Endless Sky (An Island in the Universe Trilogy Book 1)

by Greg Remy

  “Hi there,” Zoe said with a smile. Two bloated semi-drivers, both with gruff beards, paused their conversation and looked over at her, startled.

  “Why hellor’ miss,” said the obviously drunker of the two—Mr. Erik, Zoe presumed.

  “Hello, I’m Zoe. Please excuse me, I overhead you two talking about sensor ghosts?”

  “Hello, ma’am,” said the other man, “I’m George. This is my buddy Erik.” He patted his companion heartily on the back.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Zoe shook both their hands.

  “Now look Miss Zoe,” said George, “there ain’t nothing to sensor ghosts. We truckers just like using that trick to annoy our superiors.” The two men smiled.

  “But I overheard your semi went down and began to perform erratically.”

  “That’s true. And I swear to it.” Erik eyed George. “There was something odd going ons’ out there.” George sighed. “Like I was sayin’ to George, I was haulin’ hex generators for a new fleet in the Fratough Sector. I was outfitted with a Faraday enclosure ’round my ship.” He let out a hiccup. “Nothing outside could effec’ my ship. Yet something was triggering all my systems. I swear it.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, taking a sip of alcohol.

  “I had thought my ship had suffer’ered some electronics meltdown or somethin’. So, I rushed and started opening up panelin’ just to find its all fine. I ran diagnostics and got greem, een, green lights on all systems. I always run my rig smooth, top off everythin’ before I leave for a haul.”

  “Interesting,” said Zoe.

  Erik took another drink as did Zoe. “And so there I was, in dead space at a full stop with my ship lighting up like I was throwing a disco party. Lasted just minute or so, but took hours to get everythin’ up ’n runnin’ again.”

  Zoe leaned against the glass and looked out at the stars.

  “You’re drunk, Erik. Everyone loves a good story.”

  “Damnit George, I swear it!”

  “Ya? Then let me see your flight logs.” At this, Erik’s stance settled back. “Well?”

  “Alright. I’m not ready to give those up to prove to ya anythin’.”

  “And why is that? Caroli—”

  “Don’t you finish that sentence George!”

  “Ya. well hey,” said George, “I got to get running, these shipments aren’t going to deliver themselves.”

  “Too true George,” said Erik. The two friends shook hands and George gave Erik a slap on the shoulder. “Next week then?”

  “Aye sir,” responded Erik.

  “Take care. It was nice meeting you—eh Zoe?”

  She smiled. “You too. Safe journeys.” George gave her a strong handshake and went about his way. Zoe turned to Erik who was taking a giant swing, emptying about half of his pitcher. “So, care to tell me more about these sensor ghosts? It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”

  His eyes lit up. “So, there I was, in the Margo Sector—,” he hiccupped once more, “—about three days off deliverin’ my shipment when suddenly my semi gets a mind of its own. I mean EVO systems screamin’ murder and baro-sensors reading in the red. The engine went completely offline. All hazard lights went up around the ship and I was freakin’ out. I looked out, and nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  The pair sat in silence for a moment, taking in their drinks.

  “Well,” perked up Zoe, quickly sputtered out from raw thought, “what if a natural phenomenon, not yet discovered, capable of distorting electronics through a shielded ship giving false readings, unnoticeable by lack of quantum fluctuation, but has the ability to carry narrow band current it in order to...” she trailed off seeing Erik shrug his shoulders.

  “I don’t know ’bout all that Miss Zoe. Now look, I don’t wanna go upsetting anybody. Like George said, it’s just something us trucker use to annoy our bosses. I means, all I means is—”

  “I understand,” she said. “Say, what were you hauling again?”

  “Kapteyn and hex-plutonium generators.”

  “Those hex-plutonium generators; hot stuff. I definitely understand why you were shielded. Cheap and fast propulsion systems meant for interstellar crafts. Man, I hope it’s not common to ship them around in semis; doesn’t seem safe. Did you know they burn endothermically by precipitating atoms toward their ground-state, meaning that if one got a bit too excited in your cargo, it would pretty much make a hole straight through the space you were in.” She laughed, and he did too.

  He clinked his glass to hers. “See, that’s what I’m sayin’. That’s why I was a bit late. Phew! The things they got us haulin’.” He took a large drink and let out a belch. Zoe reciprocated and let out one of her own.

  “Hey, do you mind if I get the coordinates of that event from you?”

  He was a drunk, and perhaps a liar. But maybe there was some fun to be had—a resonant node from some wireless power relay he had come across perchance; or maybe an electromagnetic sink in the area had interfered with his ship; or even more tantalizing, an undiscovered mini-black hole. Anyhow, there would be no loss in looking.

  “Sure, no probleeem.” He clumsily fumbled in his trouser pocket and produced a small brick computer with a push-button interface. Zoe reached in the top of her shirt and took out her lightcard.

  “Here, download to this,” she said. He keyed into his device and held it up to hers, syncing to it. His device beeped.

  “There ya go Miss Zoe.”

  “Thanks Erik! Well, I need to be off now. You know how it is.” He held out his glass and Zoe clinked it. They both took one final swig and set their empty glasses on the window ceil next to George’s. Erik nodded and slow danced with himself to the barkeep. Zoe smiled, replacing the lightcard in her shirt and left the pub in spirits to resume the business of fixing her ship.

  “All hail the coming dawn!” came a screechy yell as Zoe exited the bar. Zoe jerked in surprise to her left and saw a man backed against the wall near the pub as flowing crowds abrasively brushed against him. He was in a mix of rags both black and white, thrown over him until all skin was covered, except for his face, marked by a scraggily eye patch. She paused for a moment, staring at him, but quickly resumed her pace as not to be singled out by him. Unfortunately, she was luckless. “You, missy!” he shouted as she passed him, “The eye is always watching ye! Hee-Hee!” Zoe was rapidly washed away by the river of people, leaving the vagabond behind her.

  She maneuvered towards the repair section of the station, though progress was slow, as it was apparent a tide was coming in. After zig-zagging through many corridors, Zoe came upon distinct shouts breaking through the ever-present tumult of commercial space station noise. She porpoised several times above the sea of faces to get a glance of the hubbub. There was definitely some sort of angry raucous ahead. People were crowded off to the left side, encircling something, or someone.

  Zoe approached the gathering and became one with it, trying to see through the mob, like a deer through a thicket at what might be a predator or friend. The shouting was all directed toward the epicenter of the group. She strained to look above and between people, leaning on shoulders and trying to pry past people. Her small stature made this quite the task. Suddenly there were approving cheers from the heart of the matter. A clear yell followed.

  “Fuck you clone!”

  A clone? Zoe thought to herself. She worked her way further through, no longer apologizing as she squeezed in between bystanders. Then she saw him. Huddled against the corner of the floor and wall in plain clothes with stains and tears. His face was buried low under his arms, but she could see each swarthy arm had the distinct markings of his designation. The same insignia was again repeated on each hand and on every finger. Markings of property. The crowd shifted, and she lost her view, so she used the shoulders from two men just in front of her to try and see over everyone.

  Mental prostheses and direct mind-to-machine communications were banned in the late 2600s, unless prescribe
d by doctor for severe mental retardation, seizures, and such. Genetic manipulation and gene grooming were banned even earlier than that, again unless prescribed for severe deficiencies. Yet, human cloning had been allowed to persist for centuries. Zoe’s thoughts continued; she knew why. The humanoid form eases the transfer of knowledge and is able to utilize tooling built upon millennia of know-how. The human mind is apt at quickly learning new tasks and has the creativity to problem solve any work-related obstacles. Lastly, cloning meant no abnormalities; every single one is exactly the same, trained exactly the same, and expected to act and react exactly the same. Altogether, clones were better workers than any machine could ever be. That was why they were still mass produced throughout the galaxy and, Zoe thought to herself, probably half of the infrastructure of the galaxy was owed to them.

  Zoe got a good look at the clone on the ground. He was now looking at his antagonists, bearing the verbal onslaught. He looked to be about her age, and had matted black hair which needed a good trimming. Zoe could see his neck and cheek had also been branded. He shot a quick look around at the crowd and Zoe’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes. Even his eyes—on the side of his pupils—had been imprinted. She couldn’t look away, even though the entire situation really began to really annoy her. Those eyes.

  The clone attempted to stand up but was pushed down again, ended up back in the same sitting position looking up at his perpetrators. “Stay down like the dog you are, clone!” said the man whom had pushed him. Many snickered and jeered at the subhuman. He stood up once more. A particularly large man in front balled a fist and landed a blow square in his jaw, sending him right back to the floor. The clone held his face in pain and turned his face away from the crowd. Another man, feeling the rush of the pack, broadened his shoulders and spit on the clone. This was followed by more jeers and a few woops from the crowd. The clone remained on the ground with his eyes fixed to the floor. He no longer attempted to get up; instead he remained unmoving and defeated. Without further persistence from the clone, the blood moon in the hallway sunk low and the tide washed out, leaving behind just a few flapping fish, who were soon after joining their companions in the safety of deeper waters. Zoe had remained silent in the foreground, waiting for the crowd to fully dissipate. She stepped up to the clone and squatted down to be at eye level with him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He didn’t look up, as if he dared not to, and continued staring motionlessly at her feet. She waited, hoping for some sort of response. “Okay then.” Zoe stood up and turned to walk away but stopped mid spin. She knelt back down and grabbed his arms, lifting him up. Even though he offered little resistance in standing, he kept his gaze to the floor. “I’m Zoe.” Still no response. “Come with me.” She took his arm, first gently pulling him, and then dragging him down the corridor along with the masses. The subjugated clone unwillingly did as he was forced to do. The two soon came to a snack outlet with several stalls. “Let’s get some Dippin’ Dots. It’s the ice cream of the future ya know.” She gave a warm smile. “Do you like vanilla or forpegi?” He remained a statue; an obedient dog. Zoe turned to the snack attendant. “Vanilla and forpegi. Large please.” Zoe produced a card to pay from a small pocket on her shorts and took the two cones from the attendant. “Here ya go.” Holding one cone in each hand, she offered both to the clone who made no motion to accept the snack. “Here,” she said again in a harsher tone. He gave a quick upward glance, just quick enough to survey the cones and he carefully took the vanilla. The clone slowly nipped at it, never once looking at Zoe. She leaned against the white wall, pulling on the collar of the clone for him to do the same. She licked at her cone.

  “So, I hear you’re a clone?” She looked over at him but received no response. Zoe brought her face close to his and spoke up louder as the noise of the hallway seemed to surge. “You. A clone. A clone of whom may I ask?”

  He stopped eating and finally looked at her. His green-blue eyes shimmered magnificently. They again caught Zoe off guard and she paused consuming her cone, wholly transfixed by them. It was as if they contained all the wonder and majesty of the entire universe. His broad face was squared at the jaw and rounded on top with proportional cheekbones and light red lips. She remarked he was not a traditional clone; all work clones she had ever come across had dull dark brown eyes, broad facial features; overall, very droll facades.

  In an unhurried, yet intelligent voice, he said, “I am a clone of humans.” She realized she was still dumbly staring at him and shook it off.

  “I can see you’re human. A clone of which human in particular?”

  He sighed. “I am mix of all mankind.”

  Zoe’s mind twinkled. The clone seemed to lose interest in the frozen treat and slumped his shoulders. “I stand before you, a one-off experiment.”

  “Fascinating!” she blurted out. The clone did not smile. He seemed to take in her words as mocking. His labeled eyes sagged away from her and to the floor once more. “Hey. Hey.” She tenderly pulled up his chin so their eyes met. “How’s the ice-cream?”

  “It is good. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “No need to thank! So, what are you doing out here?”

  He took a big bite, swallowed, and solemnly replied, “Just traveling.” He began to look back down but she preemptively pulled his face back up and gave him a tender smile.

  “Do you like to travel?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Zoe saw then just a hint of some deep-grained excitement. She motioned for him to go on. “I stow away where I can, but it has been… difficult.”

  “I can imagine,” she responded. “Clones are nearly never seen outside their work facilities, much less so in outer-space. I can’t recall a single time I have seen a clone outside its designed work site...” she trailed off, once more becoming lost in his dazzling eyes. “You’re one in a million,” she whispered, more to herself than him. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Are you familiar with blank tool systems?” He gave an affirmative nod. “And are you here on your own?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And are you in the habit of pilfering and killing?”

  He stared with immediate shock. “No! Never. I would never—”

  “Then come along! You and I have exploring to do!” Zoe began to march off.

  “Wai—,” he started.

  She paused suddenly and spun around. She could see he was suddenly very uneasy. “Right, what is your name?”

  She anticipated a numerical designation, but he quickly responded, “My name is Darious.”

  “Darious. I like it!” She looped her arm with his, and this time, without resistance, he headed off with her into the crowd. He was keen to keep his head down and Zoe soon realized what hardship he must have endured out here. Whenever someone looked beyond their route and saw Darious, nasty expressions followed, sometimes with pointing and directed obscenities. Sure clones were considered lowly, but she had never thought this low.

  “Not very popular are ya?” she said, giving him a broad smile as he momentarily looked up at her.

  They finally reached the machine shops. Zoe kept Darious in arm’s reach which enabled her to quickly pull him out confrontations—which there were a few. They popped in and out of multitudinous shops, checking through various stores’ stocks. Zoe’s purchases were loaded onto Darious’ arms which soon became a pile taller than he could see through. He clumsily followed her as she guided him by the sound of her voice.

  “Let’s see, one last thing.”

  They searched through several more depots before coming to a shop which had what Zoe required. She pulled a palm-sized quadrature modulator off a shelf.

  “Bingo!”

  She strutted over to the store’s counter for payment, happy the last of her shopping was now over. The attendant was an ogre of a man. His bulging belly was scarcely covered by an oil-stained shirt. Greasy hair streaked down his face by which a large wart-covered nose stuck out, giving him the appearance of some sort of space troll.
He snorted loudly and swallowed the mucus. Zoe put the limiter on the counter with a muted expression. He scratched at his arm and looked at them with a sneer.

  “What’s this? Get out of here.”

  “Eh?” Zoe responded.

  “Go on,” he said in a harsh gruff voice. “Get out.” He waved Zoe and Darious away. Zoe was puzzled, and it showed on her face. The mechanic turned much sterner and leaned forward, banging his open palms on the counter. Both Zoe and Darious jumped. Several people outside heard and look inward. “We don’t want your kind around!” Zoe looked back at Darious and realized what was going on. The space troll was fuming and pointed a floppy arm at Darious. “Get Lost!” Darious was paralyzed and instinctively looked down at the ground.

  “Okay, okay. We’ll go,” said Zoe as she threw a bill on the counter and picked up the limiter. She turned with Darious and they both quickly left the shop as the man barked at them.

  “Ruf! Ruf! Get lost!”

  People were now pointing at Darious. Most had contorted faces when seeing him as if something rotten had pervaded their nostrils.

  “I think our business is done here Darious. It’s time to go.”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  On their way back to Zoe’s ship, they passed by a large bowed-out out viewing room. Above its arched entrance, holographic monitors projected galactic news headlines, departure and arrival flights, and the current space weather. The room, shaped by a semicircle floor and great curved bay window, allowed for an unobstructed view of outer-space. It remained dark and desolate, backlit only by soft blue lights, allowing the viewer a non-polluted view of the cosmos. Zoe and Darious both slowed, drawn in by prodigious view. The adventurer and the archetype entered in with quiet reverence and both stood as close to the glass as they could. Zoe put her purchases on the floor and took Darious’ heap from him, setting them too on the ground. They stood silently next to each other; the bustle of the hallway was drowned out by the grand view of the infinite of infinites.