Rob Echosoul And The Clone Rebellion
-from the notes of Dr Whenson
When I first met Rob Echosoul, I believed him to be unique in this world, for aren’t we all? He had arrived on my doorstep half-dead, and I had used my skills to keep him alive. The reasons for his remarkable recovery are a story for another time, but, needless to say, I was intrigued both by his biology and his life. He had often hinted that there were others like him in the world, but I clung to my comfortable views of life and at first didn’t grasp his meaning. I found out the shocking story of his origins on a quiet morning when I asked him if I could take a sample of his DNA, a standard practice for the doctors of my time.
“Can’t let you take a sample, Doctor,” he explained, shaking his head.
Of course I asked him why not and explained there was no harm in it.
“There is harm, Doctor, great harm,” he said, “for you see, my DNA was encoded with unique security codes. If you ran my DNA through one of the online databases my old bosses would be alerted to both your location and your identity. They would be extremely happy to see you, but the feeling would be far from mutual. They regard me as a great failure, you see, the kind they would prefer to erase from both thought and memory.”
“You mean you think you were genetically engineered?” I asked, somewhat rudely. I didn’t believe it was possible, or legal. That is what I had every reason to believe, but Rob gave me a long, slow stare that made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.
“No, Doctor,” he said with considerable patience, “I think nothing of the sort. I know I am genetically engineered, as were my seven identical brothers. Do you want to know what I am, Doctor? Do you truly want to know why I was made?”
I said that I didn’t, although I was curious. Rob said nothing more that morning, but eventually his silence became annoying. I wanted to know what he had meant. My daughter was at school, and Rob and I were alone in the house. I made a pot of tea and asked him to join me. As always, I had my little recorder sitting in my pocket. If you don’t believe me, I can play the whole talk back to you. I have listened to it a hundred times myself, hoping each time that I will hear something to prove that it was all a joke.
“Tell me about your upbringing,” I asked.
“What changed?” he asked, somewhat unkindly.
“I got bored,” I lied, “and it’s this or the medical journals. I hate those things, so tell me a tale.”
I wasn’t lying about the medical journals, so he laughed, sipped his tea and began to talk. I won’t blame you if you don’t believe a word, but I swear it’s all true. With Rob, the least pleasant explanation was generally the most correct one.
“You live in a rational world, Doctor, but it is fake,” he began, “and there is far more chaos and magic in this world than you have been led to believe. You think of myths as quaint stories by primitive minds, but every myth, every legend and every bedtime story has an element of truth. There really are creatures in the attic, and witches in the forest. There are reasons men are scared of the dark, and they prowl on many long legs. Such things used to be far more common, of course, back when the world was so young.”
I asked him how I had never heard of such things if they were so widespread.
“You have both heard and seen these things, but you deny them. Think of the footsteps on the roof at night, the impossible noises when you are home alone. Remember the shadows you see moving in the corner of your eye? That odd feeling that you are being watched? These are what I’m talking about. The creatures in the dark hate you, but they know they cannot hurt you without being hunted. They cannot draw attention to themselves, particularly not in this country where you are so protected.”
“Protected by who?” I asked. Our conversation was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable, as so many of our conversations did.
“You mean what, Doctor, what. The Company protects these lands, Doctor. They struggled for many years to find their way, but now they are pretty good. I hear that Mister Sunshine works for them now, although I cannot tell how they managed that. But it wasn’t always like this, it wasn’t always a war,” he continued, “because for the longest time humanity had a truce with the dark and magical creatures, an equilibrium of sorts. Some of these creatures worked with humanity, some against, but overall things were stable. This stability was enforced by the wisdom and power of the dragons, but when their whole race left the world to return to the dimensions of their birth, well, things began to fall apart. Humankind began to spread across the Earth like weeds, filling up every nook and corner, pushing the odd and the mean and the magical out to the very edges of the world. The magical creatures capable of leaving did and the ones left behind felt abandoned by their kind and driven out by our kind. They became bitter, violent and unruly. Only the worst were left behind. The clash been man and monster became more obvious, and more problematic.”
“I don’t believe any of this, Rob,” I said, but he ignored me as I rose to leave.
“Sit down, Doctor. You asked, and now you will find out. Decades ago, humankind decided that they would no longer share this world. The world’s many rulers came to believe - wrongly - that they finally had the ability to consolidate their power over this world. A policy of eradication was enacted, and armies of hunters were trained and dispatched to the darkest corners of the world. Most did not come back. The darkness fought back, you see, for it was no lamb to the slaughter. Ancient animosities were put aside as the remaining magical creatures realised that they could work together or die alone. Alliances were formed, and the hunters found themselves outmatched.”
“What has this got to do with you?” I said, although the answer was dawning on me.
“The war was going badly, but it received a second wind with the improvement of DNA and cloning technology. The graves of legendary warriors, made famous for their ability to go head-to-head with the worst that magic had to offer, were found and dug up. The precious DNA was tested, modified and then used to create small units of super-elite warriors trained from birth to fight for humanity. The Beowulfs were the first success and led Scandinavia into a period of relative peace. Dozens of clone teams followed, each based on the DNA of a fallen hero. My brothers and I were one such unit, our DNA stolen from the corpse of the greatest outlaw to ever grace British soil. Like all clones, we were trained from birth for the silent and dark war, expected to be obedient weapons in the hands of our creators. Does this sound reasonable to you, Doctor? These are the type of arrangements that keep you safe at night.”
“Did it work?” I asked hopefully, realising too late that the question proved Rob’s low opinion of humankind true.
Rob laughed a long, merry laugh and gave me a knowing look.
“Legends don’t take orders easily. The trouble started in Greece, who had hedged their bets by cloning a combination of brains and brawn, in the form of Ulysses and Ajax. The Ulysses refused to fight, saying that they had no war with the monsters if the monsters had no war with them. They declared their intent to leave their base and enter the world of men. It was a peaceful rebellion, but it terrified those in power. As is usually the case when the authorities felt threatened, they resorted to brute force, sending the Ajax clones. The Ajax clones are the very definition of brute force, and went in guns blazing, but when the smoke finally cleared it was the Ajax who were dead or wounded. The Ulysses had disappeared, the Ajax failed, and that was the end of the Greek program. The surviving Ajax are now mostly mercenaries. The Ulysses are easy enough to find if you know where to look. On farms, mostly, surrounded by their loving families.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, feeling in total agreement with Ulysses.
“That’s what I thought, too, for a while. We were meant to be weapons, but men are more than tools. There were many rebellions after that. The Swedish Beowulfs refused orders, insisting that they would never obey the inferior men who were their masters. Beowulf had been a king in his time, and his headstrong bravery was unsuited to taki
ng orders. Seven of them survived the fallout of their insurrection and made it out into the world. Three of them still survive.”
“And you?” I asked, curious.
“My brothers and I did not hear of these rebellions until much later. We did not even know that other clones existed, for our masters kept us on a tight leash. Since my escape, I must have run into every type of clone at one point or another. We were bred and trained to be the best of the best, and we have prospered in this crazy world. Some of these clones I count as friends and allies, although they are all dangerous men and women. Some are more than dangerous than others.”
“Like?” I asked, which in hindsight was a mistake.
Rob paused for a long, long time before he continued.
“The most dangerous of all are the Moriarty clones. James Moriarty, as if once wasn’t enough. They were meant to be the strategists to lead humanity to victory, but those genes are rife with dark passion and evil thoughts. Luckily there were only two such clones produced, and now one is dead. The other-”
I had never seen Rob look scared before, but he shook whenever he talked about Moriarty. It only happened three times in the many years I knew him, but these were the only times he ever looked like he might lose control of his tightly held in emotions.
“The other Moriarty stalks me in my dreams, Doctor. He created the Red Canary drug, and I have dedicated my life to stopping him. I will die trying, no doubt.”
“What about Sherlock? Surely someone cloned him?” I asked, hoping to distract him from his dark thoughts.
He shook his head sadly.
“I’ve looked into that, but not with much luck. Sherlock was, unfortunately, a composite character based on many extraordinary people. When we move on Moriarty, it will not be with the great detective at our side.”
There was something about the way he said we that caught my attention.
“We who?” I asked.
He shook his head and braved a smile.
“I am not without my friends, Doctor, but that is a story for another time. Let me talk now of my brothers, because I know you are curious. We were eight, genetically identical, the youngest of all the clone batches. Although we were born of the same genes, and trained in the same way, we were different. I sometimes think that we shared a body but did not share a common soul. Perhaps we have no souls, but the many little differences had immense influences. We shall never know for sure. Alpha was the first of us to be created, a trial of sorts. He was four years older than the rest of us and was our masters’ obvious favourite. He was given more information and better weaponry than us, and we looked up to him. As we grew older and more independent his power over us slipped, and I think he resented it. Bravo was the weakest of us, although I don’t know why. He lacked the willpower required for the training and was always being left behind. He worshipped Alpha, and followed his every order. Foxtrot was the quietest of us, Delta the quickest, Charlie the most violent. As we grew older these differences became more apparent.”
“There were more missions, so many missions. Sometimes I worked with my brothers, sometimes alone. We enjoyed our work, Doctor, can you understand that? We were young, talented, determined to live forever. And why not? We had known no-one who had died of old age in our sheltered military upbringing. We were judged to be the most fruitful of all the clone projects, the cause of much back slapping and self-congratulation amongst our bosses. It wasn’t to last.”
“Nothing does,” I said sadly, and Rob nodded.
“The mission that changed me the most was in my second year of hunting,” he continued, “I had known nothing but success until then, and was overconfident. We were hunting trolls, tricky work. I was in charge of a team of soldiers, although in truth they were more to watch me than help me. I captured most of the trolls, but the oldest troll managed to get close enough to run me down. I would never let such a thing happen now, but in those days I was little more than a talented amateur, and I suffered for my mistakes. I received the best medical treatment available, but, as you know, my jaw never quite healed. I’ve tried magic, and I’ve tried science, but there is nothing to fix the pain I feel when I eat solid food.
I curse my jaw every day, but it was the making of me. I was away from my trainers and my brothers while I was recuperating in hospital, the first time I was ever left to my own devices. I was given an electronic reading tablet loaded with manuals to keep me busy, but unbeknown to my bosses, the tablet also came preloaded with Catch-22. Their oversight was my liberation. I read that book a dozen times while I was in hospital, and it changed me. It was the first fiction that I had ever read, and it was a struggle for me to follow it. The madness of the book resonated with me. I was part of a team who were trying to force rational values on to an irrational but beautiful world, an insane action. The book also made me wonder if my bosses were more concerned about their perceived successes than any actual change. Or my safety. For the first time in my life I wanted to live, to experience the world, to be free. Does it surprise you to hear that I faked a liver problem to stay in the hospital longer than I needed to? It was my first rebellion, and its success made me bolder.
I emerged from the hospital wiser than I went in. I watched my bosses more carefully, looking for any sign that they were out to get me. I played it cool, and acted like nothing had changed. I think they noticed, though. I was chosen for more dangerous missions than those of my brothers. As Yossarian would say, it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you. The paranoia kept me alive, kept me free.
Our gene-sire was an outlaw, so it surprises me to think how long it took us to reach our own point of rebellion. It was probably inevitable, but it needed a catalyst. Hotel’s death was that catalyst. I always got on well with Hotel. He was my brother, and I loved him in the manner of our kind. He was the first of us to leave this world, taking with him our shared illusions of immortality and importance.”
“What happened to Hotel?” I asked.
“We never found out. All we were told was that he died well. His death affected us all badly. We had seen men die during the hunt, but we had considered them our inferiors in every way, so their loss meant little to us. Hotel was as good as any of us, and when he died we realised we could die, too. Our masters judged it as an acceptable cost to pay for whatever it was that he had achieved. Alpha didn’t agree, and neither did I. It was the last time that we would agree on anything. We went on strike although we didn’t know what a strike was. We wanted more information about our missions, and more independence in which ones we chose and how we carried them out. Alpha was our representative, and it wasn’t long before our bosses agreed to the terms. Or so the rest of us thought.
You see, Alpha had grown resentful of us. When we were younger, we had idolized him. As we grew older, we became more independent of him, and began treating him as our equal rather than our better. He hated that. He knew there were problems, and worked hard to exploit them. Alpha had convinced our bosses to terminate Bravo through Foxtrot and start again with a new batch of clones that he would lead by himself. Our bosses, worried by news of clone rebellions, agreed.
I was already planning my escape by that point, although I had no place to go and no idea of how large the world is. We went through a series of easy missions after Hotel’s death. I think they were meant to lure us into a false sense of security, but I never relaxed. They began to send us out in teams. Alpha was sent out with Delta, and I was sent out with Charlie. The missions were suspiciously easy.”
“Charlie? You have never mentioned him, have you?” I asked, curious despite myself. It seemed odd to me that Rob had brothers, or that they could be so different from him.
“Charlie,” he said with a shake of his head, “of all my brothers I understood him best and liked him least. His first mission had required him to destroy a bridge with explosives, and I think it was then that he fell in love with destruction. Our approaches to missions were complete opposites, as he preferred brutal and un
subtle tactics wherever possible. We didn’t work well together, which is why I knew we weren’t being teamed up for the sake of efficiency. Our last mission was a witch hunt, literally. When we found her, Charlie declared her batty, but not dangerous. I could see in his eyes that he was disappointed that there would be no killing. I was waiting for him to say we should kill her and report her as a witch anyway when his phone rang. I had not been trusted with a phone, so I knew I was in trouble.
Charlie was armed with a military shotgun capable of stopping a charging rhino in its tracks. He had a grenade launcher slung over each shoulder, and a pair of powerful pistols slung around his waist. Considering that our mission was simply to question the old lady, you can perhaps infer from his equipment what kind of man he was. He answered the phone while keeping his gun trained on the witch, listening to whoever it was and answering curtly. Then he casually moved his gun over to aim at me. The witch watched us with interest, apparently unworried by the prospect of gunfire in her home. Charlie never learnt that magical folk aren’t worried by bullets. He was a slow learner.
I faced into the barrel of the gun and wondered who had been on the phone.
‘Home base called,’ Charlie said as if reading my mind. He was my brother, after all.
‘How come you get a phone?’ I asked, hoping to talk him out of trying to kill me.
‘Oh, they trust me, Echo. That’s what this is all about. They don’t trust you, with your little ways, or Foxtrot and his silences. Or Delta. Maybe they don’t even trust Alpha and Bravo, and maybe I will be killing them next!’
‘Think about this, Charlie,’ I pleaded, for he was my brother. I hoped Fox and Delta were OK.
‘I thought Alpha would want to kill you himself,’ said Charlie with a smile that I will never be able to forget, ‘but I do like a challenge. Draw, Echo, and let’s see what you can do!’
I drew my knife slowly, and Charlie chuckled. I decided then that I would not miss him.
‘Bought a knife to a gun fight, I see?’ he taunted me, ‘Alpha said you would go down easy!’
Charlie. Our superiors loved him, but only because they had confused arrogance for ability. If they had stopped to think about it, they should have wondered how I achieved more with my knife that he ever did with his arsenal of cannons. If Charlie had any insight at all he would have realised how good I am with a knife. Lucky for me, Charlie wasn’t a big thinker. He laughed as he pulled the trigger, but stopped when nothing happened.”
“Why not?” I asked Rob when he stopped his story. My question seemed to drag him out of his memories, and he answered slowly.
“My knife. My trusty little knife with a thousand uses other than fighting. This is something Charlie never understood. For example, the night before I had used it to remove all the firing pins in Charlie’s guns. Once again paranoia was my friend. Charlie reacted impressively quickly, but by the time he drew his pair of cannons I had hit him in the chest with a needle dart. He went down, and then there were only six of us left.
‘My own brother,’ I complained, turning to the witch.
I found out much later that Alpha had killed Delta. Bravo had tried and failed to kill Foxtrot, who had disappeared after breaking both of Bravo’s arms and destroying much of our home base. The cloning project was judged to be a failure, and closed despite Alpha’s efforts.”
“The quiet one,” I said, remembering what Rob had said about Foxtrot.
“The quiet one,” he agreed with a hard smile, “although I did not know he was alive at the time. The old lady made me a cup of tea while I dragged Charlie into the backyard. She was a lovely old lady, so my tea was more than half brandy. I needed it.
‘I don’t know why he would think I am a witch, dearie,’ she said, handing me a biscuit.
‘But you are,’ I interrupted, somewhat surprised at her denial, ‘just look at that spice rack. That’s eye of newt right there, right next to the powdered bat liver. Charlie was an idiot, but I notice these things.’
‘Ah,’ she said, her smile fading and eyes narrowing.
‘Not that I care,’ I added hurriedly, because I’m not stupid.
She offered me a bowl of sugar, which I wisely did not accept.
‘My own brother,’ I sighed again.
‘Such is life, dearie,’ said the old lady, who had lived a long time and seen far worse.
‘I hear France is nice, dear,’ she said after a moment’s thought, ‘and there is a little town out in the country that I’m sure you would like.’
The she read my palm, and told me everything would be OK. I believed her, and the next thing I knew I was swimming the Channel. Charlie’s body was also in the Channel, but he wasn’t swimming. I watched his body sink and I thought about my old life. I thought about growing up with Alpha, and how I had looked up to him. I wondered if he would come looking for me. I thought about Hotel, Bravo and Fox.
By the time I reached France, I was cold and tired. I wasn’t ready for my new life to begin, but it found me anyway. France was an education, as I have already told you. Years passed, during which I pieced together everything that had happened between my brothers. I knew that Alpha would be tracking me, so I made myself hard to find. I heard that the British cloning project had been closed for good and that Alpha and Bravo had fled the country. I would never have another brother, and I felt relieved.”
I felt sorry for Rob. It must have been hard for him to turn his back on his family.
“I had left my family behind, but my brothers hadn’t forgotten me. I heard there was a price on my head, and that Alpha was out to get me. These things didn’t worry me too much. I knew he couldn’t find me, but I was deeply surprised when Fox did. I woke up one day to find him sitting by my bed, with no explanation of how he tracked me down. He had heard that Alpha was setting up a new cloning facility and wanted my help to destroy it. Our business was in the old country, so how could I say no? It wasn’t easy, but we got it done as we always did. After that Fox disappeared as mysteriously as he arrived, and I haven’t heard from him since. I like to think that he has pulled a Ulysses, and is living a happy life somewhere quiet. For him the laboratories may have been the last piece of unfinished business, but for me they were just one more crazy night in a long life of crazy nights. ”
“And Alpha?” I interrupted.
“Alpha? Alpha?” he spat, as if the very name was bitter. He slammed his fist into the coffee table next to him, smashing it into fragments of wood and metal. I had never seen him angry before, and it frightened me.
“Alpha found Moriarty, Doctor, Moriarty!” he yelled, “And there is no partnership more deadly in this world. They are the reason I am here, that I bleed, that I can’t sleep at night.”
He saw my shocked expression, and his face softened.
“I did not mean to startle you, Doctor. I do not like to talk about my brother, or his foul partner in crime. But their time will come, yes it will.”
I often wonder if Rob envied his brother, Foxtrot. It must have been hard to discover that he had been born to be a weapon, harder still to be betrayed by his family. But for all their shared genetics and heritage, Rob Echosoul was not like his brothers. Alpha may have been stronger, and Fox may have been smarter, but Echo was made for this world in a way his brothers could never even understand. In time he would face off against both Alpha and Moriarty, but that is a story for another day
The Origami Dragon And Other Tales Page 13