Odyssey_Double Helix

by R. Patricia Wayne

  But the woman was expecting the move. Before Amy could get to her wrists, the woman screamed and swung the knife. It sliced across Amy’s chest.

  Amy screamed.

  It could have been worse, Amy thought. As the woman had been sitting in a pool water, the violent swing caused the clone’s body to slide out, taking some of the momentum from the blow. The woman came to a stop, lying flat on her back in a pool of water.

  Unwilling to allow the clone to recover, Amy quickly straddled her chest and lunged her hands at the woman’s wrists again.

  But, once more, the woman was quicker. She screamed and wildly thrust and swung the weapon at her.

  Amy put up her hands trying to stop the assault, but there was no defense against someone blindly swinging a knife in the air. The blade sank into Amy’s palm which caused Amy to scream again. Then it kept coming. It glanced off her ribs, sliced her hands, then down her forehead and cheek, then sank into the meaty part of her shoulder.

  Blood was everywhere. Pain radiated all over Amy’s body. She couldn’t sit here any longer. She rolled off the woman and spotted the toaster right in front of her face. Amy immediately sat up and snatched it from the floor.

  But, the clone hadn’t stopped her assault. Amy screamed as the blade sank into her middle back, then her lower back, then just under her shoulder blade. Amy turned. The clone was sitting up and still swinging, still stabbing. Then the knife found Amy’s neck. Blood sprayed into the air.

  Amy knew if she didn’t get control of this situation soon, this confrontation was over. Her life now in jeopardy, Amy got mad. She drew in a deep breath. And with both hands, she smashed the toaster into the woman’s face.

  The woman collapsed, landing on her back in the bloody water now covering most of the floor.

  Not waiting for her to recover, Amy got up and sat down on the woman legs again. And using the toaster like a fist, she bashed the woman’s face with all the strength she could muster.

  With another scream, the woman slashed Amy’s cheek with the knife, and more blood immediately jetted outward, gushing down her neck.

  Amy was quickly losing all her desire to keep fighting. All she wanted to do was run. But if she ran, the clone wins. Cord wins. And if she were to die, then he gets exactly what he wanted. With Amy dead, his new wife becomes the real Amy James. He wouldn’t have to kill Amy or dispose of the body.

  Oh, no. I don’t think so!

  With a new resolve washing over her, Amy no longer worried about defending herself. The knife continued to slash and stab at her face and chest, each slice another burning pain that made her want to scream. Amy no longer cared. This machine was not replacing her. Cord was not getting what he wanted. Not anymore.

  Fuck Cord!

  And with a deep breath, Amy raised the blood soaked toaster above her head. Then, she repeatedly hammered the clone’s face with the toaster.

  Fuck Cord! Fuck Cord! Fuck Cord! Fuck Cord!

  She smashed, smashed, smashed, and continued smashing until she could no longer lift her arms. She hadn’t noticed, but somewhere along the way, the clone had stopped stabbing. She now just laid there, her expensive clothes soaked with both blood and water. She no longer breathed.

  For a long moment, Amy stared at her clone lying motionless on the floor. Still bleeding. The woman’s face was caved in. A bowl of bone that held a soup of blood, brains, hair, and teeth. Even the woman’s eyes were no longer recognizable.

  After tossing the toaster aside, Amy took a moment to scan the room. The water was still running in the sink. The floor was covered with bloody water. The normally pristine white counters and walls were drenched with blood. It had even sprayed onto the ceiling during the struggle.

  Fuck Cord! I ain’t cleaning this up!

  Amy looked herself over, trying to assess her wounds. Blood still gushed down her chest. Both her tank top and sweat pants were soaked with either blood or water. She was trembling uncontrollably. Tears were falling from her eyes. She was having trouble calming her racing heart and slowing her erratic breaths, but otherwise she seemed to have endured the assault without permanent injury.

  Then something felt wrong about this scene.

  Something’s not right.

  As disgusting as it was, Amy leaned forward and dug her trembling fingers into the gore that was once the woman’s face. According to Miriam, this clone was supposed to be a layer of flesh over a mechanical body. That’s what she needed to find. She had to make sure she was Cord’s creation.

  She spent several long minutes digging through the woman’s face, but all Amy found were chunks of tongue, brains, hair, and teeth.

  Had she killed a real person?

  Panicking, Amy slid off the woman and grabbed the knife from the floor. Amy ripped open her blouse and made a single, deep cut, slicing open her abdomen. Another rush of blood squirted and bubbled up from the woman’s belly. Again, Amy dug her hand inside the woman. And once more, she found nothing but muscle tissue, internal organs, and ribs.

  No! This can’t be!

  Now Amy wondered where Cord had found this woman. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn’t a machine. She was very human.

  And that meant this WAS murder.

  And that also meant Amy was screwed.

  Somehow, she and Miriam had made a serious miscalculation. Was it possible that Cord was just having another one of his affairs? Was it possible that this woman coincidentally looked like Amy? How could she ever explain this to Miriam? Or to the protectorate?

  Amy sat back on her heels. With a pounding heart, panic crept throughout her body. She had to find a way to hide the body. Clean the kitchen. Flee. Get out of town. Hide. But, how could she hope to hide when she looked like she’d just come from a crime scene?

  Wait!

  She was bleeding badly. With all the deep cuts and slashes covering her body, Amy knew that she needed medical attention. Blood was still pouring from her neck, arms, and chest. She was in pain. Her life was in danger, but she could still think for the moment. And she knew what needed to be done. She first had to stop her bleeding while she still could. Amy stood up on her quivering legs. She stumbled down the hall, through the bedroom, and into the master bathroom.

  Looking at herself in the mirror, Amy was sickened by the sight. There was a flap of flesh dangling from her cheek, numerous bloody slashes across her face and forehead, and blood spurting from her neck. Then another more disturbing thought entered her mind.

  No, no, no. Please, don’t let it be true...

  Amy dug her fingertips under the flap of flesh and into her cheek. She quickly found what she feared most.

  “No!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Tears poured from her eyes as she lifted the flap of flesh. Underneath her soft skin was hardened steel. Then she noticed her right eye. It was sliced open. How could she still see out of it? With her fingertips she pulled apart her eyelids as far as they would go. Her eyeball separated into two halves and found a small red light hidden inside her eye.

  She tried to scream out in horror, but she wailed out a sob instead.

  Amy now knew that Miriam had only been half correct. Cord had replaced Amy, as Miriam thought. But it wasn’t yesterday. It had been eight months ago. Right after she drowned. The real Amy had been in a coma the entire time. And his behavior over the last two days had nothing to do with a conference in Delphi, he was really handling all the formalities in bringing the real Amy home from the hospital. And returning the fake Amy back to his lab.

  Me!

  And that also meant that while she, herself, thought she’d been the real Amy all along, she was actually the cyborg replacement for Amy. Was that why Cord didn’t love her? Because she wasn’t his real wife? And was that why she could never leave him? Because she was programmed to stay by his side and be his obedient housewife?

  Asshole!

  Amy was certain she’d survive the stabbing and slashing she had endured. She was an android and her ste
el chassis wasn’t damaged in the slightest. Not even scratched. No, what would never recover was this organic, human shell that covered it. Her synthetic skin would be permanently covered with disfiguring scars, but she’d live.

  And now that she understood that she was never human, never going to be human, never going to be repaired, it would have been better if she had never seen the other Amy getting the mail yesterday. She wished Cord would have taken her back to his lab and deactivated her before the real Amy came home. She would have been better off never knowing the truth.

  And with that thought, Amy sat down on the toilet and cried.

  An hour later, Amy had bloody gauze and medical tape all over her body. From her eye, her face, to her chest, to her arms, she was covered with bloody bandages. They weren’t neatly wrapped, nor were they pretty. Because she was unable to stitch herself, she’d have horrendous scars all over her face and body when her wounds healed, but she no longer cared. She only wanted the bleeding to stop.

  And now, Amy sat quietly on the floor, leaning against the wall in the foyer, facing the door, still wearing her shredded and blood-soaked tanktop, and with the real Amy’s knife in her hand. She didn’t even bother hiding the body, cleaning up any of the blood, or turning off the water in the kitchen sink.

  She was done with chores.

  Since she’d been sitting there, Miriam had come by twice. She beat on the door for a while, but Amy refused to answer it. Miriam had even tried different doors, but Amy had made sure the computer had locked each of them, and secured every last one of the windows, then she even remembered to draw all the blinds.

  Miriam was surely going to call the protectorate at some point, and all Amy hoped was that Cord would come home before they arrived. Like Miriam had said, Cord was an asshole. And Amy was going make sure he paid for everything he had done to her over the last twelve years. Not just to herself, but to the real Amy still lying on the kitchen floor.

  Cord was going to pay for every chore he insisted be done to perfection, for every beating he gave both of them, for every foul word that left his lips, for ignoring her, for never allowing either of them to have a kitten, and most importantly, for creating her.

  Over the last day—thanks to Miriam—Amy got a quick education in planning and executing a murder. She was so very calm as she waited for Cord to come home. She wasn’t going to be rash, panicked, squeamish, nor timid. Just like the last murder, there would be no backing out of this one. She was going to take her time. Ever so slowly, she’d take Cord’s life away from him, one small piece at a time. Just like he had done to both the real and fake Amy. And when she was done, she would throw every tiny piece of his nasty ass into the swimming pool.

  After that, she didn’t care if the protectorate showed up.

  She didn’t care if everyone knew what she had done.

  She’d admit it.

  She’d tell everybody.

  Why not?

  She was a machine, after all.

  And if she’s not human, it’s not murder.

  She was no different than a toaster.

  Amy grinned.

  And you can’t try a toaster for murder.

  Walkout Bout

  By Remy Mills

  EDITOR’S NOTE: The rangers’ lifestyle is known by all the colonists of Mars. Rangers have no possessions, they are not allowed to marry, nor have children. Service is for a life. Usually, service in the rangers is punishment and reserved for troublesome citizens who don’t play well with others, but at times there are those that willingly join their ranks.

  Mars, Achaea Colony

  Year: 2254

  Standing in the doorway of the sports arena, Vyktoria Dallas scanned the crowd, waiting patiently for her introduction. It was a full house tonight. This would be her 61st fight as a boxer, and her seventeenth as a pro. After tonight, she’d have one more trophy for her collection, maintaining her undefeated record. She was sure she’d enjoy this victory more than any of the others.

  The arena soon darkened to the roar of an enthusiastic crowd. In the middle of the boxing ring, a man in a black tux addressed the crowd. After the routine welcoming speech, and after announcing the referee and judges, he gestured toward the far end of the arena. He then introduced Vyki’s opponent.

  “In the red corner. The challenger for tonight’s main event. Hailing from the Colony of Elysia. Standing at five-feet, four-inches, and weighing in at 121 lbs., and with a professional record of five wins and three losses-with one win by knockout-ladies and gentlemen, Sara, the Barracuda, Sandoval!”

  Vyki drew a laugh from the spectators near her as she put one of her gloved hands to her mouth and gagged at the girl’s nickname.

  The stadium speakers began pumping out a blaring dance beat. And on the other side of the arena, a spotlight followed the girl as she and her ponytail bounced their way through the crowd and toward the ring.

  Vyki laughed as the crowd gave her a mixed reception of boos and polite applause. She wasn’t surprised by the arena’s indifference. They had no idea who she was. The crowd was here for Vyki, not her smartass opponent with the ridiculous nickname and the shitty dance tune she picked out.

  On paper, the fight seemed one-sided and totally unfair. Even though Vyki was taller, stronger, and more seasoned as a fighter, the girl hounded her for this fight. She wouldn’t give up. At first, Vyki would laugh as she dismissed her.

  “Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash,” Vyki had told her.

  But, the girl continued to taunt Vyki. She was relentless, and Vyki finally had enough. Her mouth got her this fight and Vyki intended to permanently close it with her fists.

  Once her opponent entered the ring, the music ceased, and the crowd quieted. Then the ring announcer gestured toward Vyki.

  “And in the blue corner. The Colony of Achaea’s own hometown champion. Standing at five-feet, eleven-inches, and weighing in at an impressive 159 lbs. of pure muscle. And with a professional record of sixteen wins and no losses-all by knockout-ladies and gentlemen, the undisputed Mars Boxing Association’s Champion of the World... Vyki... the Victorious... Dallas!”

  A spotlight popped on, illuminating Vyki for the arena’s benefit. The stadium filled with an angry and thumping bass beat. With the crowd on their feet and roaring their approval, Vyki strolled down the aisle towards the ring, grinning fiercely. After making her way to the ring, she paused just before entering. She curled her arms to show the crowd her bulging biceps, her well-defined back, and her muscular abs and chest. They cheered again, as they always did. It was all part of the show. She stepped into the ring and made her way to her assigned corner while eyeing the blonde standing confidently on the opposite side of the ring.

  The fight would be easy, Vyki had told herself. Not simply because she’d never lost a professional bout, but she was in her prime and she’d seen her opponent box once before. If the girl’s last bout was any indication, she was nothing. Sloppy. No challenge at all. Vyki would be headed home with another victory under her belt in a few short rounds, easily.

  The female referee gave them their instructions, then stepped back.

  A bell clanged, announcing that the fight had begun.

  Once they began exchanging blows, Vyki’s grin dimmed. It became obvious that her opponent had studiously prepared for this fight. Vyki’s arms seemed heavy and slow in comparison to the lightning fast snip of a girl who knew exactly where to place her blows. The girl was lean and hungry, snapping off jabs to Vyki’s face, and clocking her temples with hooks, almost with impunity. And her footwork was graceful and quick. Vyki was having trouble even hitting the girl who adeptly darted and dodged better than anyone Vyki could remember fighting.

  The fight dragged on. It was the eighth round before Vyki realized it. Fatigue set in. She just wasn’t used to fighting this many rounds.

  On any ordinary day, this girl would’ve already been carried out of the ring. But she was still there, still denying Vyki opport
unities to back her into corners and use her strength. That was Vyki’s only weakness and the girl knew it. And Vyki just couldn’t come up with any way to force her to stand still.

  Vyki was accustomed to brutalizing her opponents early. Usually, after a few rounds of hammering her opponent’s ribs and kidneys with fists like bricks, her opponents could no longer breathe, nor run, nor stand up straight. At that point, the fight would usually be over. Vyki would switch to pummeling her opponent with a series of rapid-fire hooks to the jaws and temples and she’d be headed home with another win for her record. Her strategy had never failed her before.

  In the ninth round, and after a quick right feint by Sara the Barracuda, the girl’s follow-up left hook landed squarely on Vyki’s jaw, spinning her head and scrambling her brain. As Vyki’s mind began to clear, she found herself on her hands and knees. The girl danced away with her gloves held up high over her head and her ponytail bouncing behind her. Vyki was forced to admit, the girl was far better than she gave her credit. The blow was a blur with a bolt of lightning following right behind it.

  With both blood and sweat rolling off her chin, Vyki wanted to get up, but her legs wouldn’t push. Her ears were ringing and the entire arena spun before her eyes. Her limbs felt like they were filled with lead, yet she tried to will herself to her feet. But it was no use. None at all. As the referee looked down at her, she began pointing at the mat. Vyki knew the woman was counting, but she couldn’t make out her words. She couldn’t shake her dizziness. Everything got brighter. Then, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the mat. With the sound of the crowd ringing in her ears, her eyes closed and she was gone.

  When she’d come to, she found herself alone, lying on one of the locker room’s wooden benches. Normally after her matches, this room would be filled with people congratulating her, praising her, telling her how great she was. One loss and now no one seemed to care. And why not? What did she expect? A parade? She was a loser after all. Everyone was in the winner’s locker room. They were all congratulating Sara the Barracuda, telling her how fantastic she was. She had beat the longest reigning champion in Mars’ history.