by Todd Young
“Oh, shit. Oh, shitting fuck!” Creig’s chair scraped loudly across the polished floor as he pushed himself away from the table.
Theo sat still for a minute, hiccupped, and then turned to Riley, his face pale. “I said I don’t like fish.”
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Akam had a shower, cleaned his teeth, turned the lights out, and then got into bed. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
It was good to have his apartment back, and good, for a change, to be alone in it. Still, he was worried about Theo, and even more so about Riley. Riley had been very quick to leave and they hadn’t really had a chance to talk. Akam had thought of plenty of things he would have liked to say to him since he’d left.
Theo wasn’t really prepared for company, and he hoped Riley wasn’t going to leave him alone with Creig. He couldn’t really be expected to hold a conversation. There were so many things he didn’t know, and even now, Akam didn’t exactly understand where he’d been or how he’d lived. He’d barely spoken the first couple of days, and then he’d slept so much.
Akam had talked to him about the government, and about New York. He had tried to explain how life was lived here. Theo wasn’t stupid, and he picked up on things pretty quickly, but even so, every time Akam thought he’d got a point across, he realized there was a whole other chunk of information Theo was missing.
He wasn’t very forthcoming about the military installation, but he’d told Akam some of it. It was a training facility, a facility designed to train clones, specifically, it seemed, and apparently Theo had lived his entire life there. All of his experiences revolved around a very strict schedule, and from the way Theo told it, the officers had been cruel. Most of the training seemed to involve mock combat with other soldiers, or theoretical situations involving complex holograms. He was proficient in mixed martial arts, among other things, and when Akam hadn’t understood what this meant, Theo had got up and shown him some of his moves. It was frightening more than anything else, but most likely why Erran wanted to draft Theo, along with the other clones they’d rescued, into their unit.
Akam had stretched the truth a little with Riley. He’d been boasting when he said the resistance had rescued more than a hundred clones. It most likely had, but he knew little about it. Akam and the other members of his unit had had nothing to do with it. They hadn’t even guessed at the existence of any rescue operations until a little over three weeks ago, when July received a report from a unit based in Georgia. The report outlined operations carried out there, and of operations carried out in California and Arizona. The information gave them the bare facts needed to carry out an operation themselves, and from this they’d guessed at the number of clones living freely in the country.
Akam sighed.
He hadn’t been really been fair to Riley. Until Friday, and it was only five days ago, he hadn’t know anything about clones being freed at all.
He’d been with the unit for roughly two months. It had been difficult to find them, and once he had, they hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms. He’d had to prove himself, and he hadn’t been trusted with anything until Friday. It was late afternoon when Erran pulled him aside, ushered him into his office, and told him to be ready to go in the morning. He said he was being brought into an operation and that it was live. He briefly outlined it, said they were going up to Schenectady, to a military installation, and that they’d be bringing a group of clones back with them — seven clones who had been scheduled for termination. As it turned out, there were eight, which is how Akam ended up with Theo in his apartment, when he in fact had no place for him.
Erran didn’t like Akam, and he made this very clear. He didn’t trust him, and didn’t fill him in on any of the details. Akam had had to piece it together himself more or less, and it was only on Saturday morning, as they neared Schenectady, that he got a sense of the whole picture. By then it was snowing heavily, and it was bitterly cold. Erran was driving, Akam was in the passenger seat, and July between them. They were travelling in a black, unmarked van, in a van of the same type and model as that used by one of Erran’s contacts, a contact who was contracted by the military to remove waste from an incinerator at the site. Although he hadn’t known it at first, the contractor had learned over time that it was human waste he was carrying.
Erran’s second contact was a military man, a corporal, whose job it was to march the clones scheduled for termination into the incinerator, which turned out to be a room, more or less, in which ten or fifteen men could stand. Akam had seen it himself. It had an enormous steel door, which was closed on the clones, who had no idea what was about to happen. The corporal, whose job it was to fire up the incinerator after he’d marched them in, had a troubled conscience.
The terminations were scheduled at the same time each month, according to a roster, and the corporal, whose name was Simpkins, knew the clones he put to death personally. His contact with them had been minimal, but he was tired of it, he said. They were as human as he was, but had failed the rigorous military training, and had been deemed not fit to go to war.
Getting onto the grounds was simple, as the checkpoint was manned by an automated system, one that used cameras, voiceprints and palm prints, and these were systems the resistance knew how to crack. Once past the checkpoint, they drove for more than a mile, past a series of enormous, dark buildings, organized together in clusters, before Akam, who was reading from a map, told Erran to pull in to the one ahead. They drove down a long, sloping drive, and then right into the building through a black rolling door that opened at their approach.
They were late, as it turned out, and the clones were already assembled, ready to be marched into the incinerator. They were standing in a broad, concrete space, and as they jumped out of the van, Akam’s heart was pounding. Erran raised his hand to Simpkins, and the relief on the man’s face was visible. There were eight, rather than seven, and Simpkins was checking his tablet. He stepped forward, greeted them, and Akam glanced over his shoulder at the clones, who looked unremarkable enough, an assembled group of soldiers in bulky blue uniforms. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t expected to see Riley, standing at the back of the group, a little apart from the others.
“Riley?” he said. “Riley?” He ran forward.
It had taken minutes before he understood. They had had to go, but by then he’d learned that it wasn’t Riley but a clone, 8T3O, as Theo had been called before they gave him a new identity.
On the way home they discussed the coincidence, along with the difficulty of having an extra clone. When July asked Akam if he’d take 8T3O, he’d said yes, at least provisionally, though they’d have to find some other arrangement fairly quickly. She knew of his situation, of his imprisonment and of all that had happened to him. His probation officer’s visits were scheduled weekly, but someone might arrive unannounced. It simply wasn’t safe for him to keep a clone at his apartment, and so, over the following few days they’d found Riley, checked him out, and then today, Akam had made contact.
It had all happened so quickly, and Akam was uneasy about it. It had been Erran’s idea to link Theo to Riley and ask him for help, and right at the moment, Akam wished he’d never mentioned his friend. If it wasn’t for the shock of the situation, he wouldn’t have.
Erran was a belligerent character, and very obviously attracted to July. He was second in command, and when Akam first joined, and saw them together, he thought they were a couple. Then, when he realized that they weren’t, that that hadn’t happened, at least yet, he’d been happy. July was everything he liked in a woman, strong, decisive, levelheaded, cool in a crisis, and beautiful, at least to him. Erran was the opposite, hot-tempered, rash, unpredictable, and cocky. He liked to go on and on about how inept the CPF was, about how it failed, time and time again, to catch on to resistance activities. The resistance had the upper hand, he said, because the CPF relied so heavily on its automated systems, which, for the most part, the resistance was able to circumvent.
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The CPF, or the Citizen Protection Force, had swallowed federal, state and local policing years ago, along with most of the national security responsibilities of the FBI. Aside from the FBI, it was the sole law enforcement organization in the country. While the FBI now worked secretly, employing undercover agents, usually working alone, agents called skulkers by the public, the CPF operated in plain sight, parading around in bizarre, military style uniforms.
Erran thought they were a joke. In his opinion the FBI posed a much larger threat. He told a story he’d heard about an FBI skulker who’d been embedded with a resistance cell for more than three years before he was finally uncovered. And when he said this, he kept his eyes pointedly on Akam, though that had been a few weeks ago now.
Akam wasn’t so sure Erran was right about the CPF. He could see what he meant to a certain extent. All public spaces — streets, parks, stations, stadiums — were monitored by minicams and microphones. Everything anybody said or did was recorded, and their thumbprints tracked. But all of it was analyzed by computerized systems, systems intelligent enough to pick up on certain patterns, though not intelligent enough to catch people who knew how to override them. It appeared the CPF trusted its systems implicitly, though in the past few years, the resistance had managed to break into all of them, to the point where they could now create new identities with impunity, identities that were as solid as any certified by the CPF itself.
Akam wondered, however, if the CPF wasn’t aware of their activities nevertheless, if it didn’t in fact have human points of contact within it’s systems, and wasn’t simply accumulating data until it had enough information to take the resistance out in its entirety. He’d suggested this to July, who had listened. Erran had simply rubbished the idea.
Akam turned over and checked the time. He couldn’t sleep now, so he got up and poured himself a glass of water. He stood in the kitchen, in the darkness, drinking it. After Emily had been tomorrow, he’d go into the hub and report to July. He’d tell her everything had gone as well as could be expected with Riley. He supposed it had, but he wished Riley had stayed longer.
July would be pleased Theo had gone. She’d been worried about the danger it posed to him, he was sure she had been. There were times when she looked at him, and he could see something in her eyes, some hint of affection. He simply had to bring himself to speak, to tell her how he felt.
He got back into bed, then put his hand under the covers and touched what was left of his scrotum, a patch of skin. It wasn’t so bad. He’d been deeply depressed for a year or more after the surgery, but now felt that it wasn’t the end of the world. They were supplying him with testosterone, which meant he could function normally enough. He didn’t know how July felt about children, but really, that was the only difference it made. If she wasn’t set on them, and not interested in Erran, then maybe he had a chance.
8
Riley closed his bedroom door and locked it. Theo wandered toward the window and put his hands on the sill. Creig had yelled at him, had called him an idiot. Then he’d stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. Theo and Riley had cleaned the mess together, but Theo hadn’t spoken.
“Are you okay?”
Theo shrugged.
“He doesn’t mean it. He won’t remember it tomorrow.”
“I hate being yelled at.”
“Yeah? Me too.”
Theo turned. All the joy in his face had drained away, and he looked tired now, and possibly on the verge of tears. They stared at one another quietly, and for some reason Riley felt as though he ought to hug Theo, but he didn’t do this.
“I’m going to take a shower. You be okay in here on your own?”
“Sure I will.”
He was angry.
Both bedrooms had an en-suite bathroom. Riley grabbed a clean pair of boxers from his dresser, stepped past Theo, and closed the door. He stood silently for a moment, then walked toward the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaned forward, and studied his face. He took a step back, turned side-on, and looked over his shoulder at his ass. He frowned. If they were different, he couldn’t see it. Maybe the expression in Theo’s eyes was different, the expression on his face. He took a step back and unzipped his windbreaker. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, and then stood staring at himself, at his chest and abs. He hadn’t seen Theo shirtless, but he guessed they’d look the same. It’d be interesting to see.
He spun the faucet and stepped into the stall, laying his head back and letting the water stream over his body. What a day! Work, and then … what the hell had happened? He’d seen Akam across the street when he came out, hadn’t thought much of it, but then had seen him outside the cafe. He’d thought it a coincidence, but when he’d seen him on Second Avenue he’d panicked. What if he had been a skulker?
He shook his head. If that ever happened, if the FBI ever got hold of him and he ended up like Akam … Hell, he couldn’t live with that. The shame of it … and if Marlow found out …?
Poor Akam. He’d often wondered what had happened to him, though it wasn’t like you could ask. No one spoke about that sort of thing. It was the first time Riley had heard of someone being castrated, though. Was that what they did? To everyone? He’d had a vague idea you were locked up, maybe forever. They said they were ridding the country of deviants, they said that often enough. But Akam was free, and Riley hadn’t even recognized him. Though that was the clothes more than anything, and he’d lost a lot of weight.
He reached for the gel and started to soap himself, and then thought of Theo, in the bedroom on his own. It was almost as though there was a mirror in the wall here, and he was reflected on the other side of it. Theo was a little frightening, really, and if he didn’t start getting the picture soon, he was going to get both of them into trouble.
Riley closed his eyes. “Wine,” he muttered, “and handshakes ... and snow, and …” and who knew what else? He’d have to talk about those things before they went to sleep. And then tomorrow, Theo would be alone here. What was he going to do all day? Riley could give him something to read, and he could watch 3TV. He’d be sure to pick up plenty from that, but what the hell had they taught him if he didn’t even know how to shake hands, if he hadn’t been outside? He must have been outside, at least briefly, or how the hell would he have got to Akam’s?
He rinsed his body, shampooed his hair quickly, and then got out. He dried himself, but didn’t want to look in the mirror naked. He slung the towel over the rail, reached for his boxers and realized he didn’t have a T-shirt. He slept in boxers, so he’d naturally grabbed those, but now he’d have to walk out there bare-chested, and after what had happened at Akam’s … when they hugged … He frowned. He reached for his T-shirt and lifted it to his nose. Hell, no. He couldn’t put that on. He’d worn it to work.
He reached for his jeans and his briefs slipped out, skimpy briefs he’d been wearing all day, a red pair. He bent to pick them up and saw a patch of that clear, slippery stuff that came out of his penis when he was excited. He didn’t know if that was normal and he’d worried about it a lot when he was younger, but lately he’d been thinking it must be okay. No one ever talked about sex, you weren’t supposed to, so he didn’t know everything there was to know, though he definitely knew what semen was — cum. He’d heard a guy say that somewhere, a guy on the street. It was just this clear stuff. Where did that come from?
He bundled his dirty clothes into the hamper, everything but for his jacket, and then stood nervously with the jacket in one hand. He brushed a palm over his chest, glanced at his abs, and hoped he didn’t get hard again. His boxers were a little bulky, but very thin, white with pale blue stripes. He felt naked, and could feel his penis dangling, loose and unprotected.
He opened the door. Theo was standing in profile, in front of the dresser, looking at Riley’s toy car collection. The dresser was wide and long, maybe six foot long, with two sets of wide drawers, and Riley had his model cars displayed along it.
&nb
sp; Theo spoke without looking up. “What are these?”
“Cars.”
“Yeah, but they’ve got wheels.”
“They’re old cars, cars from, like, fifty, a hundred, a hundred fifty years ago, some of them.”
“Why are they so small?”
“They’re models. Toys. I made them.”
“You made them?”
“They come in kits, like in a package, from a toy store. They’re all in pieces and you glue them together.”
Theo nodded, then jerked his head suddenly, catching a glimpse of Riley, half naked in the doorway. He straightened up and stared, looked at Riley’s abs, and chest, and then at his thighs. His eyes grew wide. He lifted them to Riley’s.
Riley’s hand jerked, his jacket swinging. He turned and hung it on the back of the bedroom door.
“You look the same as me.”
“I know.”
“It’s weird, ’cause I’m used to looking at myself.”
“I know. Me too.”
“How come we look the same?”
Riley stopped. He’d been about to cross the room, to the window, thinking he’d put his back to it and lean against the sill. “Didn’t Akam tell you we looked the same?”
“Yeah. He said we were identical. Genetically. That we had the same DNA, the same deoxyribonucleic acid.” He stumbled over the pronunciation a little, but kept going. “That’s the main constituent of chromosomes, he said.”
“Is it?”
“Akam said it was. He said that DNA defines what you look like, and that we have the same DNA.”
“Yeah. We do.” He crossed the room, turned and gripped the windowsill, then glanced down at his feet. Surely Akam had told Theo what he was.
“How come?”
“What?”
“How come we’ve got the same DNA?”
Riley took a breath, and then blew it through his mouth, lifting his bangs. He lifted his eyes. “Do you know what a clone is, Theo?”
Theo shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve been called that, though — a stupid, worthless clone … a stupid, fucked up clone … a dumb cloner? Is that what you mean?”
