later.

  The funeral caravan rolled into view, led by the hearse carrying Myra’s coffin. Cars followed the hearse to the grave site, and mourners emerged from the vehicles. Few of those in attendance were crying. Perhaps it was due to the lack of family in attendance; Myra had outlived her husband and siblings, and had no children. The few nieces and nephews in her family tree had never been close to the cantankerous woman, and Adam wondered if any of them were present. It was a marked contrast to the public mourning after the deaths of the Starks. Of course, Myra had never been the charitable sort; she took as much as she could and never looked for or took opportunities to raise others up. The Starks, in contrast, looked for every possible chance to get money in the hands of people they judged able to multiply it, create opportunities for many others in the process, and change the world for the better.

  You got what you gave, Adam decided.

  Eva and Aaron, back in their disguises as elderly business magnates, emerged from one of the final cars in the procession, and Adam wandered over to Eva. She glanced at him, feigning surprise to see him. “Mr. Trask? It’s been ages.” She gave him a polite hug, then stepped back to look at him. “You look well. How’s the family?”

  He shook his head. “Not well, I fear. My son…” He looked away, allowing the fake tears to come and the crying to shake his body.

  Aaron stepped over as well. “Adam Trask? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

  “My son… there was a house fire… he was trapped, never had a chance to get out… asphyxiation…”

  Eva’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry, Adam. I don’t know what to say. Is there… is there anything we can do for you?”

  He wiped a sleeve against his face, clearing the tears, and nodded. “He had a wife, a young son… the house is a total loss, and they really want a fresh start, away from the memories of their loss. I… I know you do some real estate investing, have some rental houses available. Do you have anything available for rent? They have money coming from a life insurance policy on my son, but I’d rather stay away from anything too extravagant.”

  Eva considered. “I believe we just added something out west, a smaller house that we’ve renovated with three or four bedrooms. Nice, quiet neighborhood, good schools… how old is your grandson?”

  Adam had to pause, before realizing she was speaking about Josh. “He’s six.”

  She nodded. “The school t
here should be a good fit. Let me send you the address for the house and my property manager out west. I take it they’ll want to move in soon?”

  “They will. We will. I’m going to move in with my daughter-in-law and grandson. I have no real ties to my home anymore, and my son’s family… well, they could use my help, and I think it would be good for me as well. My daughter-in-law, Phoebe, needs a few more weeks to put my son’s affairs in order back home, so I’ll go arrange everything if the house and neighborhood look like a good fit.”

  Eva typed on her mobile phone. “I just emailed you the particulars.”

  Aaron tapped Eva’s arm. “We’ll need to head to the grave site to pay our final respects to Myra.” He held out his hand to Adam. “It was good seeing you again, Mr. Trask. I wish it was under better circumstances, though.”

  Adam shook Aaron’s hand, nodding. “Agreed, Aaron. I need to get going as well. Please offer my respects and condolences to those gathered here.”

  The couple nodded, and moved toward the grave site.

  Adam turned and walked away.

  He didn’t need the address Eva had sent; he’d traveled to the small community two weeks earlier, posing as an assistant to Eva, and was familiar with the renovation work that had been done. But now, the man known as Adam Trask had been seen in public talking to the wealthy couple, who’d acted as if they were old friends, and he’d have a record of an email communication from them with a recommendation of a house for rent. With those tracks covered, he could now head to the airport for his flight out to Oregon.

  The trip was uneventful, and Adam slept most of the way, uninterested in conversing with the salesman in the middle seat next to him. When the plane touched down, he maneuvered his way through the gate and to the rental car agency where he’d made his reservation. If anyone was paying close attention, they might find it strange that he’d been ready to board the flight and had a previous rental car reservation before talking to his old friends. They might also find it odd that he’d made the trip and would never make arrangements for lodging.