I could not speak so I said nothing, but my thoughts centered on murder.
“One of your buddies died this morning. He had a death reflex. I hear he was sitting right next to you, and I bet you didn’t even notice. Some killer you turned out to be, Harris. The way I hear it, you sat there and watched your buddy die.”
I did not believe what he said about a clone’s dying. I could remember almost everything that happened. I now had a clear understanding about what Sunny did to me when she wheeled me into the operating room. I knew about the electricity and the gas.
Franklin said, “Sunny says you’re fighting the treatment. I think she’s making it up. She just wants more time with you…psychotic bitch.”
He thought for a moment, then he said, “You know what…Let’s see if you remember this.” He lowered his pants and urinated into my face, then he laughed. He was sitting on my rack, pointing at me and laughing, when Sunny arrived.
Franklin had posed me so that I faced the door. He probably wanted me to see Sunny’s reaction when she entered the cell. So there I sat with my pants and my underwear down around my ankles, urine dripping down my face.
Franklin had the cruel laugh of a teenage thug. “Look at that, Sunny, I made a living sculpture.”
Without saying a word, Sunny turned and started to march out of the cell. Franklin grabbed her arm, and she slapped him hard across the face. He said, “You’re not going to tell anybody.”
“Like hell I’m not,” she said, and she pounded her fists into his chest. He was short but strong. Her fists bounced off him as if they were balloons.
“What do you think Silas is going to say when I tell him how you’ve been servicing the clone?” Franklin asked. “I watched you last night. It looks like you’re losing your touch.”
She started to slap him across the face, but Franklin caught her hand. He asked, “Do you do that with all the clones, or are you giving the Liberator special treatment?” He was still gripping Sunny’s wrist when she slammed her knee into his groin.
She said, “I have work to do.”
Franklin might have been strong, but he wasn’t ready for that shot to the balls. He slumped to the floor. He was still on the floor, when Sunny said, “I spoke to Silas this morning. I told him about the way you have been bullying my patients. He says I can do what I want with you.
“If you ever touch this man again, Franklin, I will have you flushed out of the moon pool. You might want to think about that.”
Then she rolled the gurney over to the toilet. She lowered the bed so it was below my knees and tilted me onto it. Sparing one last glance at the man sprawled on the floor, she raised the gurney and pushed me out of the cell.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Sunny pulled my shirt and pants off my body. “I hope you’re not shy,” she joked as she took out a hose and ran warm water over me. “I’m not sure how much you remember, darling, but I’ve seen every bit of you quite a few times.”
I lay helpless on the gurney as she toweled me dry, and said, “Look at this. Look at what that jackass did to you.” She paused for a moment, then she added, “I’ll make sure Franklin never comes near you again.” She rubbed my shoulders and hugged me.
I had that image in my head, Sunny’s face as I strangled her. I could see her lips darkening and her swollen tongue leaving her mouth as her eyes bulged. I saw myself kissing her forehead.
She was my protector, my sexual-sadistic protector. Franklin was a wolf waiting to snap me up, and Sunny was my shepherd. She led my kind to still waters, and shaved us, and butchered us for meat. If sheep had any brains at all, they would fear wolves and hate shepherds.
As she rolled me to the operating room, I tried to work my muscles. I could not sit or stand or run. I could not make a fist; but I had the ability to move my eyes and tense my shoulders. I could harden my biceps and forearms. I tightened the muscles in my neck and turned my head. I wasn’t able to hold my head up, but I turned my chin. It wasn’t much, but it was everything.
She wheeled me past the other clones and into the room where we were alone, then she began the process the same way she had before. How many times have I done this? I wondered
This time I allowed my body to react. I hated this woman, but she was my protector. I needed to keep her on my side.
She played with me until she was happy. There was very little difference between her and Franklin. He bullied me while I was paralyzed and helpless, and she seduced me. As far as I was concerned, I would gladly have killed either one of them…and yet my reaction to this woman went beyond that to somewhere disturbing. I fantasized about her gasping and dying as I strangled her at the same time I fantasized about holding her, caressing her, kissing her.
Maybe her psychosis was contagious.
“You are more cooperative this evening, Wayson,” she said. She kissed me on the cheek. I wanted more.
She stroked me, lazily running her fingers along the contours of my body. Then she brought out the clamp. She said, “You’ve been a good boy so I’ll be gentle.” She laughed, and said, “Gentle…genitals, there’s got to be a pun in there.”
She was more gentle than she had been the last time.
“It’s sad. You and I have tonight and tomorrow, then we set you free.” She sounded sad. She frowned as she strapped the hose to the bottom of my nose. The moment we had entered this infirmary my combat reflex had begun. Now that reflex went wild. I felt like I could handspring from the gurney, do a backflip, and run a three-minute mile, killing every person who crossed my path.
“I wish we could have met some other way, dear,” she said. “I think I would have made you happy.”
The gas came first, clawing at my sinuses, then my brain. It started with a whiff of ammonia, as I remembered it would. The shit flowing up my nose flew from one scent to the next. It was a series of chemical odors, some strong, some hidden behind others. I reacted to each scent differently. Some calmed me, most made me sick…and then came the first surge of electricity, weakening me, causing my muscles to contract and pull me into the fetal position.
Something in the gas made me so sick that I vomited onto my arms and legs. I could taste the bile in my throat, but the clip across my nostrils blocked the acrid fumes from my nose.
One of the gases was worse than the others. It seemed to bore into my skull like a laser drill, like a slow-moving bullet. I wanted to scream, but I could not work my jaws. My mouth hung open.
The scent ended, then electricity jolted me again, bending me and twisting me, making me roll on that gurney. I rolled back and forth in my warm puddle of vomit.
I cannot be reprogrammed…
I cannot be reprogrammed…
I cannot be reprogrammed…
I cannot be reprogrammed…
I focused on that phrase, telling it to myself again and again even though I had no idea where I heard it.
Man, not machine, I told myself. I am a man, not a machine. They cannot program me, I am a man.
In my head, I saw people and places from my past. Places that meant something to me caused me pain, caused me to convulse, came with chemical stabs and jolts of electricity. I remembered Orphanage #553, the place where I grew up, and the electricity turned my thoughts to the color of lightning. The electricity made my thoughts vanish into a silver-white sheath.
Anything that can be programmed, I told myself. The chemicals and the electricity and the pain combined until I passed out.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
I woke up knowing that the end of this adventure approached. If I did not escape before the chemicals wafted into my cell, I would not escape, not ever.
The mornings were always the same. I might have ten minutes or I might have an hour. Sooner or later, the gas would spill out of the vents along the floor of my cell, and I would lie helpless as Sunny came to collect me. She would kiss me and soothe me, and then she would torture me. Well, in the past she had tortured me. This tim
e she would come as my executioner. She and some orderly would load me onto the gurney. It would not be Franklin; she’d fired the bastard. Sunny would talk sweetly and smile as she took me to my final reprogramming, and then only Legion would exist in my head.
I went to the toilet, rolled small wads of paper tight, and shoved them into my nose. Each of the plugs was wide enough to fill a nostril, but I crammed two plugs in each side. Maybe if I jammed enough paper up my nostrils, I would not smell the gas and would become immune to it.
I kicked the chrome fixture behind the toilet, smashing the ball of my foot against the pipe until it broke free. A foot-tall geyser of water spouted from the top of the pipe as I tore it from its base.
I expected guards to rush into the cell, but nobody came, so I sat on my rack and watched the water form a pool, then a two-inch layer on the floor of my cell. Maybe an hour had passed. I could not tell. I spent the entire time digging the jagged edge of the pipe into the side of my thigh, twisting and cutting, creating a three-inch-long gash that I hoped would need stitches. They could remove the scar with a cosmetic laser, but I doubted Mars Spaceport had that kind of equipment. If Cutter heard I had stitches in my leg, he’d ask questions.
The pain from the slicing was physical pain. It didn’t go straight to my brain like the chemicals from the tubes Sunny attached to my nose. That hurt my head. This pain remained in my leg, sharp and constant, and the combat reflex it set off remained constant as well. The pain and the reflex filled my head with the need for violence. I saw myself as if I were a snake, coiled, ready to strike, ready to kill. Blood ran down my thigh, but I didn’t care. As the jagged edge of the pipe cut deeper and deeper into my leg, the pain increased. So did the hormone in my blood.
This was my last chance. Whatever they had planned for me tonight, I doubted my original programming would survive it, so I twisted the pipe and I concentrated on controlling my muscles. When I went limp the night before, I still managed to flex and relax; this time, I would need to use them.
I had no idea how much time had passed when it began.
The nose plugs had been a bad idea. It didn’t matter whether I inhaled the gas through my mouth or nose; so long as I breathed, the gas incapacitated me. With the plugs in my nose, I did not catch that warning whiff before my body went limp.
I slumped onto my rack, and one of my feet dropped down into the layer of cold water covering my floor. The pipe, though, I managed to keep my fingers closed around it even as the strength vanished from my sagging arms.
The door hissed and opened. I envisioned myself rising from the bed, swinging the pipe, and striking Sunny. She would see the water on the floor. It would distract her, then she would see me struggling off the bed. She would be angry, then she would see the pipe; but it would be too late.
It wasn’t Sunny who walked through the hatch. It was Franklin. He looked at me and smiled. “I bet you were expecting your plaything,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint you. She won’t be returning.”
His eyes were so intent on mine that he didn’t even notice the water on the floor. A moment passed before he spotted my bloody leg, and his expression went serious. If they couldn’t risk a hypodermic needle penetrating my skin, the inch-wide hole I had carved in my thigh might be a deal-breaker.
Franklin looked around the cell. The bastard stared at the geyser coming from the toilet. He grinned, and said, “You’ve been busy.”
This is it. This is the moment, I thought. I focused my thoughts on the hormone flooding my veins and the pain in my thigh, and I launched myself at him. I wanted to leap from the cot, crack him across his skull, and drown him; but the most I could manage was to step into the water and stand on my sagging legs with the pipe hidden behind my back.
The dumb speck still had not pieced it all together. He looked at me, brushed back his hair, and said, “Able to stand up, are you?” He wore the same movie-star smile he’d had when he’d posed me on the toilet.
Franklin’s smile vanished a moment before I stabbed the bloody end of the pipe into his forehead.
He shrieked and fell into the water, as I stumbled out of the cell.
Had I been more sure of my strength, I would have drowned the bastard or bashed his head with the pipe. There was nothing I wanted more than to kill him; but weakened as I was, I wasn’t sure I could win a fight with a three-year-old. Lifting the pipe wore me out. I didn’t have strength enough to keep swinging, so I ran, not knowing whom I could turn to if I managed to escape.
I had no allies in Mars Spaceport. Colonel Riley was a traitor, possibly brainwashed the same way they’d been trying to brainwash me. Gordon Hughes might help me; but I thought he would be too weak an ally. Like me, he was just another inmate on death row.
In her own way, Sunny was worse than Franklin.
I found a control panel with buttons and levers and cameras outside my cell. Its workings were labeled, but in an unreadable language. I recognized the letters but not the words.
Inside the cell, Franklin lay on his back on the wet floor. If I went in…If I turned him on his stomach…if I forced his face into the water…I could place my hands on the back of his head and press all of my weight down on them.
The bastard stirred and moaned. One of his legs rolled.
I needed to make a choice. If that bastard caught me, he would kill me. I could try to drown him. I could try to hide. He lifted an arm and rubbed a hand against his damaged face.
I stumbled away as fast as I could.
As I headed down the hall, I heard sloshing behind me. It did not sound like he had made it to his feet yet. He yelled, “Come back here, you specking son of a bitch!”
There was a silent pause. A moment later he screamed, “Speck! You speck! You cut me! You specking bastard, you cut me!”
The hall was dim…damn near dark. I ran a few steps, walked a few steps, and staggered on. My brain felt like it was twisting inside my head. Needing to rest, I promised myself I would sleep for two days straight when I made it out of here. If I made it out.
I would not need to run far. If I was right, and this was the spaceport, there would be people. There were people everywhere. I did not have the strength to run very far, but I would not need to. If I made it out of this holding area, I would find crowded halls and hide among the picnickers and rest. What other choice did I have?
I held on to the pipe as I stumbled past the row of dark, empty cells that neighbored mine. All the while, Franklin continued screaming, yelling for me to come back, swearing that he would murder me. I should have stayed at the control panel and tried to seal him in. Maybe I should have rolled the dice and tried to drown him. It was too late to go back.
The cell doors all hung open, the rooms inside as dark as night until I reached the final door. Light shone from that final cell. As I approached it, I raised the pipe above my head in case someone waited inside for me. Then I saw her body.
Sunny lay on the floor exactly as I had imagined her so many times. Her face had turned purple. Her lips had turned blue and formed a circle around her swollen tongue. Her vacant eyes stared up at me.
“Where are you?” Franklin screamed from the cell.
Franklin had ripped Sunny’s clothes, torn her dress and lab coat to shreds that hung from her shoulders.
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to return to the cell and beat the son of a bitch’s head in.
Sunny was psychotic, and she would have destroyed me, but she had saved me as well. I felt something for her, maybe even sympathy; and I realized that I would have saved her if I could have. Had there been time, I might have kissed her dead forehead just as I had fantasized so many times.
In the fantasies, I had crushed her throat and killed her. Now that I actually saw her dead, I felt sorry for her.
I heard splashing and knew Franklin had finally climbed to his feet. He was hurt, though, hopefully badly hurt. The way I had stabbed that pipe into his forehead should have messed up his balance. He would be stronger than
me but not much faster. I had probably bought myself time. After one last glance at the girl who had helped me and tortured me, I shuffled into the darkness.
“Where are you, you specking son of a bitch!”
If Franklin caught me, gurneys and gases would be the least of my worries; and that was fine with me. I’d fought enough wars. I was going to die sometime; that was something I accepted. Having my brain gutted and becoming a puppet, that was far worse.
“Harrisssss!” He began shrieking like a wild animal, like an injured animal. There was not a shred of control in the voice that came from the cell.
I rounded a familiar corner and saw the sick bay that Sunny had wheeled me through those many times. It was almost empty and dark, lit only by the soft green glow from an instrument panel. Looking through the window, I saw a pile of corpses, maybe twenty of them, stacked roughly one on top of the other.
I moved like the walking wounded, leaning on walls, hunched over, my right hand still clutching that foot-long pipe, my left arm supporting my weight when I passed walls or rails. I took short steps and fought for balance. My breathing was fine, nothing wrong with my lungs. There was nothing wrong with my heart, either, except that the adrenaline in my blood had it pumping so damn fast.
The air was cold. My breath turned to steam. The bottoms of my bare feet began to stick to the iron floor as I padded on. I could not afford to stay in one place.
I kept expecting to run into other people. I expected to turn a corner and find halls packed with picnickers.
But I continued to move through one dark hall that emptied into another, then another. The place was abandoned. As I stuttered forward, I wondered where they had found so much space in the spaceport. The only explanation I had was that I was wrong about the jail itself. Maybe this was a brig, and I was still on Mars Air Force Base.
Even as I considered the possibility, I knew this had to be the spaceport. This was a civilian facility. The curved doorways, the windows along the hall, the chrome pipes in the cells…this place was built for natural-borns.
The Clone Sedition Page 12
