He climbed into the donation chamber, reluctantly but without incident and watched as the transparent lid was closed, trapping him inside his laboratorial coffin. Product Trudi 002, the clone baby, was brought into the room and placed into the receiving chamber. Research had shown that clones were created bereft of souls, they were driven by instinct and, if left to mature without a soul being transferred into their body, they would simply remain unable to function independently,
Product Trudi 002 was very placid, not even crying, unlike Professor Ingram who had suddenly realised the horror that was about to happen to him. It’s all very well dying – that comes to us all – but we all hope that it will be painless and quick. He had never actually seen one of the experiments in process – he normally entered the project after a transference had been made, but he had heard that it was a very unpleasant experience. He pushed his hands against the transparent plastic of the chamber lid but nobody paid any attention to him. He punched the lid with all his might, bruising his knuckles. He shouted as loud as he could but the rest of the people in the room could either not hear him or were ignoring his pleas. He whipped his head from side to side in panic. He stopped suddenly as he felt a strange sensation in his hands and feet, his whole body in fact, as the air was sucked out of his chamber and he fought for breath. He managed to look down at his body and was distressed by the sight of his swollen body just before his lungs burst. Professor Ingram lost consciousness quickly and was spared the terror of feeling his blood boil as he drifted into a coma just before his organs shut down completely and he officially died.
He sensed movement and that his consciousness was travelling in the ether, but that ether was restricted to the confines of the transfer apparatus. It was quite exhilarating and, as a scientist, he found it fascinating.
The laboratory technician pushed a couple of touch controls and Professor Ingram’s soul was forced into the other chamber where Product Trudi 002 was waiting. He felt his essence first envelop the baby and then felt himself sucked through the baby’s pores. For a second he was aware that he was inhabiting a new body but this was short-lived as his memory of being Professor Ingram became involuntarily repressed and would not emerge until his new host reached its seventh birthday or thereabouts, although of course this was considered to be extremely unlikely as no clone baby had survived beyond eighty days as yet and those that had reached that age (eighty years physical age) still had the capacity and ability of a new-born baby. Nobody knew whether Professor Ingram’s theory was correct, and whether inserting an adult soul at such an early stage in the clone’s development would work.
The baby clone Trudi 002 was returned to the clone monitoring department, to be observed. Like all the other clones before her she was to be given the HGIH on the twentieth day of her existence, but nobody on the research team held any great hopes that they would be successful and that the clone would survive much beyond eighty days.
Chapter 24
4 a.m. Sunday, 15th June, 2058
A glimmer of light could be seen on the horizon as the six dark figures took their positions in the woods surrounding the Cancer Research Institute complex. Cancer had still not been conquered although many inroads had been made against various forms of the disease so it was entirely feasible to the general public that this research facility should exist. Indeed it was seen as one of the few positives of the ONP government that resources appeared to be pouring into the hunt for a cure for cancer. The indiscriminate nature of the disease meant that people from all walks of life were affected; if not directly, by contracting one of the variations themselves, then indirectly, having a family member or a friend who was suffering from or had suffered from the illness. As had always been the case, cancer research was considered a good and worthwhile cause.
There were many Cancer Research institutes dotted around the country, some actually used for seeking a cure for the disease, but many as a cover for ONP research and experimentation. And none was as heavily guarded as this particular facility. Dozens of automatic high powered pulse guns scanned the area outside of the facility, ready to shoot down any intruder before he or she could breach the boundary fence. The area surrounding the establishment was dotted with small motion sensitive sensors that sent an immediate signal to the cameras’ pulse guns and the threat would be neutralized within a fraction of a second. These weapons were always set to ‘kill’; prisoners were never taken, be they bona-fide intruders or innocent dog-walkers who had strayed into the wrong area. Stories about dangerously toxic chemicals being used in the fight against cancer were encouraged and kept all but the most determined snooper away. The public just assumed that the facilities were using some extremely dangerous materials or chemicals in their research; if they had known the truth it would have horrified them even more.
Inside the research facility, Product Trudi 002 had just entered her forty-second day of existence. She had been given the HGH at her creation and HGIH on the twentieth day but her body had continued to deteriorate. She had the appearance of a forty-two year old woman. Her mental capacity was obviously higher than that of the previous guinea-pigs – she had been able to be trained to use the toilet, thus dispensing with the need for nappies – and she could feed herself, but there was little more improvement than the basic skills that a toddler could master. She seemed to be able to communicate simple requests by gesture but her speech was minimal. She couldn’t even speak as well as a two year old human baby, let alone have a full-blooded conversation.
The lights of the Clone Holding room flickered. The Clone Sitters, as the staff of the Clone Observation Unit were nicknamed, paid little attention, believing it to be caused by a power surge as an experiment was conducted in another part of the building. They continued their work, which appeared mainly to consist of surfing the internet on their smartphones. Some things never change.
But this time the flickering lights were not of little consequence. This time they represented an actual breach of the research centre’s security. Outside the facility, an electromagnetic pulse had disabled the research centre’s primary defence system, leaving it vulnerable for a few minutes. One Life researchers had managed to perfect a portable Electromagnetic Pulse Generator that didn’t disable every piece of electrical equipment in the vicinity. It was calibrated so that you could shoot a pulse at a particular piece of electronic equipment and it would send a signature back to the EMP generator containing all the attributes of that particular piece of equipment. The EMP generator would clone the pulse, disabling all other similar objects in the vicinity. In this way, the defences were neutralised in less time that it takes the average person to blink an eye.
The six intruders overcame the security staff with ease and three of their number burst into the laboratory, startling the Clone Sitters. There had been so little time between the shutdown of the perimeter defences and the appearance of the masked intruders at the door of Lab A1 that they were unable to register what was happening. However, one of the technicians, Sarah, who had reacted exactly the same as her colleagues, wasn’t surprised; she was the SIMP who had informed One Life of Trudi 002’s existence and allowed herself to be knocked unconscious along with her colleagues as pulse beams hit each one of them, rendering them unconscious for at least two hours, whilst two of the Resistance team lifted Trudi 002 off her chair and carried her out of the facility to a waiting SUV. The whole operation had taken about three minutes from start to finish; it had been a perfect example of team efficiency.
The six quickly made their way outside of the compound to where an SUV was waiting. The driver had already removed two high-powered motorcycles from the vehicle and positioned them alongside the van, their engines idling, ready to use as soon as the extraction team arrived. Michelle Boone broke away from the main group and almost threw herself onto the waiting motorbike. Another group member mounted the other. They both dropped their respective clutches and accelerated harshly, the back wheels of their steeds sliding for a second or two unt
il they gained traction.
The three vehicles drove off at full speed, the van and the two motorbikes, only slowing down momentarily when they arrived at a three-way fork in the road. The two motorcyclists flipped a switch on their handle bars and an exact holographic image of the SUV enveloped the bikes. The two Jeeps that were in pursuit were suddenly faced with three versions of the same vehicle, weaving in and out of one another’s paths before each taking a different fork in the road. The driver of the first Jeep looked at his passenger.
“Fuck! Which one shall we follow?”
“How am I supposed to know? You’re the bloody driver. Follow whichever one you want. You’ve got a thirty-three percent chance of getting it right.”
The driver grabbed the inter-vehicle communicator, the IVC, pressed the touch-screen and shouted into it.
“Syrus. Which bastard van are you going to follow?”
“Fuck knows, Dean. They all look the same.”
“I know. How do we know which one is carrying the stolen product?”
“We don’t. Just choose.”
Dean forced the steering wheel to the right and took off after one of the vehicles. The odds on choosing the correct van had now increased to fifty-fifty. Although it was tempting to take the left-hand fork, to maintain symmetry, Syrus kept going straight ahead. Of course, this meant that it was possible that the two were both chasing a wild goose but it was a risk that had to be taken.
The SUVs kept thundering along the country roads, the Jeeps closing in on two of them. Dean’s passenger, Curtis, was getting annoyed. He was trying to aim his pulse gun at the vehicle in front but, despite all Dean’s attempts to control the vehicle smoothly, the potholes in the road had other ideas. Curtis and his weapon were being thrown from side to side, making an accurate shot nigh on impossible. He gritted his teeth and fired his pulse gun. The beam of highly-charged red light passed through what should have been the right-hand rear wing of the SUV and destroyed a tree that was about twenty yards in front of the vehicle. Curtis shouted at his driver.
“It’s a fucking motorbike.”
Then, he took a sharp intake of breath as a beam of red light rocketed towards them, the motorcycle’s defence system having locked onto the source of the attack and responded in kind.
On another road Syrus saw the plume of smoke forming in the sky above where his colleagues should have been and knew that it almost certainly signalled the destruction of the jeep. Nevertheless he tried to contact his colleagues via the IVC.
“Dean! Curtis! Are you there?”
He battered the steering wheel with his free hand.
“Shit, Fuck, Balls! It’s up to us now.”
The road that they had taken was in better condition than the other road, but there were many more tight curves to negotiate, and locking the target was just as difficult as it had been for Curtis; no sooner had his partner, Rick, locked on the target vehicle than it disappeared around a corner. The eternal game of cat and mouse continued through the wooded road until Syrus heard a sound behind him and to the right. Rick looked behind the Jeep to see Michelle’s motorcycle, holographic camouflage disabled, leap out of the woods and take up a position directly behind their vehicle.
“Syrus, there’s a….”
Rick never got the chance to complete his sentence as the fuel tank of the Jeep was hit by a deadly charge of electricity and exploded. Dean, Curtis, Syrus, and Rick were now four souls in the atmosphere, joining the multitude that were already there seeking new host bodies.
The ride inside the SUV hadn’t been a comfortable one, the occupants being thrown around inside the vehicle like rag dolls. All except Trudi 002 that is, who had been strapped in so as not to damage her. She was extremely valuable cargo and must not be damaged at all costs.
Ten miles down the road, the SUV slid to a halt alongside an unmarked delivery van. Trudi 002 was quickly transferred to the new vehicle, along with her escorts, and the group continued on their way unmolested, whilst the SUV disappeared into the distance to take a different route home.
Just over an hour later, the van pulled into the yard of an old remote farmhouse. The driver, Flav, locked the vehicle inside one of the two barns and joined his accomplices in the kitchen of the main house. Trudi 002 was sitting in an armchair, having been released from her restraints. Michelle spoke to the group.
“The SIMP who told us about this clone said that she is sentient; she may look like a woman in her late thirties, early forties, but she has the mental age of a two year old.”
Michelle walked over and looked at Trudi 002. The clone could feel her stare almost piercing her skin.
“So, the interrogation should be interesting. Anybody here got kids? Anybody speak toddler?”
Michelle reached for Trudi 002’s hand, which was quickly drawn away. The clone assumed that she was among friends (they had spoken about a SIMP) but she wanted to wait a little longer before showing her true colours. Michelle, went to take hold of the clone’s hand again and this time Trudi 002 allowed the touch.
“It’s alright. We don’t want to hurt you. It’s not really an interrogation. It’s more of a debriefing.” She stopped what she was saying, realizing that this kind of language would be far too complicated for a two year old to understand. No toddler had words such as ‘interrogation’ and ‘debriefing’ in its vocabulary. She started again.
My name is Michelle. Michelle Boone. I’m the mummy of this little group. What’s your name?”
One of her team members interrupted.
“Mummy, please can I have a glass of water?”
Michelle shot a dirty look at him and he mouthed ‘sorry’.
The clone looked around her at the others in the room. They seemed a lot friendlier now than they had in the laboratory.
“Trudi 002.”
Michelle smiled.
“That’s good Trudi. Well done. Good girl. May I call you Trudi? It’s a very pretty name.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what – who you are, Trudi.”
“Yes.”
“Who are you Trudi?”
“A clone.”
“A clone. Yes, you’re a clone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a person, Trudi. Not to us anyway. Do you know your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“When’s your birthday, Trudi?”
“6th of May, 2058.”
“So, do you know hold old you are?”
Michelle thought that this might be a stretch for Trudi to answer. Bearing in mind her obviously limited communication skills, her mathematical skills should surely be almost nonexistent.
“I look forty years old, maybe thirty-five on a good day, but I’m actually forty days old. “
Michelle and her friends looked at each other. Michelle took a deep breath and spoke.
“So you can talk… I mean talk intelligently… I mean the talking like a child was just an act? The SIMP said that you had limited communication skills.”
“Well, he or she would wouldn’t they. I was hardly going to have a nice cosy chat with them, considering how I’d been treated. I didn’t volunteer to be put into this thing, you know. I’m a respected scientist, a professor.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for us, Trudi?”
“I have two conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Well, first I want something to eat. I’m bloody starving. For real food. Not that crap they gave me at the facility.”
Federico, who was also the unelected chef of the group, muttered to himself.
“What does a clone eat?”
Trudi turned her attention to him.
“The same as you, dickhead. My hearing’s pretty good too.”
Professor Ingram’s latent rage was coming to the fore. Michelle thought she’d better try to calm things down.
“You said you have two conditions. What’s the other one?”
“The second condition is… that when I’ve told yo
u all you want to know… I want you kill me. I don’t think I have the courage to do it myself.”
“Why on earth do you want us to kill you?”
“Do I have to spell it out to you? I age one year every twenty-four hours. I have at best another forty days to go. Forty days during which I shall deteriorate physically and become susceptible to all kinds of illnesses and organ problems. I’ve seen others go through it and it’s not a pretty sight. They haven’t got the process right yet. If I had another forty years left then perhaps my life might be bearable for the near future. I could wait and see if medical advances could cure whatever ailments I’ll get. But knowing that the clock isn’t ticking by but sprinting by - well, that’s different. I don’t want to go through all that. I’d rather take my chance and see where my soul ends up next. So, if you wouldn’t mind. I’d like you to kill me. Quick like. Not a slow death. And no drowning. I’ve always had a fear of drowning, no matter what life I’m living.”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s not as if it’s the final end. I’ll come back again – just in a different body. I can do that. It doesn’t bother me. Preferable to what’s going to happen to me otherwise, anyway.”
Michelle looked at her colleagues, who one by one nodded their agreement to Trudi’s request.
Trudi’s next hour or so was spent eating her final meal of spaghetti bolognaise – Federico wasn’t that great a cook - and giving the group all the information that she knew or could remember about the research that was happening at the laboratory. Michelle and her colleagues no longer had to imagine the horrors that were taking place in the name of the Illuminati’s clone research. Hearing about how pregnant women and babies were arbitrarily slaughtered in the name of research made Michelle feel physically sick. Trudi brought her disclosures to a close.
“And that’s all I can tell you really. The research has progressed to the point where the scientists can create a clone, have it mature rapidly to adulthood and can transfer a human soul into it. I’m the living proof of that. However, they are still under the misconception that the mental development of the clone is retarded, that is, it’s not keeping up with the physical development of the clone. I saw no reason to let them think otherwise. The day will come – probably sooner rather than later – when the variables are correctly calibrated and applied and they’ll have succeeded in creating a fully functioning adult clone, one that isn’t racing towards its death like I am. I have no idea why it’s so important to the Pindar, but it is.”
REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES Page 16