by V. J. Deanes
“What would you do if you were me?” Kalan asked.
“You must find your double,” the man said firmly. “Find him before he finds you. Then bring him to me.”
Frustration was written on Kalan’s face. “How am I supposed to do that and why should I trust you?”
“Nisha will guide you,” the bald man replied. “You must trust her.”
“I’ll take a pass on that,” said Kalan. “You want to keep me in this dingy house just as long as it suits you.”
“I’m not sure that you have much choice,” the man concluded. The image on the screen disappeared.
“You’re harder to handle that I thought,” Nisha griped.
Kalan sat back in his chair. “One of Damien Farlane’s assistants. Bet that’s a plum job,” he said.
Nisha took the young man’s insolence in stride. “You don’t need to know why I do this kind of work.”
“So you’re a doctor and a killer?” Kalan surmised. “Those skills don’t usually go hand in hand. What’s in this for you?”
“Doctor Farlane’s work has created people with greater intellects, who are spared the most crippling diseases of our time. Cloning was just one step along the way. My place in that history is what’s in it for me.”
“I don’t know a lot about about modern science,” Kalan replied. “I do know that I don’t like being caught up in the unintended chaos. One day I’m living my life, the next day I’m a fugitive. Just because some people think that I was created in a lab. Bet it would be different if a clone were important. Someone famous.”
“Doctor Farlane’s work has always been managed carefully. If not, people die. This is about more than just you,” Nisha said somberly. “Hatred. Fear of the unknown. They are as much at play here as are the virtues of scientific knowledge and the spirit of discovery,” Nisha replied. “Some clones are already famous.” she added confidently.
Kalan picked the Kunai swords up from the table and put them in his jacket. He stood up and walked slowly around the house. It became clear to him that that the barely exposed shiny ends of metal objects he observed earlier represented an arsenal of small swords. Dagger Lady was ready for battle. But with whom? He returned to the main room to look out of the windows, to see if anyone was visible in the distance. “How did you find me?” Kalan asked nonchalantly, concealing that he had spotted the dagger handles.
“You called your mother and asked about Doctor Farlane. All of the colonists have word recognition software in their phones. If a key word, like Farlane or clone, comes up in a conversation our network traces the position of the speakers through GPS. For safety reasons. We modified an old photograph of you to make it look as if you were at the park where you placed the call. One of our associates dropped off copies at places close to the park where we thought you might be staying.”
Kalan thought about Nisha’s answer. Something was wrong. The photo that Rain showed him looked too real to have been constructed from older images.
“Where were you staying?” Nisha asked.
Kalan ignored the question. “When I find my double how do I bring him to Farlane?”
“I’ll tell you when you need to know,” Nisha answered.
“How do I find this double?”
“He has the same strengths and weaknesses as you do,” she answered. “Tell me how the strengths that you both share could be used against him and how the weaknesses that you both share could be used against you. Then I’ll tell you how we can find him.”
“I’ve seen my double,” Kalan remarked. “Have you?”
Nisha was caught off guard, not sure what to say.
“That’s what I thought,” said Kalan. He reached for his weapon. “The only people who know about my double are trying to kill me. Do you know where he is right now?” The power meter registered maximum.
Nisha paused. “No,” she sighed. “All I know is that he is coming for you.”
Kalan’s instincts told him that once the bald man signed off, he would dispatch whoever else Nisha would need to keep him under control. Nisha was his ticket to meet Doctor Farlane. He needed to act fast.
“Your plan is to keep me here until whoever is coming for me showed up.”
“It’s not what you think,” Nisha said quietly.
“Empty your pockets here on the table,” Kalan demanded.
“What’s going on?” Nisha asked. “I just saved your...”
“You’re setting me up,” Kalan interrupted. He turned her mobile phone off and put it in his pocket. He motioned to the door. Nisha walked outside. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Follow that path through the woods,” Kalan insisted. “It leads to an old cemetery. There is a cabin that the caretaker used to live in. We’re not that far from Hadley’s Crossing. I used to come through here from time to time.”
“Forget it,” Nisha protested.
Kalan pulled her phone out. “I need a picture of the bald man,” he remarked. “I need your number as well.” He gave Nisha’s phone back to her.
Nisha sent the picture and the number to Kalan’s phone. Kalan stepped away briefly. The message he texted to Devon Granger was short. “Find this guy. Will check back soon.” Kalan turned his phone back off.
“Tables are turned now. You need me more than I need you,” Kalan told Nisha. “I can find Farlane on my own terms. You can stay if you want to confront whoever is coming here to kill me. Come along if you want to live another day.”
“Why would I go with you? I’ll be safer here,” Nisha said calmly.
“You saved my life today. I owe you for that.” The sounds of stones ricocheting off the metal panels of a vehicle that was closing in quickly could be heard in the distance. Whoever was coming for Kalan was closer than expected. Nisha looked worried. Kalan walked a few steps along the path before disappearing into the woods as the dark clouds rolled in. Nisha needed to make a choice: stay, or follow Kalan.
Chapter 6
“You’re back early,” Jane Mars remarked as Don returned home from his trip. “Was it a good show?”
Don hugged his wife. “Seems like there’s never a bad time to be selling weapons. The show ended early. Some big storm is blowing in from the south tonight. It’s got people real bothered. Most of us didn’t want to stick around any longer than necessary,” he said. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer. “You look out of sorts.”
“I am out of sorts,” Jane replied. “I don’t want us to be the ones responsible for giving away Farlane’s secret.”
“You need to stop talking nonsense,” Don replied calmly.
“It isn’t nonsense, Don. What would the other families do? They would hate us,” she said, answering her own question.
Don pulled the tab on his can of ale.
“Kalan called yesterday,” she said.
“Did he say he was sorry?”
“He said that someone who looked just like him tried to kill him,” Jane replied.
Don looked concerned. “Did he say how it happened?”
“He wasn’t hurt,” Jane replied. “Then he asked who Doctor Farlane was.”
“Did you tell him?” Don asked.
“No, of course I didn’t tell him. I told him to come home so that we could talk,” Jane retorted.
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just hung up. I don’t know what to think.”
“Any idea who told him about Farlane?”
“No, but I’ve got a bad feeling this time,” Jane said nervously.
Don paid more attention. “Did you try calling him back?”
“His phone has been off since he called. They’re going to send someone aren’t they?” Jane remarked.
“To do what?”
“Don’t be so difficult,” Jane insisted. “You remember when little Danny Brown was sick. The secret almost got out then. The spooks showed up and a day later the whole family moved away. Same thing with Debbie Young and then later wit
h Barney Spikes. They’re going to send someone to take us away. That’s what the other families will want.”
“I think you are overreacting. All the stuff you’re talking about happened years ago.”
“I am not overreacting,” Jane insisted.
“What are you going to do?”
“We gotta leave Don. Right now.”
“To go where?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jane replied, even more distressed.
“How about you call your sister?” Don suggested calmly. “Go stay with her for a few days. If you start packing now you could be there in a couple of hours. Before dark. Before the storm arrives.”
Jane went upstairs to pack her things. Don stepped out into his back yard to relax. He sipped on his beer, while admiring the forest on the west side of the property, just as one of the new Renegade Alien motorcycles blew past a remote traffic sensor on the south side of town.
XXXX
Vern Gedder left the scene before Stone found out that his shot had missed Kalan. Vern was on his own now, abandoned by leaders of the Society for the Elimination of Artificial People, but privately admired by some of the members. He wanted to control the element of surprise in taking the fight to his double. He figured that Kalan would have gone home as he raced his Renegade Alien towards Hadley’s Crossing.
Flashing lights on the drone that flew beside him convinced Vern to slow down and stop at the side of the road. It only took a few moments for the police cruiser to pull up behind him. The officer walked slowly towards the biker as he motioned for Vern to open the cockpit and remove his helmet.
“Step away from the bike,” the officer commanded. “Face away from the road and keep your hands visible.”
Officer Drysdale walked slowly around the newest Renegade offering, with its deep red finish and metallic silver trim. The upgraded collapsible cockpit particularly caught his eye as the flexible acrylic had been made much thinner and could now retract fully into the front forks just by pressing a touch pad key on the control panel. This new self-balancing design was more compact and sleek, even capable of autonomous control at low speed, if the sensory inputs from the driver’s eye and head movements were missing. The batteries were smaller, mostly to reduce weight, which capped the range at two hundred miles on a single charge. This machine was designed to redefine the experience of motorcycling. The officer was impressed.
“Stand up straight, spread your legs and hold your ams out to the sides,” the officer requested as he shone a small beam outwards from a device on his belt.
“No firearms, that’s a good sign. Show me your license,” the officer requested.
“Vern Gedder,” the officer read out loud.
“That’s right.”
The southern accent gave him away. “My eyes must be fooling me. Could have sworn you were a local boy,” the officer remarked.
Vern didn’t know what to say.
“Those leathers look pretty solid,” the officer noted. “Guess you need that kind of road rash protection on these new bikes,” he added.
“The new metal reinforced leathers do the job,” Vern replied.
“Folks from around here know that the speed limit drops back before that crest in the road. You rode over it doing almost three times the limit. You must have disabled your speed limiter.” The officer took a moment to read the particulars on the license. “What brings you to Hadley’s Crossing Mister Gedder?”
Vern turned to look back down the road. “Nothing in particular. Just passing through.”
“Just passing through to where?” the officer asked.
“Riding east. Going to stop in all the big cities.”
The officer scanned the license with the small mobile computer on his belt. “Your first ticket is for doing more than twice the speed limit.” Then he scanned Vern’s license again. “Your second ticket is for disabling the speed control on your bike.”
“Can’t you give me a break...”
“I could impound this fine machine and drive it away myself, except that you weren’t doing three times the speed limit,” the officer remarked. “Enjoy your stay in Hadley’s Crossing,” he added, looking confused as he walked slowly back to his car. He made a short call before driving away.
XXXX
“I’ll call you when I get there,” Jane said as she plucked her rain jacket from the closet beside the front door.
“Fine,” Don replied. “Now go and relax.”
“Who was on the phone a minute ago?” Jane called through the hall to the kitchen.
“Tom Drysdale,” said Don.
“Officer Tom Drysdale? I was thinking about him the other day. Who could have imagined that such a dork would turn into such a respectable member of our community. What did he want?”
“Nothing much. Said he came across someone who looked liked someone I know. He was curious about the show. Wants to know how to get his hands on the next issue of Silent Destroyer’s laser pistol before it goes on sale to the public.”
Don watched from behind the sheer curtains in the front room until his wife had driven around the corner leading further into the Blue Zone. He noticed the motorcycle parked up the road along the edge of the forest, by the top of the hill. He left the front screen door open and unlatched before walking back inside his house.
Night appeared to fall earlier than usual as the dark storm clouds moved in. Lightning flashed intermittently off to the south. Thunder rumbled loud enough to vibrate the windows in their panes. This was the address that Vern’s software had tracked Kalan Mars to. Vern opened the front door slowly and let himself in.
Blackness filled the house. Flashes of lightning illuminated the interior. Vern flipped a switch beside the kitchen. Nothing happened. He took a step forward. The light in the hallway behind him switched on. He drew a knife from inside his leathers as he turned around. No one was there. Then a light went on across from the kitchen. Don Mars stood in silhouette.
“Kalan isn’t here,” he said slowly.
Don stepped forward, then walked slowly around the kitchen table, as did Vern.
“Bet you haven’t seen one of these before,” Don said, nodding toward the gun in his hand. “Have a seat.”
Vern sat down slowly. He put his knife on the table.
“Put your hands on the table as well,” Don requested.
“Who is Farlane?” Vern asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Don replied.
“I think you do...”
“Start paying attention,” Don interrupted. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a pretty big gun,” Vern said quietly.
“See here,” Don remarked while pointing to three letters etched into the enormous barrel after the number 460. “Any idea what XVR stands for?”
“No I don’t.”
“Extreme velocity revolver. That’s what it stands for. This gun is an antique,” Don said proudly. “Nothing better has come along since. Bullets launch out of the barrel at more than two thousand and three hundred feet per second. Now you know. My dad got this over forty years ago. It’s one of the first ones ever made. It even inspired me to be the fine marksman and weapons dealer that I am today. What do you think it’s for?”
Vern just shrugged.
“You give up too easily. It was designed for huntin’ big animals. Bear. Elk. Moose. It’s probably just as good at nailing smaller critters too. Vermin, like you Mr. Gedder.”
Vern was visibly uncomfortable. “How do you know my name?”
“You need to learn how life in a small town works, Mr. Gedder.”
“You mean how life in this colony of clone freaks works,” Vern retorted.
“The officer who pulled you over today knew something was wrong as soon as he saw you. He’s the one who told me your name,” Don said calmly.
Vern remained silent while Don looked him over for a few moments to size him up.
“On your feet,” Don said.
&
nbsp; Vern obliged.
“Walk real slow over to the front door. Keep your mouth shut too. Once your back side is on that porch I’m going to start counting to five. If any part of you is still on my property when I’m done I’m going to dust it.”
Vern did the rough math. The location of his Renegade Alien. How fast he could run. How fast the bullet would travel. Physics were not on his side. He bolted into the darkness as fast as he could. Don started counting. Vern was lit only by random sheet lightning, his image was blurred by the heavy rainfall.
Each stride was a leap of desperation, knowing that his life could end any moment. He ran as if he was grasping the air ahead of him to find something to propel himself further each time his feet touched the ground. The more he slipped into the rain-soaked darkness, the harder it would be for Don to line him up for the shot. Vern sprinted with a raw determination brought on by sheer terror.
Don anchored his feet, leveled his shooting arm and trained the gun sight on Vern. It wouldn’t be right to kill a man by shooting him in the back he thought to himself. A dead body on his property would be hard to explain, even for someone in the inner circle of Hadley’s Crossing. If Vern got away unscathed he would presumably be back with reinforcements. Dons’ challenge was to injure Vern with a weapon that could blow him to pieces.
He took the shot through the veil of driving rain just as the lightning flashed. Thunder boomed as the bullet tore across the top of Vern’s left shoulder. The impact twisted Vern forward and threw him to the ground. Don counted to four, then set up for another shot.
Sharp pain riddled Vern’s left side. Shock had forced the air out of his lungs. His left arm was useless to him as he lay at the far end of the lawn in a pool of water. He knew he had to forge on. He began hobbling desperately towards his motorcycle too afraid to look behind him. Don fired a second shot.
It severed a tree branch that crashed down across Vern’s back. He yelled out in agony, but his cries were drowned out by the sounds of the storm. He crawled out from under the branch and into a ditch that ran beside the road where his motorbike was parked.
