The Tomorrow Clone (The Tomorrow Gene Book 3)

by Sean Platt

  Mercer pretended to think. “Hmm. Can you do better?”

  The man beside the bar punched him again.

  Mercer blinked. His nose was bleeding. So much for saving his shirt.

  “Nothing now,” Fiona clarified. “But I want what’s mine, and that starts with finding the clone. You help me find it, and then I’ll give you a hundred thousand credits.”

  “A quarter million.”

  The other man clenched his fist, but Fiona said, “Fine.”

  “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

  “You don’t.” Fiona didn’t bother to elaborate.

  But Mercer didn’t care. Neven was paying him far more on a regular basis. The key here was buying time and trust. He didn't give a shit who tried to find the clone because his job was meeting with Wood — and if anyone was going to get the job done, it would be GEM, whose director was far less merciful than he used to be.

  But Mercer needed Fiona’s people to free his wrists.

  And enough trust with this crew that when the moment came, he could run — to Wood if possible, or at least back to the Domain.

  Just not via the boat. Fiona’s probably tracking it.

  “All right. Deal.” Mercer waited. Nobody moved to help him, so he raised his cuffed wrists. “Little help?”

  “And the second part of my offer: I want your ‘help’ vetted by a professional.”

  “A professional what?”

  Fiona smirked. “Procession is tomorrow.”

  “Crucifixes and church robes all up and down the streets of Manhattan. What of it?”

  “Until we find the clone,” Fiona said, “you’ll spend that glorious time with us.”

  Chapter 31

  A Terrible Idea

  Ephraim and Sophie spent the night in a fleabag motel in Brooklyn, just past the bridge. Sophie’s idea was to get close early, then spend some time scouring haunts until Jubilee.

  According to the news, the buzz, and all Papa had managed to find from his network of Change spies, “Ephraim Todd” (who, by process of elimination, had to be the original) was already in the city, but wasn’t planning to make his move — whatever it was — before Jubilee. He was laying low until then, killing Nolons and terrorizing the public.

  Ephraim posed an obvious question. “If everyone thinks he’ll wait until Jubilee, wouldn’t it be sensible for Real Ephraim to act before then to avoid all those watching eyes?” And furthermore, “Why is he killing people and spreading rumors if he wants to go unseen?”

  Sophie’s answer was always the same. “You’re not getting it, Ephraim. He needs the chaos for cover. Now that he’s been ID’d by the Smart Fountain, stirring the furor helps his chances.”

  The latest was on the news, Ava Bloom reporting. Ephraim wanted to turn it off, but Sophie absorbed the reports like a masochist.

  Crazy Old Ephraim Todd had been credited with a new murder, this one a woman supposedly named Valerie whose photo showed her as a copy of Hannah. Watching the coverage seemed, to Sophie, to be like watching her friend die. It wasn’t the same Hannah; she’d called to be sure. But this felt personal, even if Hannah was just another drome and this was all dumb luck.

  They’d spoken to Papa when Sophie called for Hannah. He’d agreed with her assessment. If Ephraim was planning a break-in at Riverbed, there was no chance of getting in without a lot of mess to open it up.

  Jubilee would provide that mess, and fear would make it messier so long as attention was directed away from Riverbed. Everyone — with the possible exception of the day-before Procession marchers, who’d likely stay home during Jubilee to pray for everyone’s souls — got sloppy with celebration at Jubilee. As long as the people at Riverbed weren’t warned about what Papa thought was happening — and Ephraim and Sophie sure weren’t going to be the ones to tell him.

  But it didn’t mean he might not be snooping around already, visiting other old haunts, trying to find alternate ways to eliminate the competition at Jonathan’s command. Places like Mercer’s restaurant and the tunnels underneath it. Places like the club where Ephraim met Sophie, back before her mind had been liberated.

  Sophie clicked off the screen. Finally. She pulled back the covers and sat on the bed. “Relax. Maybe we’ll find him early. Maybe we won’t even need to stay through Jubilee.”

  Ephraim moved to the window. The sky was dark, but New York never really was. In the glow of countless lights, he could see the parade structures mostly set up even from this far. Jubilee was coming. He shivered.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he said.

  “You heard Papa. Getting the other Ephraim is the only way to get to the Wallace hologram. You know what’s at stake. You know what Neven is trying to do.”

  “Would it be so bad, if Neven gets at the GEM database?”

  Sophie rose and came up behind him. She put one hand on his shoulder and pressed her body against his. “Yes.”

  “I’ve never kidnapped someone.”

  “Then this will be fun.”

  “I’m not afraid to. I just don’t see how we’re going to do it.”

  “Tasers,” Sophie said, gesturing at their luggage.

  But it felt wrong. All of it.

  And a voice inside his head seemed to whisper: Go to the tunnels.

  Ephraim’s head cocked.

  “What is it?”

  And that voice, like a hunch, all over again: Go to the tunnels, Ephraim. Do it. That’s where he’ll be.

  “Tunnels,” Ephraim said.

  “What tunnels?”

  “I just get a feeling,” Ephraim said.

  But Sophie was no longer listening. Her free hand slid down his stomach.

  “I get one too,” she said.

  Chapter 32

  Going Deeper

  A pillow hit Mercer in the face. Then a clock radio hit him on the side.

  “Morning.” Fiona’s bodyguard threw a heavy stone coaster, missed, and walked away. Fiona was already in her chair near the bed. She was dressed and ready for the day, whereas Mercer was still wearing his bloody, snot-soaked shirt and filthy cargo shorts. He’d slept terribly, with his ankle chained to the bed.

  Mercer looked at Fiona. “Where’s the bacon?”

  “Maybe it’s time to stop with the jokes. You’re not smart, Mercer.”

  “No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.” He sat up, smiling. Raised a hand for the other bodyguard (he didn’t know either of their names) to high-five. The man left him hanging.

  “We have a lead,” Fiona said.

  “I don’t hear leads until I have coffee.” Mercer looked down at his bound ankle. “Or at least until bitches stop tying me to things. Is this how you treat an ally?”

  Fiona acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “Last night, we picked up a subliminal control burst from somewhere in the city.”

  “Okay. What’s that?”

  “It’s a technology Eden uses to control its clones. When Ephraim was in the Riverbed offices, we noticed a frequency trying to reach him. I managed to hijack it for a while, using Ephraim as a puppet instead of Jonathan or whoever. They changed something soon after, and it stopped working. But we know what to look for.”

  Mercer rubbed his face. “That’s a MyLife technology. I’m pretty sure Ephraim had his MyLife removed.”

  “MyLife was just the vehicle. You can influence people without one. That’s how advertising works. And those recordings that help you quit smoking.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t feel like teaching you my life’s work,” Fiona said. “You just need to know that someone, somewhere, is using an Eden control device with an effective target inside the city.”

  “For what?”

  “To control the clone, I assume.”

  “I told you, he doesn’t have a MyLife any—”

  “And I told you that certain things are possible regardless. But it would have to be at close range.”

  “How close?”r />
  “Also inside the city.”

  Mercer squinted. The room wasn’t as quiet as he’d first thought. Somewhere beyond the windows, a noise that could only be described as a boring-ass dirge blared from what sounded like an enormous electrified organ. Fucking Procession. Outside, on the streets of New York, the pious would be dressed in gold-inlaid robes and ridiculous hats.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “There’s not much to get.” And in an instant Mercer saw what he’d missed as he’d woke up: Fiona was angry. “It’s an Eden device, nearby, and someone is using it to control a clone. So maybe you can tell me, Mercer. If, as far as you know, there’s no grand conspiracy between Eden and a third party,” She lowered her eyes and stared holes in Mercer, clearly indicating that the most logical ‘third party’ was Mercer and whoever he might sell stolen goods to, “then why would someone from Eden be in the city with a goddamn control box?”

  “What does one thing have to do with another?”

  Fiona took a minute to compose her next words. “That clone stole something from me, Mercer. I want it back.”

  “Okay.”

  “It mysteriously disappeared. Either Mauritius has it, or GEM has it, or Jonathan kept it after Neven was killed. I’d pretty much given up on that last one because Jonathan and Ephraim both seem so clueless. It’d be the perfect thing to use with missing betas, for instance. But if there’s no conspiracy, there’s no distribution network. It wouldn’t be possible with Eden on lockdown, fully occupied and with GEM about to go ashore. There’d be nowhere to unload my property. No one to sell the betas to. Without help, the Todds are pinned nicely on Eden. Except that they aren’t cut off, are they? You’re selling clones, a few at a time.”

  “Wait,” Mercer said, connecting dots. “You don’t think that I—”

  “You tell me. You said there’s no conspiracy. No half-assed attempt to somehow implicate me in this mess, to imply that I was involved in the shit storm Eden is about to face. Because it’s just Ephraim and Jonathan on Eden. Isolated, like I said. And Ephraim? He’s useless. He’s a total asshole. He’s not capable of being involved in anything at all.”

  “He’s not!”

  “Then who’s using that box? Who’s in the city? Because it’s for damn sure not Jonathan or Wallace’s ghost.”

  “Well,” Think fast! “It’s … it’s not the real Ephraim …”

  “Who else? Because I’ve been thinking about this for a good half-hour now, and I started to realize that my entire decision to trust you relies on two things. First, that real Ephraim’s reaction to my accusation was based on him being an idiot, not a genuine lack of knowledge. Second, a belief that the Todds are currently out of the picture, minding their own damn business because they don’t have any other options. So, tell me, Mercer? Are my assumptions right? Or am I a fool?”

  The world was made of china. Mercer’s situation was completely untenable. Helpless. Hopeless. Nobody but Neven knew where Mercer had gone, and Fiona had a terrible temper. Her reputation was worse. If she wanted to shake the Etch-a-Sketch and erase Mercer, she could. It would be easy. It would make things simpler for her. She’d entered this quest for her Quarry without Mercer, and now he was a weight on her ankle.

  Fiona’s words hung in the air: Am I a fool? Even the big men seemed afraid to move.

  “Look …”

  But that’s all he had. Mercer would have to say something soon, or the nothing he had would be obvious. There had been plenty of lies blended with yesterday’s truths, and the moment Fiona sniffed a corner of one, all of the cards would collapse.

  He couldn’t go back on his elaborate fabrication, giving Ephraim credit. The man did have fair smarts, if a detestable personality. He wasn’t brave, but did follow self-interest even if it involved risk. Allowing that he might be somehow involved after all would be suicide, but he couldn’t play dumb and deny it again.

  Go deeper. Making it worse is the only way.

  Mercer bent to intuition, looked up at Fiona and forced himself to start fuming. “Those bastards!”

  “What?”

  “Jonathan!” But fuck it already; he’d said bastards instead of bastard, and he couldn’t include Ephraim. “He’s working with someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know! Why would I know!” It felt dangerous to shout at Fiona, but it was all he had.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “All right. Fine. I know there’s another distribution channel. I don’t know who it is, but Jonathan and Neven used to argue about it.”

  Mercer forced himself to keep moving; the only way to push these blue sky lies by Fiona was to keep them moving faster than her ability to study them.

  “Neven wanted to be exclusive. I took a reasonable commission, and no matter what you think of me, I’m square with my partners. Jonathan always wanted to diversify. He said it was too risky to have a second person selling their clones and making their contacts. Neven said, wisely, that more partners meant more exposure. I’d been with Neven for years; he could trust my discretion. I’m not a rat. Never have been. Or would be. Neven knew it, and every time Jonathan brought up the idea of working with a second liaison, Neven shot him down.

  “After Neven died and Eden was suddenly occupied, I talked to Jonathan; I said, Man, you’ve gotta keep a low profile. I know the border patrol; we’ve been bribing the same people for years. I can slip through. Sell enough clones to keep you in business. Even if GEM comes, I can work around them on the island unless they formally seize anything, which they won’t because they can’t without a UN injunction. And Jonathan seemed to understand, like he’d finally seen that Neven was right and that one trusted distributor was so much better. I got a whiff, just once, like I heard him talking on his Doodad and it sounded like a deal. I said, Dude, our arrangement is exclusive. I’m incurring extra costs avoiding all this attention. I’m trying to make this work. But if you work with someone else and my margins start to shrink, I’ll have to raise my rates to account for the risk.”

  Mercer paused, seeing that Fiona hadn’t yet interrupted. But this was dangerous. He was inventing lies too quickly, and if Fiona called him on any details later he’d never get them right twice.

  But her face was neutral. Undecided. He had to keep going. The only way out was all the way through.

  “I didn’t tell you about this because frankly, it makes me look like an asshole if it’s true, for just going along and trusting, unable to even figure it out. I don’t like looking like a fool. I didn’t think it mattered, but I guess here it is. So. This is where we are. You want to kill me? I guess you’d better go ahead.”

  Mercer spread his arms. He forced his breathing to slow, but he’d never been more nervous in his life.

  Fiona said, “So that’s your guess. It’s Eden’s other distributor in the city.”

  “Probably, if they didn’t come to me.”

  Then Mercer had an idea. It felt like throwing a firecracker in one direction so he could escape in the other.

  “And I guess it makes sense. Eden’s been unloading more shit from their stock than I’ve been taking off the island. I figured they were sending them to the crematorium to thin the herd in case they got caught, but if they’ve got someone they like and trusted him enough to give him one of those boxes …”

  Mercer trailed off, looking away, to let Fiona assemble the final pieces herself. If what he’d said was true — and if his performance was convincing, and if she didn’t question him too much later and find his story false — then a second Eden distributor would be the perfect place to offload a certain missing Riverbed device.

  Fiona considered, and then she looked up. “When were you on Eden last?”

  On this, Mercer figured he’d better tell her the truth. “Sunday.”

  “Were both of the Todds there?”

  Mercer nodded.

  “What’s it like? Security on Eden?”

  Here’s an opportunity to str
engthen your story.

  “Tight,” he lied. “I could barely get away.”

  Thicken it.

  “I don’t plan to go back soon. I don’t think anyone could get off the island unseen now, with GEM almost there. They’re probably working remotely with their other guy. He may not have been to Eden in weeks. Couldn’t be now, with the security.”

  But the second conclusion to be drawn was more useful for Mercer. If Eden security was as he said, nobody could have realistically left the island behind him. Communication could only be done remotely, meaning that the only person this ‘box user’ could be was an as of yet unseen party, and not anyone from Eden itself.

  It worked. As Mercer’s best lies always did, the tale had tied up in a neat, unassailable package. And how could Fiona possibly disprove it, before he found a way to escape at Jubilee?

  Mercer waited. So did Fiona. The air was thick and uncomfortable.

  Fiona finally nudged the steering straw with her chin. It rotated slightly, and she called “Maria!” in the next room.

  Maria appeared at the door. “Yes, Fiona?”

  Her eyes — fathoms deep with suspicion — turned toward Mercer.

  “Get Hershel Wood on the line,” she said.

  Chapter 33

  In Exchange For the Quarry

  Hershel’s Doodad rang and broke his concentration. He looked up and then back down, distracted, trying to focus his thoughts that now floated somewhere between his groove and this new intrusion.

  A second ring.

  Hershel’s screen was visible from the closed office door. If anyone entered, it’d be simple to see all the code. That in itself wasn’t a big deal; one glance wouldn’t show it to be a backdoor to the Gene Crypt. But it was code that the old Hershel wouldn’t have known how to write, and that would strike others as strange.

  Just one more advantage of being a clone.

  If an organic human wanted an attribute in their arsenal, they’d have to learn it. Worse, they’d have to have learned it a long time ago, seeing as the skill was needed now. Hershel had been born knowing how to write the required script. His creator had plugged it in. Voila.