“I know. I know. Let’s get this done with.”
Dean nodded. “Hold the light.” He undid the latches and grabbed the lid. After a brief hesitation, Dean lifted it.
Dean’s eyes closed.
A groan of painful defeat seeped from Robbie and the flashlight toppled from his hand into the open casket. He dropped to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, God. What did I do?” Robbie buried his face in his hands. “What did I do, Dean?”
“Robbie you had every reason to think the way you did. Hell I did,” Dean said. He couldn’t look. One glance was all he needed to confirm that Joe was in there.
“Let’s just go. I have to look at a different angle.”
“We need to find who helped him and why. OK. I’ll help you in any way I can. After all, what else do I have to do?”
“Thanks, Dean.”
“I’ll close this up,” Dean said. “I’ll just need your help putting the lid back on the tomb.”
Robbie nodded.
Dean knew he had to get the flashlight. Holding the casket lid open with one hand, he reached inside. Grab it. Close it. Go. His fingers gripped the light, and as he pulled it from the coffin, the beam shot over Joe.
Dean paused.
“Robbie.” He whispered. “Robbie …”
“What?” Robbie said defeated.
“What’s the one thing your father always teased Frank about?” Dean asked, holding the flashlight on Joe.
“Being dumb?”
“No. What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Robbie. Joe joked, teased, and rubbed it in. What?”
“Dean,” Robbie nearly snapped. “What? Why’s this important.”
“Think, Robbie. I need you to say it. I need you to remember it. How old is Frank?”
Robbie grumbled. Just as he was about to spew out Frank’s age, he sputtered the answer Dean sought. “Gray hair. Frank has gray hair.”
“And your father.”
“About four strands. Why?”
“Come here,” Dean said.
“No, Dean.”
“Robbie, why are you here tonight? Your father’s prints were on that bomb. You wanted to see who was buried here. We opened this coffin; we looked at the face and body. But we didn’t look. Come here.”
Robbie slowly stood and walked over.
“Look.”
“I can’t.”
“Look!” Dean blasted. The beam of the light shone on the face. “I knew your father well. You knew your father well. If he had ten gray hairs, he was lucky. To the best of my knowledge, hair doesn’t turn gray in a month post mortem. Look.”
Robbie’s eyes widened when he saw where Dean indicated.
“Hold this.” Dean said of the lid.
Robbie did.
Dean brought the light closer, and moved the hair above the right temple. There was a distinctive path of gray. The same was said for the other said. “See.”
“My ... my father wasn’t gray when he died.”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“That’s gray hair.”
“Yep.”
“And it didn’t turn gray …”
“Impossible.” Dean said.
“Dean …” Robbie breathed heavily. “Dean … is this a clone.”
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I don’t know. I could find out with examination. But exam or not. I know one thing. I know for sure, this isn’t Joe.”
“Then if it’s not him.” Robbie looked at Dean, then to the body. “Who is it?”
“And a bigger question.”
Robbie swallowed, and spoke breathless. “Where is my father?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
March 30th
If he was exhausted, Dean could only imagine how Robbie felt. They didn’t get back to Dean’s house until just before six AM. Robbie had to hurry to Beginnings. His shift was starting. He told Dean there were things he had to do, and he’d send the computer equipment requested, out with John Matoose when John made the afternoon visit.
That worked for Dean. As long as Robbie didn’t say what the equipment was for.
He didn’t think John would ask. After all, Dean had to find things to do while out there.
But Robbie was unable to return until later that evening. Too much to do, plus, he had to get some rest.
Dean was fine with that, that afforded him work time, and time to sleep.
But would he be able to sleep?
Art first, the discovery of the Joe double was hard to swallow. Even Dean doubted his initial finding of the gray hair, wondering if it were wishful thinking. But the more he looked, the more he realized there were differences.
To confirm or deny it was Joe, Dean had test to perform.
Only problem was, they couldn’t bring the body back. They couldn’t exhume it.
They spend hours taking photographs. Entire body photographs. Skin samples, hair samples. Cultures. Anything and everything Dean needed to make that determination.
There were things Dean noted mentally, then photographed close up.
But he wouldn’t even be able to look at the photos until Robbie brought out the second computer and line to download the pictures.
The body identity, or rather, dismissal of identity was a vital piece of the puzzle. One, Dean was pretty sure, he could confirm before the next day. But that was only one piece. After that was found, Robbie still had the whole picture to complete. And to Dean, it was abstract, and was not going to be an easy task.
<><><><>
It was weird to Roy sleeping in Dean’s bed. However, he couldn’t go back to the trailer, not if everyone thought he was Dean.
He had to stay at Dean’s place. The night was a blur. Ellen brought him back to the house, they giggled a lot.
She said that his roommate Richie wasn’t home. Roy wasn’t sure how he felt about having a roommate, or even who Richie was.
He’d find out.
He remembered the bed spinning when he laid down. He didn’t understand how Dean slept that way. Perhaps some people in Beginnings liked their bed spinning. He couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. He looked everywhere, finally he fell asleep.
The spinning bed caused a massive headache the next day. Making the headache worse were Dean’s selection of clothes.
How did he have so many black tee shirts? Boring.
In the back of the closet, Roy found an interesting green striped shirt and placed that on. It was appropriate for office work.
He showered and stepped out to the ‘sweet’ smell of body fragrance spray.
That had to be his roommate, because Roy couldn’t find any body fragrance in Dean’s things.
The whiff grew stronger and a blur of a small person shot by him.
“Morning, Dean.”
Before Roy could register what weather pattern to use, the person was on the stairs.
“Morning … Richie.” Roy snapped his finger. “Richie.”
“Yeah.” Richie stopped halfway up the stairs.
“Do you have any of the sweet smell stuff you’re wearing? It smells good. I want to smell good.”
“On my dresser,” Richie said and headed down the steps. “Coffee should be done.”
“Thanks.”
And he was gone.
Thinking, ‘Boy he moves fast’, Roy went into the other room, and found the bottle that he assumed was the smelly stuff. It was stronger smelling than what Richie had on, so Roy only dabbed a little.
Smells.
That was the difference.
Dean’s house had smells the trailer did not. Smells that were nice.
Like coffee.
Something else.
“Jess worked night last night,” Richie said. “Relieved me and gave me some of his Mexi Mix Eggs.” The microwave beeped and Richie opened the door. “There’s plenty if you want some.”
Roy sniffed. “Wow the
y smell good.”
“They are. I just wish I could enjoy a plate. I’m in a hurry.” Richie tossed a spoonful on a piece of bread and folded it. He took a bite, washed it down with coffee.
“Are you sure?” Roy asked. “I’d love some.”
“Have some. Can’t stay and eat with you, though.”
“That’s fine. I hope it helps this headache. The spinning made my head hurt.”
Richie laughed. “Did you drink a lot last night?”
“Of what?” Roy asked.
“Alcohol.”
“Oh, yes.” Roy nodded. “I drank Frank under the table.”
“No wonder you have a headache.” Richie shook his head. “That would do it. Since you don’t do it much, coffee and a big old glass of water works for me.”
“Thank you. I’ll try that.”
“See ya later.”
“Have a good day.”
Mid wave, Richie was gone.
“Boy, he moves fast.” The first thing Roy did was pour and drink a huge glass of water. It caused a knot in his stomach, which almost spawned vomiting. Roy stayed in control. He took a small plate of the colorful eggs and a cup of coffee to the dining area.
He sat at the table and reached for his cup. The second he brought it to his nose, he flashed back.
Coffee.
“Coffee,” General Spade set down a small paper bag. “You don’t know how fortunate you are to have this. Not everyone is issued coffee once a month.”
General Spade. For the longest time Roy thought the general was his Uncle. He remembered when the general was a major, accompanying another general during visits. Then Spade took over the project.
“I need this,” Roy said. “It keeps me moving for all the work you give me.”
“I know. That’s why you get top priority.”
Neither General Spade, nor any other military man was anything like in the history books or portrayed in Happy Days. He didn’t wear ribbons and pins. He had two stars on the lapel of his black uniform and that was it.
General Spade looked around. He laid another small bag down. “The wife made you a sweet bun.”
“Mrs. Spade is the best.” Roy smiled. He recalled the first time he saw Mrs. Spade. She came with the general and Roy was only twelve. She stood by the window looking in. When Roy made eye contact with her, she tilted her head and gave a Marion Cunningham, mom like smile. Roy walked to the observation window that day and stood closer than he had ever stood to anyone there. His fingers touched upon the glass and she reached for him.
Roy snapped out of that memory when he saw the general tapping his fingers on the bag.
Roy felt the bag. The softness of the sweet bun, and under, a hard feel. Roy nodded.
“I’ll leave you be. Can you get that done today?”
“Yes. Although the laser still does not seem to be cutting through the adult LEP skin.”
“Try.”
“I will.”
“You’ll see why.” General Spade said, and then a few seconds later he left Roy’s domain.
Roy had lived in the same loft style place for as long as he could remember. One giant area separated into living and lab space.
Always, there was an observation window.
Someone was always watching him.
He slid the sweet bun from the bag and then turned the bag over. Taped to the bottom was a tiny black flat cartridge. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the news player.
Such high tech. Roy was privileged to it, but that wasn’t the way of the world.
He had never been outside the walls of his room, ever. Artificial sun gave him color, but then again, artificial sun gave a lot of people color.
Only those truly privileged, rich, or in command had access to the high tech equipment. All equipment that Roy had invented in his lifetime.
The rest of the world … it saddened Roy.
He could see out his window what it was like.
Buildings of the past were partly destroyed. Tents were roofs as people lived like vagabonds in the streets. They begged for food, and waited anxiously for the food carts to come around.
What happened to the world?
The news cartridge told him, and the news cartridge was the reason for General Spade’s visit. Ulterior motive.
The LEPS, or as Beginnings called them, grown up killer babies, had exceeded the normal human population.
They not only were a civilization of their own, but humans from a faraway land commanded them.
The LEPS were devastating. The only way to get them were to use the invisible suits, because then the LEPS couldn’t+58/q see, smell, or sense the hunting soldiers.
But they were outnumbered because there was no simple way of killing them.
They were created to withstand the elements, and they did. Even the elements of war.
They were they only ones who progressed.
No one else had the initiative to bounce back after the war.
They started to after the plague, but then came the Great War, and that was it.
It took decades and Danny Hoi to build back technology. Even then, that was a struggle.
They had to beat the odds. Danny did his best to try to invent a means of fighting, but they couldn’t. The world just didn’t have it to bounce back. At least not everyone. The only way to remain alive was to pocket different areas of civilization. A lottery was the only way people moved into the pockets, unless they were farmed into this world. The rest of the population would try to fend for themselves with help of the government.
But even the protected pockets weren’t completely safe.
Most of the money the government had, went to technology. Building a population to protect and farm, another large chunk went to defense; the tiny bit remaining went to the people.
Roy wasn’t paid for anything he did.
He was fed, protected, and given anything he needed.
He had to be protected. He had to be sheltered. That was the plan. Roy would be fed information that they wanted him to have and only information pertinent to survival.
As he ejected the cartridge from the news player, he noticed something else on the bag.
“Happy Birthday, Roy.”
Roy smiled. It was his birthday. Funny. He was alive for thirty-nine years, but his embryo had been created over eighty years before that.
He remembered the birthdays of his youth.
Movies, old television series, old Hoi Vision shows, all courtesy of Danny Hoi.
He never got to speak to Danny. Not speak personally, they communicated via messaging. Roy was told it was because Danny knew Dean Hayes and didn’t want any influence, but he saw Danny Hoi often, through the observation window. He imagined Danny’s voice and how it sounded. Deep, and with authority.
Roy was Danny’s brainchild.
That was what General Spade had told him.
When a world void of scientists and brilliant doctors started being ravished by disease, Danny was the one who came up with the idea to bring back the mind of Dean Hayes.
He knew where the clone was hidden in the old world of Beginnings. It was Danny who created the artificial womb, he had information and education pumped in utero to Roy.
It was Danny who dictated that Roy would exceed Dean’s intelligence capabilities. Theorizing that if unscathed by the world, uncomplicated by life, a great mind would be a vat and develop as such.
It did.
Danny would give Roy things to invent, or take one step further than he did.
Danny Hoi invented up until the day he died. He lived a long life. Way past a hundred years old.
Despite the blood recharging transfusion that Roy created, Danny’s body simply wore out.
It was empty for a while after Danny.
It was that emptiness that stayed with Roy. It was also Danny Hoi that made him plot and plan for over half his life on what he could do.
He didn’t know the younger Danny Hoi that lived in Beginnings
. He looked different, thinner. But he knew the mature Danny of the post world of the Great War.
The Great War was the turning point.
It had been said that had the Great War not had happened, or been handled differently, the world would have turned out differently.
How Roy wanted to live in a world like Happy Days or like Beginnings.
“If you could go back and change it would you?” Roy asked Danny during a messaging session. Roy was all but about Twenty-five. Danny was in the final years of his life.
“You mean time travel?” Danny responded.
“Yes. Like they had in Beginnings.”
“To determine the point would be difficult,” Danny said. “There are lots of points. I would if I could. If I could figure out where. The mind isn’t as quick now.”
“So you would?”
“If I could. The world was not meant to be like this. History was not meant to be like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Would the world be different, Danny?”
“Yes. Very. I told you this before. You’re like a child with a bedtime story. You have to hear it over and over.”
“I like to hear it,” Roy typed. And he did. Many times Danny shared the story of the Aragon Window, and a future Dean told of when he went through.
Danny continued, “But even if I could. Time travel was outlawed decades ago and the regressionator destroyed.”
“Was the research data?”
No response.
“Can you get me the research data of Dr. Godrichson, Danny?”
“Please erase that last line and clear the memory of your computer.”
Roy was taken aback by that, and more surprised that Danny ended the conversation.
But Danny sent him a box three days later.
A box no one else could make heads or tails out of.
A note accompanied it.
A note that simply said. “It is a secret. It shall always be a secret. Do what you can. Let no one know.”
Danny.
The time machine, or HG Wells was Roy’s side project for a decade. But he was smart about it … of course. Even though no one was supposed to know, chances of his observers knowing were great. Therefore he invented two.
Consigning Fate: Beginnings Series Book 23 Page 25