The Human Forged

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  ***

  Nick stood in front of One-Ninety’s bed, his arms pressed flat against his sides and his eyes staring straight ahead like the other clones. The smell of the latrine still stung the insides of his nostrils. He worried that the odor of death and excrement clung to his clothes and that the guards performing the roll call would notice.

  A shiver snuck down his spine. He fought to control the involuntary movement as the guards paced toward him. One held open a holoimage projecting a checklist and scanned the numbers on the sides of each clone’s clothes as he passed.

  When the guard approached, an overwhelming desire to run swelled up in Nick. He struggled to repress it as though he single-handedly held up a dam against a flooding river. He employed every ounce of mental strength he could muster as the guard frowned and glared at him.

  The guard grabbed Nick’s left wrist.

  He stared straight ahead, his mind racing. He pictured the small white scar from his Chip. His vision blurred and glazed over as his eyes dried out.

  The guard’s voice washed over Nick, terse and snarling.

  He set his jaw, his muscles tensing as he prepared to fight for his life. The guard slapped him.

  He blinked rapidly, breathing heavily.

  The guard jabbed his finger into Nick’s skin. The man pointed to a splatter of mud or human excrement from the latrine reservoir. Yelling, he flicked the speck off and twisted Nick’s arms behind his back.

  He snarled and prepared to retaliate until he caught One-Oh-Two’s gaze down the aisle. The clone shook his head slightly, mouthing the word “no.”

  Without any clear understanding of the guard’s intentions, Nick had to trust his newfound ally.

  Another guard handed a clone, One-Eighty-Nine, a small metal device that looked like a bicycle handle. The man took it and nodded at the guard’s command.

  The guard held Nick bent over. One-Eighty-Nine pressed a button on the metal device. A long, vibrant blue electric whip snaked out of the handle.

  It buzzed in the air and set Nick’s hair on end. The clone swung the whip. Pain coursed through Nick’s nerves. His body convulsed in a shudder and he yelled. The smell of burned skin stung his nostrils and his stomach lurched. One-Eighty-Nine whipped Nick again and he cried out.

  The guards laughed.

  He bit the inside of his mouth until he could taste blood. His eyes grew wet as the whipping continued. Flames of agony riddled his back and he clenched his eyelids shut. He tried to think of anything better, anything worth living for. He thought back to the dress that he had promised Kelsey he wouldn’t take a peek at before the wedding. He had stolen a look. Now, as before, he imagined her in it, imagined her walking toward him. He needed to survive this for her. He would be with her soon. Just let the pain wash over him. It was nothing but a passing thunderstorm, violent and frightening until the winds pushed it away.

  Twelve

  Lying on his stomach, Nick pinched his eyes closed, knowing that sleep lay far beyond his reach. He shivered as the coolness of the night air permeated the tent barracks. His blanket sat bunched up and useless around his legs. He had tried to drape it over his body gingerly by sneaking it up his skin.

  But the fresh wounds wouldn’t allow it.

  Each time he breathed, each rise and fall of his chest, each fraction of an inch he moved, a shock of agony erupted in the lacerations. The goose bumps and shivers brought by the cold paled in comparison to the fire that danced across his back.

  As the slow and methodical breathing of his clones lifted in the still air around him, none snored. He could’ve guessed that. He had never snored in his life and these men appeared to be perfect replicates of him.

  Awake and still, he took shallow breaths to blend in with the clones and to prevent any jarring movements that might reignite his singed nerves. Sounds of droning insects, calls from unidentifiable animals filled his ears. A chorus of noises sifted through the canvas walls.

  He had been able to drown out such noises during his tour of duty in the Congo. The noise didn’t keep him awake. His eyelids drooped and exhaustion deluged his entire body. Such utter tiredness might have been enough to overcome his pain. Yet he could still hear his pulse in his ears, feel the surge of adrenaline that had not dissipated—another side effect of his time spent in the army. He had volunteered for genetic enhancements that augmented his natural ability to produce epinephrine. The extra boost of oxygen pulsing through his body provided him a welcome sense of bolstered strength and faster reactions, improving his prowess on the battlefield.

  But as the epinephrine lingered in his bloodstream and continued to release past its usefulness, he felt jittery and anxious. He wanted to move; he wanted to run and metabolize the hormone, clear it from circulation. He fought to mentally control the response as he had been taught by his gene-augmentation specialists. But being in a garrison full of clones and knowing that a million different scenarios might lead to his death in this nightmarish camp, he failed to control the adrenaline response. It surged on. His fingers twitched in a slight but unsatisfying release of the pent-up urges and energy.

  Footsteps and voices poured in as the doors to the tent ripped open. Three men came through the entrance. It appeared as though two of the men held the third between them. They stopped at a nearby bunk.

  He held his breath, squinting through the darkness. The two men shoved the third onto the empty bed. One-Eighty-Five’s bed.

  His pulse thumped in his ears. He worried One-Eighty-Five might recognize him. The clone might identify him as the fugitive, the one who had escaped and killed three men tonight.

  No, it was four men. His thoughts turned back to One-Ninety. The clone’s expression had been full of fear and confusion when Nick had attacked. The clone’s desperate clawing at Nick’s arms had left temporary red marks, but nothing more. No scratches. No evidence that the man had existed in this world except for a couple of marks that had faded from Nick’s skin minutes after the replicate had turned into a lifeless sack of cloned tissues and organs. Nick had strangled the man from behind and avoided watching his victim’s face. He’d never looked the man in the eyes. Nick’s eyes.

  His thoughts swirled between the pain erupting across his back and those final kicks as the life had drained from One-Ninety. Nick flitted between consciousness and sleep.

  A hand covered his mouth and a strong grip clenched his shoulder. His eyes shot open wide. As his muscles tensed and the vessels in his neck bulged, he cranked his head to get a view of his attacker, fearing One-Eighty-Five had recognized him or a guard had discovered their prey.

  Instead, One-Oh-Two stood beside his bed, the numbers on his long sleeves barely visible in the dark. The clone gritted his teeth. He bore down with a cold stare until Nick relaxed. Raising an eyebrow, the man made an expression as if to question whether or not he would behave.

  He nodded and One-Oh-Two withdrew his hands. He backed up and motioned for Nick to get up. Moving his body as though he was made of glass, he slipped off the bed. He bit hard on his tongue to refrain from vocalizing the pain that coursed up and down the raw skin on his back. A wet sheen formed over his eyes. Like a wizened old man, he lamely followed One-Oh-Two into the aisle. They snuck toward the latrine where One-Ninety’s body rested, soaking in the acrid liquids of the underground waste reservoir.

  When they tiptoed into the latrine, One-Oh-Two scanned the room to ensure no others had followed. “We’ve got to move him.”

  “Are you joking?”

  One-Oh-Two placed a finger over his lips. “Keep it down or you’ll get us both killed. And no, I’m absolutely serious.” He threw a hand out over the dank reservoir. “We have to empty this thing every morning. What the hell do you think is going to happen if they discover a dead man in there?”

  “All right. I understand. How do we drag that stinking hulk through the rest of the tent without drawing attention? I’m assuming they have guards posted around the entrances.”

  “They do
n’t usually have guards posted there. They trust the obedience they’ve forced on most of us through genetic design and fear.” It seemed as though One-Oh-Two grinned at that last phrase. “But I wouldn’t doubt that they’ll have extra patrols tonight. Usually, there are just four groups that circulate around our tents. They check in at the doors about every fifteen minutes.”

  Nick nodded. His acceptance dissipated as his brow knitted up into an expression of curiosity. “How the hell do you know all this?”

  This time, he did not mistake the smirk on One-Oh-Two’s face. “They can’t expect me to stay cooped up here forever. I’ve learned how to get around.”

  “If a patrol catches us before we see them, they’ll kill the both of us.”

  “If they catch a body in the latrine tomorrow, they’ll kill every single one of us.” One-Oh-Two gestured out the latrine door. His stiff expression conveyed not a hint of hyperbole. “Besides, I can see in the dark.”

  “They modified you for that?”

  The clone laughed. “No, no. I’ve got AR lens implants.”

  Nick scowled but leaned closer. He could make out the circumference of the lenses in One-Oh-Two’s eyes, the edges contrasting slightly with his sclera. “How the hell do you have permanent, implanted AR lenses? Does everyone get them?”

  “No. They definitely do not. The rest wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

  A flurry of questions twirled in Nick’s head. One-Oh-Two seemed different from the other clones. He had something the others didn’t. A stubborn confidence, wile, and more developed mental capacities, maybe. Nick opened his mouth. Another inquiry lingered on the tip of his tongue.

  One-Oh-Two held up a hand. “You can’t interrogate me now. We don’t have a hell of a lot of time and we need to slip this guy out of here. I know a spot where we can bury the body, but it’s going to take a long time to dig a big enough hole. I can manage pretty well in the dark, but I don’t want to be caught out when it gets light.”

  “Of course.” Nick paused. “Maybe we don’t need to dig a hole, though.”

  “What? Are we going to feed him to the animals or something?” One-Oh-Two held out his hands. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t any beasts kept in the camp besides the keepers.”

  “No, I want them to find the body.”

  “Why the hell would you want that? You want us all dead, don’t you?”

  Nick stood. “They’re looking for me.” He peered back down into the dark hole filled with shadows that fell across One-Ninety’s pallid face. “The best way to help ease up the tension around here is to give myself up. And I’m going to make sure they find me.”

  Thirteen

  Protesting against the plan, One-Oh-Two had been hesitant, but Nick had insisted that the guards wouldn’t be satisfied until they found him. He had also argued that they must find his body with the pistol in tow, much to the clone’s disappointment. A trained soldier wouldn’t discard a loaded weapon in a flight for his life. Besides, where the hell could they hide it in the barracks? It would be a dangerous game of rotating the pistol from the lavatory to the clothes bins and underneath their mattresses when the cleaning crews performed their morning duties.

  “You have to keep in mind that we’ll be out of here tomorrow anyway,” Nick said. “If they’re going to ship us out, I’ll bet you know better than I do that we aren’t going to be able to leave with a pack full of souvenirs and that gun isn’t going to fit any body cavity I know of.”

  “Fine. You’re right,” One-Oh-Two said as they dragged the body under one of the loose-fitting canvas flaps near the sinks. Each latrine’s plumbing ran to and from a central water supply outside the tent. The barracks were apparently designed to be mobile and easily deconstructed and, as a result, the clone had learned the sinks could be tilted just enough that one could fit through the unsecured flaps behind them.

  “I don’t understand why others don’t take advantage of this,” Nick said, pulling One-Ninety by his wrists through the small opening. Nick grunted and relaxed his back for a moment to let the pain in his raw skin subside. “You keep telling me the rest are all obedient, yet they wouldn’t give me up when the guards came asking. That doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense.”

  One-Oh-Two huffed as he crouched and shoved One-Ninety’s feet out onto the damp grass behind the barracks. One-Oh-Two looked around, squinting, before picking the corpse’s feet back up. “That’s true. They’ll obey the guards and they fear for their lives. Hell, you found out why we fear the guards. But we’re more loyal to each other. We learn to value each other’s lives. We tend to treat each other, I guess, like what you might consider family. This is especially true for the older ones. At least, that’s the closest thing that makes sense to me. But what do I know?”

  Nick nodded, lugging One-Ninety behind him and wincing with each step. They half-jogged into the clump of trees before Nick spoke again. “So, since they think I’m one of them, they’d rather risk keeping me alive than reporting me because I’m like family to them?”

  “More or less. Again, my comparisons might be off and I’m probably not explaining this accurately, but I have no clear way to convey these attachments. I’ve never been in a family or experienced life as you have.” One-Oh-Two’s eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. His breathing and pace slowed. “I’m not like those other clones.”

  Nick could barely see the individual trees in the forest as they carried One-Ninety’s waste-covered body. They struggled with their load through the forest for half an hour. His muscles ached with the effort.

  One-Oh-Two froze, peering into the darkness behind them. “Get down!”

  Nick ducked behind the trunk of the nearest tree. Its exposed roots tangled like a mass of tentacles, giving him ample room to hide with One-Ninety’s body. Nick held his breath and stared down at the corpse. Footsteps crunched along the ground, snapping twigs and branches. As he listened, two pairs of feet plodded between bird calls and high-pitched insect drones. Twenty, maybe thirty yards away. If he was wearing his Exosuit, he would be able to twist from behind the tree and launch two precise shots through the forehead of each man before they realized he had been lying in wait. Now, he carried nothing. One-Oh-Two carried their sole weapon, the Glock 54 with three rounds left.

  The cheap, antiquated weapon seemed anachronistic in a camp where clones resided. The guards carried high-tech assault rifles that would overpower any resistance One-Oh-Two might offer with the small handgun.

  Nick would have felt more comfortable with even the clunky Glock, though. He watched it glint in the replicate’s hands. Here he was, cowering behind a tree in the middle of the jungle in a hidden research facility owned by who-the-hell-knows, and he trusted his life to a clone. His clone.

  Leaning toward Nick, One-Oh-Two whispered, “I think they’re going to go right past us—”

  “About fifteen yards away now, right?”

  The clone nodded, his eyes glued to the shadows in the near distance. Weak and sallow, the moonlight could not penetrate the dense overhead coverage of the leaves.

  Watching as One-Oh-Two scanned the darkness, Nick wasn’t sure he could ever get used to seeing himself as another person. Squinting, he tried to see what One-Oh-Two saw. The clone shoved Nick back behind the tree. “Don’t. They might see you.”

  With wafts of malodor drifting from the body they carried, he worried that the lingering stink of the latrine that clung to the corpse would be enough to draw the guards.

  The footsteps sounded closer and One-Oh-Two leaned back behind the trunk. He pressed flat against the smooth bark. When the sounds of plodding feet faded, he relaxed. “They’re far enough away now.”

  “I hate being in the dark like this. I’m not used to it.” Nick hoisted up One-Ninety’s limp legs. “I suppose it’s nice they don’t light the whole damn place up, huh?”

  “I suppose.” One-Oh-Two picked up the dead clone’s arms.

  “They probably don’t wan
t to attract attention. All it takes is a drone flyover to spot a place like this lit up in the night.” Nick cringed, biting his lip as his nerves flamed when he tripped on a root. As he stretched to catch himself, the skin on his back singed anew. He froze. One-Oh-Two paused, too, before they carried on. “Or a single image from a spy satellite and a simple piece of software detecting an anomaly in the middle of the jungle.” Nick’s brows drew together as he recalled his experience with the Exosuit unit. The suit utilized tiny organic light-emitting diodes and microscale cameras to provide optical camouflage, most effective when they stood still. “I suppose they might have adapted a kind of cloaking technology to help obscure this place.”

  “That’s real, then?” One-Oh-Two’s voice trailed up in pitch.

  “All of that’s real. Listen, One-Oh-Two—”

  One-Oh-Two stopped walking. Carried by momentum, Nick almost dropped the body.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nick sighed. “Is there something else you’d prefer?” This hike out toward the outskirts of the camp seemed to be much longer than when he had run from the fenced-in edges of the base and found the barracks for the first time. He sighed.

  “Maybe.” One-Oh-Two’s face turned up in consternation. His lips seemed to quiver. “I’m not One-Oh-Two. I’m Eighty-Four. But I don’t want those numbers. Not anymore. Give me a name. A real person’s name.”

  Nick answered with the first name that came to his mind. “James.”

  The clone nodded. “James,” he repeated. “That works.”

  “James?”

  A smile spread across the clone’s face. “Yes?”

  “You said you were actually number Eighty-Four. No one else in the tent has a number lower than one hundred, right?”

  The clone nodded. “That’s true.” He scanned around in the darkness.

  Nick tensed and then relaxed when James motioned that they should both sit for a moment. “You think it’s safe to be out here?”