by Raylan Kane
“Down! Down! Stay down!”
“What do you want from me? I am not who you say I am!
It sounds as though they think they have their man, that won’t last.
“How long before they realize they don’t have the actual Bramen Hold?” I said.
“A matter of minutes? Maybe an hour? Who knows?”
“How fast can you work?”
“Fast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The old man lays the bag of gel by Trident’s head, then runs a thin wire from its base and pricks the other end into Trident’s stab wound.
“What are you doing with that?”
“I am regenerating tissue. Repairing the damage with hyperbolic stem cells.”
“Where do you find those?”
“You would be amazed what you can buy on the black market. This batch is pure military grade. My supplier says he acquired it at a High Command facility.”
“Acquired. Fancy word for a thief.”
“A thief who’s helped save your friend’s life.”
The mister has pulled the wire from Trident’s belly and placed the partially drained gel bag back into his kit.
“The wound’s not fully healed.”
“It will continue to close now on its own. Oh, and yes, regarding the other matter you’d mentioned.”
The man reached to his supplies again and pulled the cylindrical tube to Trident’s cot. “I need you to open his mouth.”
“What is this stuff?”
“Must you ask so many questions? Open the poor man’s mouth.”
The old man has little patience. I pull Trident’s chin down, and the man slides his hand along from the bottom of the tube and thick pink paste slides out the top and into Trident’s mouth. The man empties the tube until Trident’s mouth is near overflowing with the goop. Trident is coughing. The old man puts his hand over Trident’s lips.
“Sit him up,” the old man said.
As I sit Trident up his eyes open. He coughs and swallows the paste.
“Trident! You’re alright!”
“That tastes terrible,” Trident said.
“Good to have you back, friend.”
Trident’s eyes roll back and he slumps back heavily onto the cot.
“Wait. What? What did you do? What’s happening to him?”
“A predictable effect. The transforming paste has a side effect that causes the patient to sleep for a good long while.”
“Transforming paste? What does he need that for?”
“You said he was a clone. I am a trained fleshik. I’ve restored his natural color.”
“His natural color? His skin is the same color as yours and mine!”
“Oh dear.”
“And I didn’t say he was a clone you drunken buffoon. The other one’s the clone, over there!”
“Oh dear.”
“What’s going to happen to him now?”
“Well, when he wakes up his skin will be a shade of light blue – a shade common for all clones really.”
“His skin wasn’t light blue when you came in the room. Why would you think to change it you fool?”
“There’s hardly any light in this bloody place. How was I supposed to know exactly what color his skin was?”
“This is not good. Now people are going to believe he’s the clone. Meanwhile the actual clone has our skin color.”
“You’d already consulted with a fleshik? Why then did you send for me?”
“No, we didn’t consult with anyone. We found him that,“
A fierce knock on the door has interrupted this foolish conversation.
“Bramen Hold? It’s Yola, from downstairs. From the check-in.”
I open the door cautiously.
“What is it?”
“Mister there are constables scouring this place looking for you and your friends. They named you specifically. If I were you I would be on my way. I gave them the wrong room number to give you time. We’re no friend to the police around here.”
“Thank you for that. Right. We’re going.”
“Might I suggest the Das Lodge Inn, north end, my brother runs it. He can help you,” Yola said.
“Kind of you.”
“I have my driver here with me. He can take you and your friends,” the old man said.
“You have a driver? Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“Is he as drunk as you?”
“You have other options I take it?”
“If the four of you move now, I can lead you to a hidden exit,” Yola said.
“No need,” the old mister said. “I know the way. My driver’s parked near that door.”
“You’d better move now. They’re sweeping every room, every floor.”
I lift Trident’s lifeless body from the cot.
“What about this one?” The old man points to the clone.
“I’ll have to make two trips, three if I’m carrying you. Let’s go.”
“Allow me,” Yola steps in from the door and now she has the clone’s arm draped around her beefy shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“And let those cursed cops win? Like I said, we’ve got no love for the police around here.”
“Very kind of you. Think you can walk old man?”
“I will do my best. I’ll collect my driver from the tavern and meet you at the hidden door in ten minutes. Fair?”
“See you in ten.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The old fleshik’s driver can barely keep his eyes open. Yola is keeping watch at the corner ahead where the back alley opens to the street. I’m in the back with the clone and Trident while the old man rides next to his driver. Yola waves her arms, the driver just sits there.
“What’s the hold up? Go!” I said. The drunkard slowly puts the car in drive and starts us off.
“I suggest you cover yourself and your friends. There’s a blanket in the back, behind you,” the old mister said.
I’ve pulled the black blanket over the entire backseat. Trident is on the floor, the clone is laying on the backseat beside me, I’m crouching down as we approach the corner.
“Where is she?” The old mister said.
“Who? Yola? She’s not there?”
“No. She’s disappeared into a crowd.”
“Do you see any police?”
“Not yet. Go straight, Noss. Pick up the pace.”
The engine rumbles and I can feel the car moving faster.
“This motel. The Das Lodge is it?”
“Correct.”
“Do I just mention Yola, and they’ll take care of us?”
“I don’t really know. I assume so.”
“It’s in the north end, right?”
“Yes. We should be there in 15 minutes or so.”
“How far is it from downtown?”
“Oh, maybe 10 minutes. Why?”
“No reason.”
Under the blanket the daylight is partially blocked, but I can already see bluish blotches appear on Trident’s skin.
“How can I change Trident’s skin back to normal?”
“That’s not a process you want to undertake so soon after this most recent treatment. Give it a good six months – maybe a year.”
“A year? I was hoping we could do it right away.”
“Absolutely not. Besides I’m out of my supplies now anyway. Good luck finding another fleshik, by the way. They’re exceedingly hard to find. Especially if you develop a reputation for not paying for work done. People will talk, you know?”
“You will be paid. I just haven’t have the time yet. As soon as you drop us off, payment will be yours.”
Twice the car swerved unexpectedly, and we’ve hit large bumps a half dozen times on our journey.
“You sure he’s okay to drive?”
“Noss? Of course, he’s a better driver when he�
��s drinking. Aren’t you Noss?”
I heard no response. Does this man not have a tongue? Finally, the car slows. I poke my head out from under the blanket and the red and white themed motor inn appears.
“Noss here will help you with your friends.”
We sit in silence staring out the front window. The old man was waiting for me to clue in.
“Oh right – the Fold. There you are – 80 should do it?”
“80 will do just fine.”
“Okay, well – thank you for everything.”
I’ve rented a room on the ground floor, five doors down from the lobby. Noss carries Trident, and I carry the clone to Room 107. We drop the men on separate beds, I hand the burly drunkard five Fold and he leaves. I hear the old man’s car outside come back to life and fade to the background as he and Noss drive away, leaving me alone with these two passed out fools.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My eyelids are sticky. Forcing my eyes open I see the dimly lit motel room around me. Daylight pokes through the heavy curtains. The brightness forces me to squint. How can it still be daytime, I feel like I’ve been asleep for weeks. I’m sharing this bed with the clone. I can see his body move up and down with each breath – he’s still alive, and still asleep. Whatever that drug was, I surely gave him far too much – I’ve put him into a coma, mind you he’d be better off if he never woke up, this is no kind of world for clones. Trident also appears to be breathing, which brings me relief. Clearly, the drunkard knew something, though soon Trident will have the light blue skin of a clone – how he explains that while working as a cloneman is beyond me.
As I check the clock on the nightstand it dawns on me. I’ve been asleep for 23 hours! My stomach is doing somersaults with hunger. The bag of broils sits on the table across the room. They’ll be cold, and they’ll taste disgusting, but they’re edible. I get up, grab the bag of food and sit in the chair next to the table. I pull out one of the broils – the clone coughs and he’s raised his head looking at me.
“Good morning.”
“No! Yes! Come on!”
“Keep your voice down,” I said.
“I think I liked him better when he was asleep.” Trident spoke as he took in a big breath and sat up.
“You’re both back from the dead.”
“Lucky us. Where are we? What is that you’re eating?”
“It’s good to see you awake. How do you feel?”
“I feel a lot better than I did. Are we in a motel?”
“The Das Lodge Inn.”
“Adventurous name. Is that broil?”
“It’s cold now. I got three – one for each of us.”
“You’re going to feed broil to a clone? Evil man.”
“Sorry, did you have some secret hay stashed under your shirt?”
I’m passing Trident the bag with the two other broils. Trident hands the clone a broil and he sniffs it then takes a bite. A commotion of men yelling and car doors slamming can be heard a short distance away.
“What’s that about?” Trident said.
“I’ll have a look.”
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright sunny day on the other side of the curtains, but once I focus I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said to Trident.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“What is it?” Trident said.
“See for yourself.”
Trident squints out the window and there across the square courtyard is a gang of men and women moving suitcases and boxes from two large trucks parked nearby and into two motel rooms.
“Is that? That’s my truck!” Trident said.
“And that’s my truck next to it.”
“Curses and rhyme.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Do you think our product is still there?”
“We’re not far from the Agriplex. It’s in the north end. It’s possible they haven’t sold any of it yet.”
“What are we going to do?” Trident said.
“Can you imagine? After all we’ve been through, we wind up at the same motel as those thieves? We get our stuff back – we sell our product – we take our income back to our families?”
“I told you luck always seems to follow you. So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan is we wait. Catch them all off-guard. We’re fairly outnumbered.”
“Sounds fair.”
“No!”
Trident walked from the window to the washroom. I hear the toilet flush and the water from the sink.
“Curses and rhyme! What the hell is happening to my skin?”
“Oh yes, about that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In a calm tone I’ve explained the how and the why to Trident. He is quite upset, which is understandable.
“It was a genuine mistake.”
“What am I going to tell my parents?”
“The truth.”
“The truth? That you have to enlist the help of a drunken fool in a tavern to fix a stab wound I incurred whilst wandering aimlessly around Squatter’s Row? All of this on top of the lost truck, the lost product, and the lost Fold? I don’t know about your parents, but mine are not the forgiving sort.”
“You’re still you. And you’ve recovered – albeit with blue skin.”
“I look like a clone! How am I to convince anyone I am not? There are educated clones out there who have capably fooled others before, but they are all eventually caught and dealt with.”
“The fleshik said you can change your skin back in six months to a year.”
“And do what until then? Live under a rock? And how did you find a fleshik in the first place?”
“He was the first man I talked to at Vile’s Swill.”
“Oh, of course! That is just prime! That is how everything works for you isn’t it? Fleshiks aren’t even supposed to exist and yet the first bumbling moron you happen to stumble into is one who also coincidentally holds a satchel of stem cells in his back pocket. Who are you, Bramen Hold? You purport to be a hay farmer, and yet all I’ve experienced with you thus far is death and destruction? Are you sure you’re not with the High Command?”
Trident is really upset.
“Maybe there is some kind of drug out there that will reverse the effect.”
“What? We’re going to gallivant off and go thieving in another apothecary shop? Count me out.”
“We have means now. Remember, the clone has Fold.”
“No!”
“Oh, shut it!”
“Don’t yell at him,” I said. “This is my fault, I recognize. But the situation is hardly as dire as you make it out to be. We’ve just found our trucks and our families’ product. We will figure the skin thing out in due course.”
“We still have no plan for getting back our trucks and our product.”
“We will strike tonight,” I say as I head for the door.
“Where are you going?” Trident said.
“You and our friend need to rest. We’re going to need guns if we’re to pull this off. And there’s another small thing I must attend to downtown.”
The morning sun warms my skin as I casually exit the room and head for the street. There is a tall cluster of buildings in the distance, should take me less an hour to get there. I must admit, I have no idea how I’m going to buy black market firearms. I have means now, I may be able to buy something legitimately – though probably from an independently owned shop would be better. The big gun dealers usually require identification, retinal scan, database checks, and worse a wait time.
The expressway beside me is busy with traffic. One can barely hear themselves think walking alongside this racket. I’m trying to keep my head down as I go, in case the constabulary happens by, assuming my picture is hanging in a police building somewhere, perhaps not.
The road curves to the left and passes over another
large expressway. Now it looks like a straight shot into the downtown core, another 30 minutes or so, I would say. The last few days have taken a lot out of me, or maybe my fitness has lagged. I haven’t been walking so long that I should feel this fatigued already.
Aha! Sarm’s Surplus – I’ve been in this place before with my father – that was years ago. This will do nicely, they are not one of the big depots, this could work.
The store is a big rectangle, and it’s not very busy at the moment. There is an older chubby mister behind the counter – Sarm, I presume. What is it with the city and all of these older looking folks? Are they not consuming human flesh in this place? Or perhaps it’s not as commonplace here as it is back home? I thought everyone ate flesh and stayed young and lived forever.
My clothes are in rough shape, they’re beat up, sweat-stained, and pieces have been torn up and torn off. I’ve found a pair of green pants that should do, and a lighter green shirt. I’ve also picked up a large black bag that comes with a shoulder strap. I don’t plan on purchasing weaponry and walking back along the expressway brandishing it – I’ve brought enough attention to myself lately as it is.
I walk up to the counter and plunk down my purchases. Behind Sarm hanging on the wall are firearms of varying sizes, most of them are black and ominous looking, much like their price tags. I notice a few do not have prices attached.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I would like to purchase a gun. What kind of identification do you require?”
“We don’t need that around here. Just buy what you need, and that’s it.”
“Prime.”
“Yes, our customers seem to enjoy it.”
“Great, I’ll take that one there – on the end.”
“That’s 200 Fold.”
“Oh – sorry, I thought the tag said 20.”
“You couldn’t be that fortunate.”
Curses – I really wanted that gun, it looks ferocious.
“We do have a used version of that – in the back. Sell it to you for 50,” Sarm said.
“Sold.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m looking for two more. The cheaper the better.”