DoriaN A

by Jon Jacks

  ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ He gave me his devilishly grin once more. ‘Though I said “what”, not “thing”, if I recall it correctly.’

  ‘Dorian; just answer me will you! I don’t think that even you would think creating human slaves would be the most important thing you’d ever created!’

  ‘Hmn, thanks for the vote of confidence, Angeic.’

  He broke off from his shaving, swishing his razor around in the bowl.

  ‘I appreciate it, I really do. Because, of course, you’re right. Think about it, Angeic; Dorian A’s development could herald a much safer way for all of us to live. It’s not inconceivable that I could play around with strengthening the body’s own natural defences in any future models. Anyone with their own clone would know that, if they became infected at any point, they could be inoculated with the stronger defences of their copy.’

  Models? He referred to Dean as a “model”? One that could be superseded by “future models”? So then what? Dean’s put out on the scrap heap?

  ‘And what do all these “models” and “clones” do while they’re waiting around waiting for their “owners” to pick up an infection?’

  I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  Dorian languidly returned to his shaving.

  ‘We’d keep them in some form of medically-preserved suspension, of course. You know, making sure they’re not conscious of what’s going on around them, but their bodily functions are still ticking over nicely. And they wouldn’t just be of use when someone became infected; they’d be the perfect source of anything else that was required – livers, lungs, stomachs. Not just when they’d been damaged, but also when they’d aged. It would be the nearest we’ve come to a sort of fountain of youth. It would be a medical breakthrough.’

  ‘Medical breakthrough?’ I was aghast. ‘Butchering, more like!’

  He turned to face me.

  ‘You’re not thinking straight, Angeic. If this development had been around when your parents had been infected, there would have been a good chance they would have been saved. The whole infected area could have been replaced with healthy material.’

  ‘Healthy material? From a living – wait! The liver, the lungs! Is that why you were drinking last night? And smoking? Because you’ve already got your sights on cutting out Dean’s liver to replace your dodgy one?’

  Dorian glared at me.

  ‘You’re still thinking of “Dean” as a “who”, Angeic. He’s a “what”, remember?’

  He angrily swiped his razor hard and brutally across his cheek, drawing blood into the white foam, turning it pink.

  He smiled.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Silently but swiftly, Dorian washed away the pink foam with the warm water in the bowl.

  He patted his face dry as the bloodied foam swirled away.

  As he abruptly turned away, I could have sworn that his face was not only free of any running blood, but was also devoid of any of the cuts I was expecting to see.

  I checked the towel he’d used.

  There wasn’t even a single speck of blood on it.

   

   

  *

 

  Chapter 16

   

  ‘That Dorian of yours, Angeic; I must admit I’d thought you’d tamed him at last and he was improving – but he’s just as moody as ever, isn’t he?’

  Moody? Yeah, you don’t know the half of it Gilleria.

  We were in the Chez Stadia for lunch, Gilleria, Fullerana, and me.

  The manager Mr Bodor had greeted us effusively, with no mention of the dismissal of the waitress Kerrsly.

  Fullerana nodded in agreement with Gilleria.

  ‘I mean, Angeic, whenever we’ve seen him recently at your apartment, like wow – we all thought, what a change! You hadn’t just tamed him Angeic – you’d transformed him!’

  ‘Now don’t go getting us wrong here Angeic – we all know what a fabulous catch Dorian is! He’s got it all – the looks, the talent, the money. But the charm – yeah, only when he was interested in you.’

  ‘Like he is deeply with you darling, so you probably never noticed it, right?’

  ‘See, whenever we called – whenever we used to call – it was like he didn’t really know us, or even want to get to know us; you know, like he just put up with us for your sake, but wished you didn’t spend any time with us?’

  ‘Yeah, but recently Angeic – it’s a whole new man who’s been greeting us! Interested in who we are, what we’ve been up to; I thought, wow, is he coming on to us?’

  They both giggled.

  ‘Seriously though Angeic; whenever we come across him outside the apartment, it’s back to the same old Dorian. Like he’s got no idea who we are and couldn’t care anyway.’

  ‘So tell us Angeic; have you got him loaded up with some special drugs whenever we meet him in your apartment? Is that why he’s so attentive?’

  The giggles again.

  I giggled with them, to show I wasn’t offended by anything they’d been saying.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know why he’s like that,’ I said. ‘Perhaps it’s, you know, because he’s one of those children who were adopted!’

  I giggle again, to show I’m not serious about Dorian being adopted.

  But I’ve been wanting to broach all this weird thing about children being forcibly adopted for what seems like a lifetime now; I need to know the truth.

  The thought just won’t leave me that what Cally had told me is true, even though I’ve been telling myself over and over again that it’s far more likely that she’d used some form of trickery on me to persuade me she was my sister.

  Think about it; if I accepted Cally’s version of my life, I’d seen my mum gunned down right in front of me.

  Just as I’d seen someone else I’d regarded as my mother eventually die after fighting off the man I’d believed was my attacker.

  A man who might just have been my real father.

  You don’t just accept a version of your life like that without some sort of inner fight against the supposed-facts being laid out in front of you.

  Gilleria frowned, obviously puzzled by my comment.

  Fullerana chuckled wickedly, however.

  ‘Oh wouldn’t that be a shock for Dorian, eh Angeic?’ she said. ‘If he found out he’d been adopted!’

  ‘Adopted? What do mean, adopted? Who’s been adopted?’

  I’d been right about Gilleria; she was as oblivious about any forced adoptions as I’d been.

  Fullerana seemed to have at least heard about them. Just how much did she know about them though?

  I kept quiet, hoping she would answer Gilleria’s question.

  ‘Oh Gilleria,’ she said. ‘Surely you’ve heard the rumours? Children from outside the Oases are sometimes adopted; they’re raised as if they’re a real part of the family, not even knowing they’ve been adopted.’

  She paused, noting Gilleria’s shocked face.

  ‘Even you Gilleria,’ Fullerana teased. ‘You might be adopted, but wouldn’t even know it!’

  Fullerana chuckled devilishly.

  Gilleria was scandalised.

  ‘Me! I’m not adopted Fullerana! There are pictures of me as a baby! Pictures of me taking my first steps!’

  ‘Oh, those,’ Fullerana said dismissively. ‘The adoption agencies provide all the fake shots; the false videos, edited sometimes to include younger versions of your parents. It’s all very well done; very persuasive. It’s a massive industry.’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone want to adopt some brat from outside the Oases?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious Gilleria? Infections; we’re all prone to them, aren’t we, in the Oases? But the children born and raised for a few years outside, where infections aren’t so easy to control; well, ironically, the kids that survive have survived because they’ve built up an immunity. If you bring them into our community at an earlier enough age, you’re improvin
g our stick; just the way they used to breed horses, before it was deemed too dangerous to ride anything but some creature that was more Droid than animal.’

  ‘You seem to know an awful lot about all this Fullerana,’ Gilleria spat back. ‘How come you know so much, eh?’

  For a split second, Fullerana was taken aback.

  ‘Well, you just sort of hear things, you know?’ she said finally.

  She blushed slightly, I was sure of it.

  And the thought crossed my mind; did Fullerana know about the forced adoptions because she’d somehow found out that she’d been adopted?

   

   

  *

   

   

  Constantly telling myself that Cally had somehow tricked me into believing a whole lot of unbelievable nonsense had been the only thing keeping me from breaking down.

  The only thing keeping me sane.

  It had helped prevent me from grieving for the loss of my mum all over again.

  Up until now.

  As soon as I’d said goodbye to my friends after a hurried finish to the meal, I’d broken down and cried.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  Claude had assumed I’d just needed a bit of privacy after I’d asked him to put the car’s passenger compartment into complete sound proof and shading mode.

  By the time we’d arrived back at the apartment block, and he opened the door for me, I’d managed to tidy myself up enough to hide the fact I’d been crying.

  I held back further tears by telling myself there was an amazing positive in all this – I had a sister.

  A twin sister at that!

  And I was sure that she was still alive!

   

   

  *

   

   

  Dean was in the kitchen when I entered the apartment.

  He had his back to me, but it had to be Dean; Dorian would be at work, putting together his next earth-shattering development.

  Dean was coughing badly. He was preparing a glass of sparkling salts which, with a sharp tilt of his head, he slugged back like his life depended on it.

  ‘Seltzer? What’ve you been up to Dean?’ I asked as I stepped closer towards him.

  He turned, surprised. He obviously hadn’t heard me enter.

  ‘Splitting headache,’ he groaned, finishing with a raucous cough.

  There was a ridiculously bad cut across his chin, as if he’d fallen badly and accidently gashed it.

  I instinctively reached out to touch his cut chin.

  ‘You’re cut–’

  ‘You’ve been crying–’

  He reached out to touch my cheek where, I presume, my makeup must have run, revealing a tear track.

  We stopped, embarrassed. Unsure.

  Our hands unmoving. Still touching.

  Our eyes locked.

  His eyes were bloodshot, blurry.

  The spell, thankfully, was broken.

  ‘Dean…’ I said doubtfully, bringing my hand away from the cut to his chin.

  He let his own hand drop away from my cheek.

  ‘A “what” shouldn’t hope for such things, should he – should it, eh?’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Don’t talk that way, Dean!’ I scolded gently. ‘You know that’s not the reason! You’re not a “what”. You’re a “who”.’

  ‘Like, “Who are you?” “Who do you think you are?”’

  ‘You know what I mean; you’re a person, just as much as anyone else.’

  Yeah, a person who Dorian intends to use like some medical equivalent of a larder, his bit cuts out and reused.

  But – it was more than that, wasn’t it?

  The cut.

  The cut right where Dorian had cut himself on the chin this morning.

  The cut that had somehow magically healed within a few seconds.

  The headache.

  The cough.

  The headache Dorian should have had after a night of heavy drinking.

  The cough he should have had after all those cigars.

  It was like…like Dorian was already somehow…what? Using Dean to take on all the ills he’d suddenly begun inflicting on himself?’

  Was I serious?

  Was I going crazy?

  Was that even possible?

  Of course it wasn’t!

  I once again reached out to touch the wound on Dean’s chin, wanting to reassure myself that I really was seeing a bad shaving cut in exactly the same place Dorian had deliberately slashed himself.

  Oh oh; bad move.

  Dean instantly got the wrong idea.

  He reached up, delicately laying his own hand over mine.

  He looked into my eyes with what would normally be his beautiful, kind, humorous eyes but – thank God – were today red, watery, pained orbs.

  ‘Dean…’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  He regretfully let his hand drop away from mine.

  ‘No, no… you don’t know! I…I’m just a little confused, that’s all!’

  Confused? Wow, that was the world’s best underestimation of whatever it was I was going through!

  Quickly, I tried to gather myself, to think seriously.

  ‘Look, Dean…your headache. This might be a bit intrusive of me, right? But were you drinking last night?’

  ‘Drinking? Ha! Dorian said there was none of that for me. Got to keep myself pure, see?’

  Yeah, course you have. Dorian doesn’t want to replace a dodgy liver with an equally dodgy transplant, does he?

  ‘But Dean; you’ve got a hangover, right?’

  ‘Hangover? Wow, if this is what a hangover’s like, thank heavens I don’t drink. But it can’t be see, because I don’t drink.’

  ‘Sure you weren’t drinking Dean; but Dorian was. And he hasn’t got the slightest trace of a hangover this morning.’

  I paused, waiting for what I was saying to begin to sink in.

  ‘And he cut himself badly while shaving; cut himself right where your cut’s appeared across your chin.’ I risked tenderly but briefly touching his cut once more. ‘And there’s no cut on Dorian’s chin. It healed almost instantly.’

  Dean frowned. He touched his cut, feeling the scarred surface.

  ‘Angeic, I know all this whole situation is weird, this whole thing of my existence and creation is weird – but what I think you’re implying is way beyond weird.’

  ‘I know, I know; how could there possibly be such an incredible connection between you both? But, see, the symptoms you’re suffering from; the headache, the bloodshot eyes, the unsteadiness – that’s an A1 hangover, right? And get this; Dorian was really hitting the hard stuff last night, and the smokes. The last thing Dorian normally wants to do is any activity that might run a risk of harming him – unless it’s to do with testing his latest invention of course, then all care goes out the window.’

  ‘Could be he was just, you know, glad to get you back; celebrating like I would be if I’d thought I’d lost you but you were suddenly returned to me.’

  ‘To me? What happened to this it you were saying you were just a moment back, eh? Me says you definitely see yourself as a person, right?’

  He gave me an embarrassed grin.

  ‘Yeah, how else could it be? I look human. I act human. I think human. Sure, I know I shouldn’t be seeing myself in such a way. I just can’t help it.’

  ‘If it helps, I see you as a me. As a he. As a you.’

  He smiled again, the warmth spreading into his eyes.

  ‘That does help; helps more than you can imagine.’

  ‘Dean…’ I said it with all the tones of a warning, worried where he thought all this was going once again.’

  His smile now was wry and wistful.

  ‘Sure, don’t worry, I get it; there’s no you and me.’

   

   

  *

 

  Chapter 17

   

  No you a
nd me.

  What a thing to say!

  Why did I feel like I’d somehow been admonished for just – well, what? Pointing out that, yeah, although I like him, it only went so far between him and me.

  That’s how it had to be. How it was meant to be.

  I was meant for Dorian. Dorian was meant for me.

  So why was Dean making me feel so angry?

  Feel so confused?

  What had he done, after all?

  Shown he understood what I meant, that’s all.

  So why did he look so resigned as he said it?

  Why did he just assume that was it? That that was how it had to be, that was the end of it?

  Oh gawd gawd gawd; where am I going with all this?

   

   

  *

   

   

  Thankfully, Dean interrupted my chaotic, rambling thoughts.

  ‘Look, if it’s all this connection bit between me and Dorian you’re trying to figure out, I think you might be right.’

  ‘Right? That whatever bad things Dorian does ends up making you suffer?’

  ‘It’s not as impossible as it sounds. See, when Dorian was working on developing me, he knew using his own morphic field – the energies that give a body and even each individual DNA strand its shape as it’s forming – would be the best way of ensuring a perfect copy. But he was worried that the fields themselves might end up forming a connection he hadn’t even dreamt of. He was worried that if anything happened to me while I was in development, it might affect him in some way; perhaps even badly.’

  ‘Ah, Dorian mentioned the fields; he didn’t say they could end up connecting in a way he hadn’t accounted for. But how come you know all this?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like I’m just some clone grown in some larger variety of test tube; the use of the fields meant my brain was formed more or less with all the knowledge Dorian had acquired over the years. Sure, I know – I know because of the very reason that I’ve inherited most of his knowledge – I know he was hoping to limit the knowledge and my emotional breadth using the techniques he’s developed creating his Droids; but it didn’t completely work.’

  ‘Then…then you know how he intends to use you?’ I was uncertain, horrified; had Dean known all along that Dorian regarded him as a pick and mix medical storage facility?

  Dean nodded ruefully.

  I couldn’t help it; I reached out for him again, hugged him tightly.

  He hugged me back, his cheek warmly resting against the side of my face.

  I stayed there a moment, wondering what would happen next.

  It was Dean who gently pushed us apart.

  ‘There’s…there’s something I think you should know. Angeic – you have a sister.’