Bright Star

by Talia R. Blackwood

  “Absurd!” Spacefrost blurts out.

  Solartrance rubs his forehead. “Let me understand. You spoke with your human? He felt something for you? He promised you’d stay together?”

  “Yes! It is so! Please. You have to help me!”

  “We can’t do anything for you,” Spacefrost says.

  “Did he touch you?” Solartrance asks.

  I swallow. I want to say it with a firm voice. I raise my chin. “We made love.”

  “Oh this is ridiculous!” Spacefrost shouts, while Solartrance gapes at me. “Humans don’t have sex with clones, apart from sex slave clones inside the brothels!”

  “I was born on Ship and I’m just a poor stupid clone,” I say, straightening my back. “But I know what I say. Prince felt something for me. I don’t… I don’t expect he still has feelings for me, and I don’t pretend he’ll keep his commitment, but I want to keep mine. I promised to be present when he wakes. Please. If there’s a way….”

  “There isn’t,” Spacefrost concludes.

  Solartrance narrows his eyes. He touches a point in the restraints that squeeze my arms behind my back, and the metal object opens and falls to the floor. My arms are suddenly free.

  “I don’t know if there is a way to help you. But perhaps we can give you the password, Phae,” Solartrance says.

  Spacefrost passes a hand over his face. “Oh, fuck.”

  IN MUCH less time than I need to overcome the shock of the separation—from my birth, I’ve never been without Prince—I find myself on another boarding bridge, wearing a clean uniform, after a brief stop in a sanitizer that barely scratched the dirt upon my face.

  I don’t know the meaning of the password. It’s freedom. I don’t understand this word, but it’s a nice word. And it’s powerful. As soon as I pronounce it, all the clones fall silent and stare at me in awe.

  The clones are a lot. And for a lot, I mean a damn awful lot. I never imagined there were so many clones in the universe. I’m standing in the middle of a crowd waiting to embark on one of the space ferries toward Otherworld. All hairless, narrow-eyed clones. Watching them, I can distinguish only four or five types of faces, endlessly repeated in a lot of individuals, the number of whom scares me. My breath runs too fast and my heart hammers against my rib cage. Someone looks at me with curiosity, because as I heard from some clones in the locker room where Solartrance pushed me, I’m a clone of a very old class, with human-shaped eyes. But for the most part, they ignore me, even if they touch me and bump into me. The illogical fear that so many clones can steal my breath invades me.

  I close my eyes. Prince, I can do it. I’m going to reach you.

  “Phae?”

  I jolt. Someone makes his way through the crowd and joins me. It’s Solartrance. “I have a new assignment,” he says. “Paperwork here at the base. I’m assigned to space traffic control.” He tilts his head, studying me. “It’s a good thing. Often, after a long trip in space like ours, clones are simply sent to recycling without even checking their mental faculties.”

  “I’m happy,” I say. Inside, I feel like shit. I was so shaken by my personal drama that I didn’t realize he was in danger of being recycled too. I look at his wounded lip. “Sorry I hit you.”

  He shrugs. “I’ll never forget the things you taught me, Phae.”

  I blink. “Me?”

  “A promise is beyond your task,” Solartrance explains. “Feelings are beyond your task.”

  Solartrance hugs me. Tight.

  I can hear the sigh of astonishment that spreads through the multitude of clones around us. They fall silent—the whole crowd falls silent—just for a simple hug.

  “Remember the password and use it,” Solartrance whispers in my ear. “I hope you can reach your human. I hope so.”

  He lets go of me and pats my arm. “Do not lose your spirit. Maybe one day things will change.”

  Solartrance smiles at me, his eyes wet, then leaves.

  “PHAE!”

  I sit up abruptly, ripping out a good portion of the needles attached to my arms and in the backs of my hands.

  I’m in a white room, so bright it forces me to squint. I sit inside my open sarcophagus. “Where is Phae?”

  Three humans dressed in white, two men and a woman, stand around my coffin and stare at me in amazement. “Surprising,” the woman says.

  I examine the place quickly. A hospital room richly illuminated by neon, matte aluminum shutters that close the only window, a monitor, and some medical equipment around my coffin. Surely I’m no longer in the crappy abandoned spaceship. A pang of apprehension knots my stomach. “Where’s my guardian clone?”

  “He should be at least a little confused,” one of the men says.

  Indeed. I realize it’s not like the last time. The previous awakening, I woke up in a fog and barely remembered who I was and my name. I was cold and I felt pain all over my body. This time, it’s as if I had dozed off for five minutes. And I remember everything. Everything.

  “I need to have my guardian clone with me. Where is he?”

  “You’re safe, Kian Newell,” the woman says. She takes a white dressing gown and lays it on my shoulders. “You are in New Rome, Otherworld.”

  It’s not what I asked.

  “His vital signs are extraordinarily good,” says one of the men. “Surprising, for a cryosleep period so long.” He turns to look at the monitor connected to my sarcophagus operating system. “One hundred thirteen years of suspended animation in total, without any treatment after the first awakening. Only a single defibrillation to restart his heart. No physical damage or brain damage. He isn’t even confused!”

  The three people look at me as if I am a laboratory animal. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I feel so good, and I have to restrain myself from jumping off this damn coffin to run to search for Phae.

  Then I perceive something warm against my thigh.

  I look down. The spheroid the alien gave me is there and pulses quietly.

  Sure, I put it inside the sarcophagus myself, just before Phae convinced me to go back inside. Its energy comes into me. At once, I understand it’s thanks to the spheroid that I feel so good.

  The three humans are too amazed to notice the small object. I cover it with a flap of my robe. Then I put on the sleeves and tie the belt and grab the alien orb in my hand, sliding the sleeve over it. Fortunately, this garment is too big for me.

  I appeal to the woman, looking her in the eyes. “Please. Can I have news of my guardian clone?”

  “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head slightly, a little dazed. “Your sarcophagus arrived here at the medical center on a vessel of the royal guard. I don’t know anything about a guardian clone. I don’t know what it is.”

  “They were clones with the specific task of watching over the hibernating humans during interstellar travel,” one of the men says. “They were called ‘guardian angels.’ They don’t exist anymore, being interstellar travel fell into disuse after the colonization of Otherworld.

  I’m not interested in the historical lesson. “I had a guardian angel, and I want to know what happened to him,” I say firmly.

  “We don’t consider it appropriate, worrying too much about our servants,” someone says, making me jolt.

  A man with a determined stride enters the room and approaches my sarcophagus. He studies me with sharp, piercing eyes and a slightly hungry look. A beard covers his face, and his long hair is streaked with gray, but I recognize him.

  “Rein,” I say. I smile brightly, even though my heart is beating like crazy and I want to scream in fear and frustration. “It’s just a whim, but I need my guardian angel with me. You look good, by the way. You aged well.”

  The senator of the Otherworld colony smiles at me, but I don’t like him, even if his appearance is attractive. His gray, almost colorless eyes are too cold. Indeed, he gives me a vague sense of revulsion. Eighteen years ago, he seemed just arrogant, but now I sense he has become a much more dan
gerous man.

  “And you’re even more attractive than you looked through the emergency communication eighteen years ago, Kian.” He comes over and lifts my chin. “The legendary last terrestrial. A little skinny and small, but cute.”

  As if I were a child.

  I jump down from the coffin, taking the alien spheroid inside my sleeve. I raise my head to look the senator in the eyes. He isn’t as tall as Phae, but taller than me. “What do you expect, after one hundred and thirteen years frozen up in that thing? At the very least, I need a decent meal and a bath. And I need my guardian angel.”

  Reinhold Coburn smiles, amused. “You will be part of my harem and you’ll have dozens of servants.”

  I’m beginning to lose my cool. Did he say harem? And what’s happened to Phae?

  “I don’t want dozens of servants,” I say, sounding more scared than funny this time. “I just need my guardian angel.”

  I know I’ve asked it too many times, but I can’t help it. Panic is slowly spreading through me. Phae promised to be here at my awakening. If he’s not here, the reason must be serious.

  The senator narrows his cold eyes. “The clones are all the same and it’s wrong being so fond of them. Our genetic engineers are having great results cloning some dogs. I’ll get you a puppy.”

  This time, I bite my lip to avoid screaming. I don’t raise my fists to beat him, just because I don’t want to drop the alien spheroid, but I can’t avoid my eyes filling with tears. The senator smirks and I know I’m just entertaining him. In eighteen years he has become a nut tougher than I expected. I have to be smart if I want to get anything from him, but at the moment I’m too upset and scared and I can only think that I need to find Phae.

  “Now my guards will take you to your rooms,” the man says. “There, you can have everything you want. Food, a bath, dresses. I suggest you get some rest. In the coming days you can explore the royal palace and even the town, but because of my enemies you cannot go out without bodyguards. The public ceremony for our wedding is in three days.” His gaze slides across the slice of bare chest my open robe reveals. “I thought I would give you more time to rest, but given your excellent physical condition, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “If you’ll allow me, Senator,” the woman intervenes, “the subject has just emerged from a long period of suspended animation, and maybe we need to keep him under observation….”

  “He’s fine, Dr. Rais,” the senator interrupts her. He smiles at me. “Right, Kian?”

  Panic sinks its teeth deep into my belly, but if I freak out, I won’t get anything. I need to think about what I should do. Calmly.

  I take a breath and square my shoulders. “Sure, Rein.”

  THE SPACE ferry to Otherworld takes off.

  The rocket starts with a hellish uproar, and my stomach ends up in my throat. We are tossed in a confined space, all upright. There aren’t seats. There’s not even decent lighting, apart from a row of LEDs along the edge of the floor. The big room stinks of grease and perspiration. As soon as the doors closed, a kind of grid fell from the ceiling, and now I understand it prevents us from floating inside the cargo hold.

  In semidarkness, pressed against a multitude of other clones, I cling to the grid over my head and close my eyes, trying not to be scared to death. I did it. I’m leaving the orbiting base to reach Prince on Otherworld. But I’m just a stupid clone, and I have to look for Prince on an entire planet. I have no hope.

  But I have a magic, powerful word. I use it. Under my breath, savoring it on my lips, I say, “Freedom.”

  A couple of clones pressed next to me jolt.

  I have already observed this reaction. In the dim light of the cargo hold, the two clones stare at me open-mouthed.

  “I need to find a human in suspended animation,” I say. “Where could they take him to awaken him?”

  They look at me for a long time. When I begin to believe they won’t respond, one of them whispers, “The New Rome Medical Center.”

  “How do I reach this place?”

  “With any of the monorail trains,” the other clone responds.

  “Jump in the mono and pay attention to the names of the stops,” the first clone adds. “The medical center is not far from the spaceport.”

  I have no idea what this mono looks like, and I don’t know how I am going to find it. But I’ll take care of the problem when the time comes. Thanks to the magic word, now I have quite precise directions on where to find Prince. “Thank you,” I say.

  There is no way to speak again. The ferry enters the atmosphere and we are tossed about too much to be able to talk. We remain in place thanks only to the metal grid. I think this ferry is a large-scale version of the pipes for transport inside Ship. And even these “mono,” maybe. So I have no reason to be so scared, because it looks like a clone is treated the same way everywhere.

  Luckily the trip is short. We land in a turbulent way. The grid raises, a gate opens noisily, and the clones begin to flow out of this hell. I stand in queue, my stomach upside down and my head spinning.

  A small flying object enters the hatch and begins to wander over the crowd. When the thing reaches my position, it starts to scream and squeal, casting a blue light on me. Shit.

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t hide.

  Some soldier clones in black armor run toward me. They grab me and drag me away from the crowd.

  “You have no identification code, clone,” one of the soldiers says, his hand closed on my arm like a vise. “Where the fuck did you come out?”

  The clone is one of the bug-eyed ones, as the royal guards of the senator, but he doesn’t have the same enormous, absurd physical structure. I wonder if the magic word also works with him. “F-freedom,” I stammer.

  His hand on my arm loosens, and his narrow eyes open wide.

  Apparently it works.

  I DON’T trust the clones of my escort. They are so different from Phae, definitely horrible, to the point of seeming barely to belong to the human race. About seven feet tall, with overdeveloped muscles and bizarre gadgets implanted in various parts of their bodies, they look almost like hybrid creatures, half robots. Their armors include a kind of visor over their eyes, but from what I can see of their faces, they are all identical.

  The soldiers lead me onto the roof of the medical facility, where a flying vehicle, a kind of hovercraft, is waiting for me. I go out on the terrace, and I can take in the first sight of the colony of Otherworld.

  I gasp.

  In front of me extends a city of blackish factories under a color-changing energy dome. The air smells like ozone and my hair stands on end due to the static energy. Slowly I lift my head. Clouds of a reddish and poisonous atmosphere gather around the top of the energy field, releasing crackling lightning bolts.

  This is my new home, but I’ve never seen anything more similar to hell.

  Yes, I knew Otherworld was under a dome, but more than a hundred years ago, when I started from Earth, they said the dome was only temporary. Soon the reactors for terraforming would have made the atmosphere breathable.

  Obviously something has gone wrong.

  “Sir?” one of the guards says, his hand on the open door of the vehicle. I jolt.

  I approach the vehicle, but before climbing in, I turn to give one last look at the landscape. The entire energy field covers a medium-sized city, a large suburb around a core of dark skyscrapers. Beyond the dome, the landscape is desolate desert. I can see a structure outside, sort of a giant power plant perched on one side of a rocky ridge, connected to the dome with huge galleries. Gray fumes rise from the chimneys and spread to the reddish atmosphere of the planet. From among the ever-changing clouds peeps a small and reddish sun.

  A lump in my throat, I climb in the flying vehicle that will take me to the royal palace—to the senator’s harem—and the soldier closes the door behind my back. I collapse in an enveloping seat. There’s no pilot. A servant clone is there for me, apparently with the sole task
of taking a drink from the bar unit and offering it to me. She already has an empty glass in her hand.

  I grab her arm. “Please, I need help,” I say.

  The servant opens her eyes wide and blushes. I realize she’s a young girl. Almost a child. “Sir?” she murmurs.

  My stomach rises in my throat when the vehicle lifts off abruptly, and for a moment I close my eyes. The appearance of the colony hit me in the heart. Shit, I need Phae so bad. “What’s your name?” I ask the girl.

  Her consternation is total. The clones were treated like crap on Earth, but here it must be even worse. “Don’t worry, you can talk to me,” I add.

  “My code is three-four-one-six, sir, Geisha Class.”

  I tilt my head to look at her, pissed. “I asked for your name, not for your code or class.”

  I managed to scare her. She’s shaking. “My name is Peacehaze, sir.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I definitely like it. “I need your help, Peacehaze. I have to find a clone. My guardian clone. We have been separated, but I absolutely have to know what has happened to him. Any idea on how to do it?”

  The girl blushes even more. “I… I am just a maid, sir, but every clone has a c-code. Knowing the code of your g-guardian should make finding him easy. The s-scanners know the position of each c-clone at any time.”

  I frown. Never heard of a thing like that. “I doubt Phae has a code.”

  “Every clone has a code. It’s genetically implanted. If for some reason the scanners don’t read the code properly, the clone is reported and….”

  The girl falls silent. The redness on her cheeks turns off.

  “And?” I insist.

  “And brought to recycling, sir. The senator cannot allow even a single clone going around unnoticed.”

  I am more and more puzzled. “But why?”

  The girl raises her shoulders. “I’m only a maid, sir.”