“Still a screwed up name if you ask me. I’d never choose to end my life. Though I wish I were able to run far enough away to have a chance at a new beginning.”
“That’s why you hate the system.”
“It’s not really hate; it’s anger, a feeling of being trapped. Not even being an Elite would make me happy. The whole society makes me sick. How did we end up this way?”
“It’s because of the fog, I think. Everything is so small, I almost feel like I’m suffocating sometimes, except that I have a lot of virtual games that enlarged my world. If I can’t escape the fog, I can always escape in a virtual reality of my choosing, climbing a mountain, or escaping to exotic beaches.”
“Yet it’s just a make-believe.” Her tone was so sad, it made Allan want to reach out to her and comfort of her.
“Hey, would you like me to bring you to my home after this gets straightened out? I live in a truly kick ass mansion,” he found himself saying, almost without thinking.
“I’m sure it is. I can’t wait to visit an Elite home and see if it’s just like in the reality shows,” Her face lit up in mock excitement. ”I just love watching Elites as they take a crap, brush their teeth, eat their decadent meals. I can’t believe people are really watching that. Let’s make sure you don’t die, then we’ll see what can be done about changing the fate of the city and the opinion of Jules, all right?”
“Not sure if you’re sarcastic or just bitter. Anyway, it’s an open invitation, if everything goes well.”
“Thank you. Well, we’re here. David is probably already waiting for you in the street. Good luck!” With that, Jules turned around without waiting for him to reply and went back into the forest towards the Scrappie compound.
Allan looked back for a while to see her one last time, his heart heavy with concern for her, then walked to the scooter parked in the street, not far from where he’d come out of the forest. He nodded to David and then climbed into the scooter behind him.
“Where are we going?” asked David, turning his head slightly.
“Just take me to the Southeast Elite gate on the other side of the canal. I know the guards there and I have an excuse for why they don’t have me on record for leaving the compound; unless the clone just did that, in which case, I have to think fast.”
Without another word, David started off towards the city. As they approached the gate, he stopped the scooter and let Allan climb out. “Listen, in an hour I’ll be here again, just behind the corner there so I’m not in plain view. I’ll pretend something is wrong with my scooter in case somebody asks. Can’t stay long, so come back if you can to let me know what happened. Depending on that, I’ll either take you back or you’ll go home. Are we good?”
“Yes, thanks for everything. One way or another we’ll be in touch.” Allan started towards the gate. He was relieved to see who was on duty.
“Hello, Fletcher. Having a good day so far?” Allan asked. Fletcher was a tall and very fit youth, sitting on a bench a few feet away from the guard cabin in the shade of a tree, reading a magazine.
“Master Allan, everything all right with you, sir? I don’t think I have you on record for leaving home today,” Fletcher said, while getting up from the bench. He took a tablet from his pocket and began scrolling through the data.
“I’m fine, of course. I was in a friend’s car. Didn’t want people to know I was sneaking out. Wanted to have some fun on a Friday night, you know? Behind the gate is nothing if not boring, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure, but still, we should know. What if something were to happen to you?”
“Something did happen to me. I got laid, ha! You should have seen her big tits, middle of a wasp and a firm, round ass,” Allan explained the details of his supposed adventure with his hands forming the contour of a woman’s body.
The guard had no chance to doubt that everything was true, as his face got redder and his eyes and ears tried to absorb every word as if his life depended on it.
That was easy, Allan thought as he made his way home. Not long ago he’d been one of those boys, his life solely about games and girls, but now it seemed a lifetime ago.
8
At the southern border of the city, Tom was struggling to put one foot in front of the other, walking in the deep fog.
“I can’t move a step further. Please, please let’s go back!” In the milky air, Tom could hear his friend’s voice, sounding as if the man was in great anguish. “Tom, please brother, my heart is racing. I think I’m on the verge of a heart attack.” A thump followed. The man had dropped to the ground.
“Serge, get up. Get up, man, just one more yard. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I can’t. Honestly, that’s it for me. I’ve reached my limit.”
“Okay, then get up and let’s go back. We did better than last time. By twenty yards, I’d say. We did well.” The two silhouettes started back, supporting each other at the waist.
In the bright light of Saturday morning, the two friends collapsed against a fence, right outside an Elite property, with their backs to a beautiful mansion a distance away. Facing the dense wall of fog, seemingly impossible to penetrate, they were trying to make sense of their latest adventure.
It had always been hard to walk in the fog. It was never that bad when they first started, but the deeper they went, the worse it got, until they hit some kind of psychological wall of panic. It happened without exception each time they had tried it.
“This time it was like I was walking into the midst of some vicious creatures that would start nibbling at my flesh at any moment. Then I started itching and it was like there were a thousand ants all over me. My heart was racing and I felt like it was going to burst. What did you feel?” Serge asked.
“More or less the same thing,” Tom answered. “But we both know it’s always been like that. It’s been bothering me ever since we tried it the first time. We always carry the instruments with us, but there’s nothing there. No ants in our pants, so to speak. So why are we so scared? Why the panic?”
“I don’t know, but I beg you, no more tonight. My nerves are shot.” He started to pull at his short hair, his head between his knees. Tom could see his hands were shaking.
“There must be something beyond the fog. And why doesn’t it lift, ever?”
The whole city was surrounded by it. Tom had tried in other places. Other people had tried as well. Nobody could conquer the panic attack that followed. Serge turned to Tom, “Have you ever tried it through the old downtown? I’ve never been there. It’s too scary with all the freaky Scrappies wandering around.”
“Don’t talk like that about them. You know very well I’m one of them now. But, yes, to answer your question. It’s pretty much the same. On the other side of the skyscrapers there’s the lake. Once I took out an old boat and when I reached the fog, I looked back. I got a better view of the whole area. This beastly fog surrounds the whole city in a large circle.”
“What if the whole world is in the fog? What if we’re the only ones alive?”
“Come on now. That’s the kind of garbage they teach in schools, in history class.” He imitated a booming voice, “Lost forever is the Earth we knew before the time of the quakes. We’re on our own, saved from the cataclysm, fortunate survivors in our beautiful little world.” Do you really believe that?”
“Can you prove that it’s a lie? We haven’t seen anything else, no matter how hard we tried. How long have we been doing this and how far have we gone? A hundred yards here, two hundred there, and what? Nothing!”
“Then we have to start thinking outside of the box. For example, if the limit to our expedition is largely imposed by our fear factor, let’s eliminate that from the experiment.”
“How will we do that?”
“We’ll use the auto-platform. I lay down on it, you tie me to it and knock me out with the brainwave modulator. Then, you remotely drive the platform into the fog for as long as the remote works, while watching on
the camera. You wake me up remotely. If I see nothing but fog and I can’t bear the panic, I’ll knock myself out, but not before I communicate with you to start driving me back. If I feel no panic, I’ll venture to walk farther on foot. That might just do it.” Tom felt pretty excited as he was talking.
“Look here,” Serge countered. “Why not send the auto-platform on its own? Equipped with a camera and all the sensors, it could penetrate anything you would. It will record everything, without the need to jeopardize your life.”
“Tried it already. I sent the platform by itself. It reached the distance limit for the capabilities of the remote control unit and it recorded nothing but fog. I hope to get farther on foot.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me. Let me know when you want to meet and do it. I have to get all the stuff ready. How many platforms, how many modulators?”
“Two or three of each would be best. Maybe we convince a couple of our trusted comrades to come as well. It makes sense to send more than just one man. I’ll let you know of anything else I might need.” Tom was ready to leave, but Serge seemed to have something on his mind. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
“Tom, how long have you been in hiding? Almost four months. Isn’t it time for you to come back?” Serge’s voice showed how troubled his old friend was.
“Come back to what, Serge? Have we found out who wanted me dead? Do you have a lead on the conspirators?”
“Not yet, but how much longer can you stay in that place? I don’t know what to do. Everything looks normal. I would just confront the city council, hold them accountable for what happened to you.”
“And how do I do that? Do I go to them and tell them somebody wanted to kill me, so I staged my own death and a new me appeared out of thin air and took my place? Even if I manage to do that, somebody will have me killed later. Do you remember how it all began? I started to talk about the census. In fifty years we went from almost a million people to only a little over a hundred thousand. Maybe my math is a little rusty, but that’s a pretty terrible growth rate for such an advanced civilization.”
“The council told you that maybe it’s nature’s way of downsizing the population to a sustainable level, considering the small size of our world.”
“Then I asked why we have negative growth when some people have clones to help prolong their lives.”
“Only a small number of the population uses clones, though, the Elites. The technology is very expensive, which is why the Professionals use mostly cloned genetic material.”
“Right, that’s what they said too. I argued that maybe we should instead spend our credits on improving the lives of the Servers instead of spending so much on clones. That led me to the question of why there is an entire west wing of clones in the cloning facility for the leaders of our city. They’re totally separated from the rest, heavily secured and costing us a small fortune for the upkeep.”
“It’s to ensure continuity of leadership and security in case of an uprising or a terrorist attack.”
“Are you kidding me? What uprising? What terrorist attack? Our people are so dulled by all the Digiscreen shows and the video games, they take no interest in anything else. As for the outside world, nothing’s happened in fifty years. Our security forces wouldn’t even know how to fight an uprising or an attack, in spite of their ongoing training. Nobody has any real battle experience. We don’t even need to fight the Scrappies, poor bunch of souls.”
“Which brings me back to the fact that for over three months you haven’t done anything to change your situation. And I don’t know how to help. So you tell me what our next move is.”
“I will, when I figure out what that is. Tell me, is my son all right?”
“He’s a happy go lucky type of fellow. Games and girls, those are his top priorities.”
“Good to know. I miss him a lot. Keep an eye on him for me. I promise to do my best and come up with a decision soon. And, Serge, brother, thanks. I’ll send the messages via the usual channel. Stay alive!” Tom grabbed his backpack and took off.
9
Allan walked on the street leading to his house and passed a few joggers who acknowledged him with a short hand wave or a nod, all while keeping their eyes simultaneously on the street and the hyper-googles they were all wearing.
He arrived home without incident, but suddenly an odd feeling of insecurity enveloped him, as if his subconscious mind was sending him alarm messages. He decided not to go through the front entrance. Instead, he went through the back, circling around the great mansion he called home. On Saturdays and Sundays all the Servers had the day off and retired to their quarters nearby, once they ensured that food was cooked and ready to be warmed up and served.
The gardeners also kept a low profile. His father liked to enjoy some time on his own on the large lawn behind the house, where the tennis court and swimming pool were ready to be used.
Only the live-in maid was there, ready to do whatever was needed to keep her employers comfortable and well taken care of.
He approached the house from the back, walking stealthily and taking cover behind the trees and bushes that created archways above walkways covered in limestone and manicured to perfection.
The large patio doors leading to his father’s office were open to let in the fresh, fragrantly scented air of roses and honeysuckle planted nearby. He could hear his father’s voice speaking on the videophone, his familiar deep baritone voice emanating confidence and command.
He longed for their old times together, to once again feel protected and loved. And yet, he couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him. It was surely many months ago, as if his father had decided it was time to wean him out.
He had almost stepped inside when he heard parts of the conversation, “Yes, it’s been taken care of… in the incinerator, of course… yes, it’s confirmed… the boy does not even know he’s a clone… soon... it’s going to look like an unfortunate accident… don’t worry, I’ll take care of it…. I had to, he knew too much… the other one will die as we planned initially… all right then,” and he hung up.
Nothing had affected Allan more in his entire life than that one conversation. He felt completely numb. His knees seemed to give up on him, then his body started to shake uncontrollably, as if the dead of winter had settled into his bones. Who is this monster? My own father. What is going on?
His mind was going in circles, one question leading to others even more frightening. What, and why and when had it started? Who was involved? How many of them were in on this terrible plot of assassination and was he the primary target or just a peon in a big war game of sorts?
From deep inside him came a will to live, a will so fierce it enveloped him like a tidal wave. He would prevail and he would see the end of this if it took him the rest of his life. Suddenly, he remembered his clone and the fact that he was also in danger of being killed at some appointed time in the future.
I don’t even know what I’m not supposed to know.
He pondered briefly and then put the thought on hold to attend to more pressing business: saving his clone, and hopefully making an ally of him. None of me will die. In spite of the dire situation, he found that latest thought hilarious.
He turned around carefully and tried another back entrance to the house, one that took him to the kitchen. It was used by the Servers coming in and out during the week.
The door was closed, but rarely ever locked, so he opened it carefully and slipped inside. He took the Servers’ staircase up to the second floor where his apartment was and opened the door to his study room.
As he stepped inside, he felt a blow to his head, and crumpled to the floor.
“My God, you’re my clone,” he heard a voice. “What are you doing here?”
He opened his eyes and looked at his mirrored image, “You are my clone.”
“Are you okay?”
“Back off man. What was that, a bat?”
“You bet
it was. You entered my house. I thought you were a burglar.”
“Listen closely.” He sat up with a groan. “I am Allan, the original Allan. You’re my clone and you took my place a day and a half ago.” Noticing that his counterpart looked frightened and ready to scream for help, Allan took a step back, raised his arms above his head in a surrendering motion, and continued.
“Please, don’t say anything until I’m finished. It’s a matter of life and death, for both of us.” He saw the clone looking as if he was ready to listen, and he continued. “Did something unusual happen to you last Thursday night?” Then he lowered his arms and sat on the floor.
The clone hesitated for a moment. “Actually, yes. After a hard training day, I went to the Imaginarium, then came home and went straight to bed. I woke up some time after midnight with a terrible headache and a feeling of not knowing where I was. I’d had a dream of floating in a tube and it felt so claustrophobic… I woke up in a sweat. Then I relaxed because I realized I was in my own bedroom.”
“The tube,” Allan explained, “was not a dream, it was an actual memory you had, because you were kept in a tube filled with amniotic fluid your whole life until Thursday night. This is when they took me to the hospital and replaced me with you.”
“Who would do that?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Tell me, do you remember being at the hospital at all?”
“No, nothing.”
“What about going to the Imaginarium?”
“I remember that vaguely, bits and pieces, I apparently won.”
“It’s odd you don’t remember the details. I know exactly what my strategy was.” Suddenly a thought came to him. “Wait a minute, the game! It must have been the trigger for the replacement. But why?”
“I think you’re crazy,” the clone replied. “I’m going to call father.”
“No, no, don’t do that. Please don’t. Something terrible is happening to us.” Allan started to tell the clone the whole story of his misfortune, and then his rescue, his coming back home, and finally the discovery he made while listening to his father’s phone conversation.
Elysian Fields Page 5
