by Raylan Kane
“A welcome sight.”
“Indeed.”
“So, why do you stay on your family’s farm?”
“Why do you?”
“Honestly. have you no dreams of something bigger?”
“Bigger?”
“Yes. Look up there. Look at it all.”
“The sky? Space? You want to go up there?”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know. I try to think in simpler terms. One day at a time.”
“How do you keep from shooting yourself?”
“A pleasant thought.”
“Honestly. You must aspire to more. There must be a dream in that head of yours? Something you wish to accomplish?”
“My own expanse of land would be nice. A peaceful existence.”
“There you go. That’s something.”
“Something impossible maybe,” Trident said.
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“How do you live with such a mind as yours? There are a great many impossibilities in this world. It’s a hard lesson you’ve yet to learn obviously. What is it? Do people not ever say no to you?”
“Perhaps I just choose not to listen.”
“And yet you claim to harvest dead grass.”
“I do.”
“Explain that exciting life choice then.”
“Truthfully, I’d wished to join the local constabulary.”
“And they tossed you given your record of criminal activity?”
“My record of criminal activity only extends as far back as meeting you.”
“Clever.”
“No, my father holds sway in our closest town. He prevented me from joining. Wants me to take over Hold Farms so he can live well with Mother on Das.”
“Clearly your farm takes in more Fold than mine.”
“My Aunt would pay half their trip fare.”
“Ah.”
“So what of your vast expanse of peaceful land?”
“What of it?”
“Your father prevents you?”
“He does.”
“So why not leave?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you?”
“Who is to say that I won’t?”
“You’re brave to even think it.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not brave at all,” Trident said.
“Come on clone!” He’s fallen behind us again. “Perhaps we should give him a name? Or maybe he already has one?”
“A clone with a name? Foolish.”
“Why would they not have names?”
“Assuredly you have not enjoyed the splendor of a clone farm in your time. There are simply too many to name.”
“So how do you refer to them?”
“This one, as an example, might be called: ZTR736.”
“Sounds friendly.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, I might endeavor to name this one.”
“I wouldn’t grow too attached. He’ll be sent back to a clone farm eventually and onto one of our prison plates.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“I speak the truth. We’ve nowhere to hide his baby blue complexion and shaved head in the city. He’ll stand out – and so will we.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? It’s a certainty.”
Trident has a closed mind. I’m thinking this long walk might be more enjoyable listening to the waking birds than trying to speak any more sense with him. Besides, I have a few ideas in mind that are beyond Trident’s grasp.
“You’re thinking of finding a fleshik just now aren’t you?”
Clearly, I underestimate the boy. “How the curses have you derived that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Clever clever.”
“You won’t find one.”
“We shall see.”
“You won’t find one because they don’t exist.”
We’ve stopped walking at the top of one of the longer slopes we’ve encountered. We’re both in good physical shape because of the jobs we do, but even this hill has us a bit winded.
“This certainly is the scenic route to the city.”
“We’re almost to the outskirts. I remember traveling this way,” Trident said.
Looking back down the hill our clone is far behind. He is still in view though, it’s becoming much easier to see greater distances as the sun has started to rise.
“Come on clone!”
“No! Yes!”
“This one may have a heart stoppage,” Trident said. “Climbing hills are a new experience.”
“He looks young enough.”
“You’d be surprised, you make enough physical copies from one DNA strand, there’s bound to be some weaknesses.”
“Come, let’s collect him.”
As we walk toward the clone, in the morning light, I’m forced to squint to see if maybe the color in my vision is correct.
“His skin, it’s like ours!”
“Curses and rhyme! How can this,“
“I haven’t noticed in the moon’s light. His skin – astounding,” I said.
“But we found him in Gust. There’s no one in that region capable of doing this. His whole head is one color. I’ve seen pictures of botched jobs. Dead giveaways. Remarkable.”
“If you remember, it was he that found us.”
“Regardless. I have no explanation for his skin-work.”
“Perhaps he’s not a clone?”
“No, he assuredly is. His vocabulary is nil, and you heard his math.”
“Then clearly we are missing something. Clearly fleshiks are real.”
“I don’t believe it.”
There’s a sweeping right curve ahead of us that snakes around the side of a mountain that towers over us. The morning air is warming quickly.
“After this turn there’s a hill, and at the bottom is Hyll’s edge,” Trident said.
“It’s warm already. Really it was a mild night. Today could be very hot.”
“Agreed.”
“No! Yes!”
“We need to do something about clone’s speech. He’s going to get us thrown in jail before we reach downtown,” I said.
“Downtown? Stop.”
“Why are we stopping?”
“If we’re to find our trucks, or even our product, the best place is the agricultural grounds north of downtown. Or maybe the shipping yards in the northeast. We don’t and we shouldn’t go downtown for anything. Why would we?”
“I have something to check on.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Don’t be foolish.”
There is assuredly something I’m not telling Trident. It may be a mad thought, but I know the offices for the Regional Low Command are downtown. Perhaps lovely Milne lives near there with her idiot recruit darling.
“Fine – we won’t worry about downtown right now, but I think you’re right about our friend’s speech. He may get us by with his bare scalp and his complexion, but two words out of his mouth and we’re sunk.”
“We need to put him to sleep. And carry him as though he were drunk.”
“You’re creative, I’ll give you that. Shall I throw the punch? Or, well, I suppose you’re better suited to that sort of thing.”
“I’m not punching him you simpleton. We’ll drug him.”
“Yes! No!”
“Let me guess. You’re magic as well?”
“Must you always be so negative? Come, let’s get into town – there’s bound to be an apothecary somewhere.”
No sooner have we reached the edge of town at the bottom of the hill than we’re standing in front of one of the first buildings we’ve encountered on this road – Augo's Apothecary.
“Luck just follows you doesn’t it?” Trident said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Augo’s is on
the edge of Hyll – to its right is the vast forests and mountainous land we just traversed a section of – to the left is a row of small businesses. Trident and the clone are hiding in the trees to the right. I’m walking in through the front door. There’s an old man seated behind the counter. It is always startling to see someone so biologically aged.
“What are you after?”
“Something for sleep.”
“These’ll do.”
The man’s tossed a pack of green tablets on the glass countertop. I recognize the tablets, every household has them.
“I require a stronger drug.”
“I take it you have the Fold, young man?”
“I do.”
The man’s stood from his stool, grabbed a walking cane and wobbled to the back display cabinet. How could a person working in wellness have allowed his body to decay to this point? There is still hope for him should he eat a proper clone diet like the rest of us. Perhaps, he’s met many clones and it has put him off. Still, one can find themselves on the High Council’s list somewhere if they fail to follow common protocol.
The old man has unlocked the large glass cabinet behind the counter and removed a gray paper package. He’s placed the package down in front of me and taken his seat back on the stool, still holding his cane.
“This will work.”
“Is it strong?”
“The strongest. The needle’s inside the box with the vial. All you need.”
The entrance has opened behind me. It’s a uniformed police constable. Curses. Trouble always finds me.
“That’s all then?”
“Yes.”
“That’ll be 12 Fold.”
I’ve grabbed the package with both hands, the old man’s cane swinging down just misses me and smashes the counter to a million pieces.
“Stop him!” The old man yells.
The police constable lurches toward the door. I’ve tucked my head, lowered my shoulder, and hammered the man out of my way. I’m out the door into the street and waving at Trident. He has the clone by his collar, pulling for all he’s worth. I grab hold of the clone’s other side and we run toward the end of street as it veers right. There’s a long bridge just ahead of us. I can hear the constable yelling a fair distance behind us. A siren wails on the far side of the bridge.
“They’re about to raise the thing!” Trident said.
“Move!”
“Yes! No!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The three of us hobble in clumsy fashion across the bridge. As we get past the middle of the expanse, a bell rings and the bridge splits in half. We run downhill off the bridge. The police constable has not reached the bridge in time. I cannot stifle a smile.
“That’s Feni Way up ahead,” Trident said. “Let’s head there.”
Feni Way is busy with traffic.
“We stand out for sure right now,” I said. “We look rough and beat up.”
“That’s because we are.”
“All of this traffic. So many eyes. We’re exposed. We need to be more discrete. Especially with this one.”
“Yes! No! Come on!”
“What about that alleyway up there on the left?” Trident said.
“No. Not concealed enough. We’ve no choice in this part of town, I suppose. Let’s keep walking.”
An hour later, we’ve followed Feni Way all the way to the edge of downtown Hyll. A few motorists have sounded their horns at us – what a sight the three of us must be.
“I’m tired. We need to stop walking soon. We need sleep,” Trident said.
“That empty construction site. That looks good.”
“Agreed.”
At the base of an empty steel frame reaching high above, we’ve settled on a mound of dirt. The site is off any major streets. There’s a small street to our left.
“No!”
I’ve pulled out the gray package and opened it to reveal a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe of medium length.
“What is this drug?”
“It’s for sleeping.”
“Yes. But what is it? How potent?”
“I’ve been told very,” I said.
“Good. But not so much it will kill him?”
“It’s a better fate than back at a clone farm.”
“Good point.”
Carefully I draw the plunger upward and the drug fills the chamber. With a bit of a squeeze a small portion streams from the needle, I ping it a few times, it’s ready.
“Roll up his sleeve. Try to hold him still,” I said.
Trident has the clone’s arm exposed on the inside of his elbow. I aim for the most prominent vein and stick the needle in, the clone wiggles a bit, but Trident has him held tight, slowly I push the drug into the clone’s system.
“Now what?”
“We wait.”
The old man was right. Within minutes the clone is slumped over onto the dirt pile.
“Let’s move,” I said.
“Did you imagine yourself doing this yesterday morning?”
“Assuredly not.”
“He’s heavy.”
With each of the clone’s arms hooked behind our heads we’re walking slowly down this small street. A large cluster of tall buildings are not that far off. Up ahead is a small laneway that disappears off to the left, its entryway is covered by a broad rose-colored cloth.
“Perhaps we should head there.”
“You know where that leads, right?”
“Inform me.”
“Squatter’s Row,” Trident said.
“Should I know it?”
“I’m surprised you don’t. It’s where most of Hyll’s black market transactions take place. It’s not a good idea to go in there, really. But it is out of public view. Police constables are too afraid to patrol there, and we might be able to gain some information on our trucks and our product.”
“Well that makes it an easy choice doesn’t it?”
“Clearly you’ve never been to Squatter’s Row.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Pushing past the hanging cloth there’s a darkened alley straight ahead that sits between two giant buildings. The alleyway extends out of view, but it is long. There are tents lining both sides. Rotting garbage meets our feet as we walk, with the clone weighing heavy on our shoulders. Colorful flags and lines of handkerchiefs are strung down from greater heights and tethered to the ground. Makeshift clotheslines strung across at head height further complicate walking with any speed. There are a few sleeping souls without tents here and there. They sleep on flattened cardboard and are caked with dirt. The sound of coughs and whispered chatter are all around. There are small doors that open from the alleyway on both sides at varying points, I can hear babies crying, and the sounds of people fighting further off. There are barrels with smoke rising from them, and we just passed a man cooking what looks to be a rat on a stick over open flame.
“Where are we going?”
“There should be a set of stairs coming up. Then an intersection,” Trident said.
“The alley has an intersection?”
“Squatter’s Row is more than just an alley. This is an underworld unto itself.”
A hobbled old man with a busted face stands in front of us. “What’s your game? Who are you to play it?”
“What?”
“Ignore him, move past – this place is full of that kind,” Trident said.
“What’s your game? Who are you to play it?”
We’re being stared at by a thousand eyes, I can feel them on me. Every dark doorway we pass, another strange looking person sticks their head out and waves to another to come and stare at the three of us. It is an easy place to feel uneasy.
“Where are these stairs? We are being watched. I don’t imagine we’re welcome here.”
“We’re almost there. Another few minutes.”
“Halt!”
A very tall ye
t slight man with an odd mouth, wearing next to no clothing, has blocked our path.
“I, the exalted Uggio, have yet to grant you passage. Until then you are trespassers on Uggio’s land. Uggio does not like trespassers.”
“A friend of yours, Trident?”
“Assuredly not.”
“Trident! Who is this one they call Trident?” The lanky fool said.
“That would be I.”
The long stick man extends his long neck, he’s looking Trident all over.
“State your business, young Trident.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I said.
A full circle of people has formed around us, drawn by the tall man’s loud, exuberant manner of speaking and the spectacle of two outsiders carrying a hairless man through the alley.
“We are taking our friend here for some needed rest,” Trident said.
“Why he looks to be resting now.” The tall man’s comment has drawn laughter from everyone around us.
“Trident, let’s go. We can’t just stand here.”
“And who is this impatient one?”
The stick has his bulging eyes in front of my face.
“Who are you to speak to the exalted Uggio in such crude fashion?”
“I’m Bramen. I speak to you in such a way for two pertinent reasons: because I can, and because we are in a hurry. Now, if you would be so kind as to get out of our way.”
Again laughter erupts from the assembled crowd.
“This one has gumption. I like gumption. It tastes pleasing on my palette. Each of you looks plump enough for Uggio’s platter.”
More laughter.
“Hey!” My aggressive tone hushes the crowd. “Exalted Uggio. Get your cursed stick body out of our way, or do you need a demonstration of just how crude I can be? I shall delight in teaching you.”
“Trust me mister. That is not a demonstration you wish to see,” Trident said.
The long stick appears taken aback. He stands straight and strokes his chin as if in deep thought. The crowd stares up at him, waiting for a response.
“Forgive me misters, I’ve forgotten my manners. Please, oh, please – pass.” He bows to us as we carry on walking, the crowd breaks in half to let us through.
“Well that was easy,” I said.
More of the clone’s weight drops onto my shoulder as I see a knife blade slam through Trident’s abdomen sticking out the other side. Trident’s eyes are wide as he drops to the ground.