Exodus

by Farrell, Lisa

  “There is another entrance to the facility,” Toshiyuki said as they began to move. Caprice watched numbers flash on the panel. They were going up. “With tighter security,” he added. “Somehow, the Tenma knew we were bringing a particular expired clone to the facility. He waited for the hopper to arrive, stole the clone, and got away in the same hopper. That is why I do not want to report the theft to the NAPD. He must have been working for a runner, someone who could gain access to privileged information.”

  “Is there any chance someone on the inside could have leaked the information?”

  “That is the other reason I don’t want the NAPD involved. Such a leak would be an embarrassment for Jinteki.”

  “Were there any witnesses to the theft?” she asked.

  “Only clones.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out onto a metal walkway. Caprice let out a breath she hadn’t known she held. Even knowing why she was here, she had feared the doors might open onto something more sinister. They were high enough now to see daylight above. The walkway led to a hopper recharge pad where two heavyset Omoi clones stood waiting, their suit jackets fluttering in the wind.

  As they approached the clones, Caprice made a mental note to check the neighboring factories in case they had seccams. Otherwise, any witnesses could have been only in the condo-habs above, but the angle made that unlikely.

  “Go ahead,” Toshiyuki said, putting a hand at her waist to push her forward. The physical contact prompted her to access his thoughts, an uncontrollable reaction. She saw what he intended for the Omoi once she had questioned them. The Omoi line was new, designed for security roles, but these clones could not have expired so soon. To replace them would be expensive, but Toshiyuki wanted to ensure their silence, it seemed.

  The two identical faces were impassive, waiting.

  “Please, tell me what happened,” Caprice asked, powerless to help them.

  They proceeded to give her an emotionless account of the scene. She listened to the words but she was looking deeper, listening for unspoken thoughts, and finding none. One produced the package the Tenma had brought. It had been used as a weapon and was damaged from the impact. She held it in both hands to try to get a reading on the wielder. His hands had gripped it here, and here. She shifted her fingers into position and closed her eyes. She could feel him swinging the package, using its weight and his own momentum to knock the larger clone down. Jinteki designed Tenmas to be efficient and precise, but this one had diverged from his original design. He maintained the Tenma dedication to his work, however. His determination had left its imprint on the package, and there were remnants of his thoughts: Li11ith had not told him everything. It was an alias Caprice recognized; Netcrimes had uncovered it that morning.

  “A rogue Tenma,” she said, opening her eyes again. “He knew my murder victim.”

  “Go on,” Toshiyuki said, a corner of his lip curling upward. He seemed to have already known about the connection.

  She walked once around the landing pad, but there was little to feel. Had the crime occurred in an enclosed space, she might have been able to take a lot more from the scene. Here, it was as though the memories of the place had blown away on the wind.

  “Are you finished with the Omoi?” Toshiyuki asked her, and she wondered whether he had deliberately let her know their fate.

  “For now,” she said. “I may have more questions later.”

  “Report to the front desk,” Toshiyuki told them, his eyes still on her. Yes, he was intentionally torturing her. He had meant for her to know.

  The Omoi left her alone with the Jinteki executive, and she was suddenly distinctly aware of the distance one could fall from the hopper recharge pad. There was no barrier; a single misstep, or an unexpected updraft, and a life would end. Any life.

  “There are seccams up here too of course, but they were also tampered with,” Toshiyuki said.

  “Do you know the nature of the connection between my murder and your breakin?” Caprice asked.

  “Your murder victim, Elizabeth Webb, was stealing clones from Jinteki.”

  “Jinteki was not involved?” she asked, thinking of the gore at the crime scene.

  “No, but I believe that whoever put an end to Ms. Webb may be attempting to take over her trade. Clone trafficking is unfortunately lucrative, when they get away with it.”

  “May I ask the nature of the clone the criminal acquired?”

  “You may not,” Toshiyuki said. “That clone was an experiment, highly classified. I can’t provide details, and you must not seek them,” he pointed his finger at her. “I want you to locate the Tenma, find out whom he works for, and inform me. Finding him, and preventing further crimes is your top priority. The stolen clone is a secondary concern.”

  “You do not want the clone recovered?” Caprice did not need to use her psi to know what that would mean.

  “Just find the Tenma. Leave the rest to me.”

  Light streaming over her woke Miranda. She’d woken up in strange beds before, but her PAD usually rousted her with birdsong and temple bells. She reached for it instinctively, groping under the pillow, which turned out to be a cushion, and remembered it was gone, along with her life.

  “Oh no,” she whispered, not daring to move. Maybe if she went back to sleep, she’d wake back in her old life and all this would be a dream or a simsensie. She had to get a hold of Miles; he’d sort everything out. Then she’d ping Larry and they’d laugh about it, how someone had screwed up, how it was all a big misunderstanding. Overprotective clones—who’d have guessed the trouble they could cause?

  Footsteps. The Tenma, now wearing a bright-red jacket over the rest of his hopperbike gear, came over and looked down at her. Close up, she could see light flickering from the lenses beside his eyes.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No,” she said firmly. “Honestly, without my nutritionist it’s safer not to have anything.”

  “You need to have something.”

  “Distilled water. And a vitamin shot, if you’ve got it.”

  “All right.”

  He left her alone. She sat up, looking around at the strange room. Some sort of bachelor pad, dominated by a black synthleather monstrosity of a gamer chair. The room was light and open, with windows all along one wall providing a panoramic view of the city. She could see the towers of Broadcast Square. They had come back to Rutherford, where her strange journey had begun.

  The world would be wondering where she was by now. Miranda Rhapsody couldn’t stay hidden for long.

  The Tenma reappeared with her water and a couple of vitatabs.

  “It’ll do,” she said, downing the lot. “Now, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or what?”

  She slipped from the couch and began her morning stretches. It must have been midday at least, but that meant nothing to her; she kept her own schedule anyway.

  “Let’s get you dressed first, shall we?”

  “What, are we going somewhere?” she asked, arms above her head.

  “I can’t keep you here forever.”

  “You’re damned right about that.”

  He slipped out again while she stretched. Looking down at her hands, she wished she’d been wearing her watch or a bracelet. Then she could still connect, even without her PAD. She had to get back on the Net.

  There had to be a mirror in the bathroom. With any luck, she’d be able to get a quick message out to let Miles know what was going on before the Tenma figured out what she was doing.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” she called. The Tenma returned to point her in the right direction. She hurried into the chessboard-tiled room and locked the door behind her with a flick of her fingers.

  She stood before the mirror and ran her fingers quickly through her hair to activate the smartstrands. They turned her bedhead into the preselected “heavenly waves” that were in style this season. Then she waved at the mirror, but nothing happened.

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nbsp; “Message,” she said. “Ping. Search. Shoutcast. Anything, come on!”

  “Are you all right in there?” the Tenma called through the door.

  “Give me some privacy!” she called back.

  Either it only responded to the owner, or the Tenma had deactivated it. She washed her hands and splashed her face to wake herself up before facing the clone again.

  He’d left clothes on the couch and disappeared again. The navy jumpsuit and thick-soled boots weren’t very encouraging. A thick, stiff material covered the knees and elbows, and the seat of the pants was slightly padded. This was hopperbike gear. She climbed into it, and the material constricted to fit her snugly. The collar was stiff at her throat. Retractable gloves made her wrists look bulky, and she didn’t dare check out her rear in the mirror.

  The Tenma reappeared and reclined on the couch like he owned the place.

  “Suits you,” he said, with that hateful smirk.

  “I think it’s time you told me who owns all this,” she gestured to the room, “and when I get to meet him.”

  “It’s certainly time to talk,” the Tenma agreed. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  Miranda sat at the opposite end of the couch and crossed her arms.

  “Go on then,” she urged.

  The Tenma looked at her, and she stared right back. Clones didn’t hold a gaze like that, like equals. There was definitely something wrong with this one. He had altered his appearance too since he kidnapped her: he’d spiked his hair and changed into stylish clothes that would have looked more appropriate on a human. If she hadn’t known what a Tenma looked like—the angular face, sharp eyes, and white hair—she wouldn’t have known he was a clone at all.

  “So who’s after me?” she prompted.

  “Jinteki.”

  “That makes no sense. What would an android manufacturer want with me?”

  “Jinteki…” the Tenma began, then paused. He sat forward, turned to her, still looking into her eyes, as though searching for something. “What do you remember about your parents?” he asked instead.

  “My parents? What do they have to do with anything?” She put a hand to her forehead, where the dull throb of a headache was beginning.

  “Please.” He waited.

  “My mother was a nobody with a pretty face. My father dealt in property, made some serious money when he invested in some buildings in New Angeles, got lucky. They both died in an accident years ago. I barely knew them. They had nothing to do with Jinteki, far as I know.” She had told the same story before in interviews and for her autobiography. Her skull felt too tight, and her vision was blurring at the edges. She really didn’t want to talk about her parents.

  “What about your childhood? Did you have many friends?”

  She couldn’t remember, but who could remember anything when one’s head was trying to implode? She asked for painkillers and covered her eyes to try to keep the light out. She felt the sharp pressure of an injection in her upper arm, and the pain began to recede.

  The Tenma sat beside her, his leg pressed against hers. She should have pushed him away, but suddenly felt too weary. She had to get away from him and his questions.

  “These are defense mechanisms Jinteki programmed you with. They don’t want you thinking about your past, because you don’t really have one. You’re a clone, and now you’ve expired or they want to replace you. That’s why Jinteki’s after you, and that’s why I saved you.”

  She opened her eyes and scowled at him. He still watched her, waiting for her reaction. He was defective, quite possibly insane.

  “I am not a clone—I’m Miranda Rhapsody.” She reached around him and pinched the inked flesh at the back of his neck. “You’ve got a code on your neck; I don’t. You have an expiration date; I don’t. You didn’t save me; you kidnapped me, and now you’re going to let me go or I swear I’ll—”

  A PAD chimed. For a moment, Miranda thought it was her own.

  “We don’t have long,” the Tenma interrupted, a faraway look in his eyes. “And you need to deal with this now, before we go. Watch.”

  An image of herself on Larry’s arm appeared in threedee over the smooth black coffee table in the middle of the room. It didn’t worry her at first; she saw herself on the news all the time. Then she heard what she—or someone who looked exactly like her—was saying.

  “I was so surprised! I had no idea Larry would be waiting for me—it’s so exciting. I can’t wait to stay at the Hilton. I love life off-world already!”

  It was her, in the same catsuit Miles had packed for her to wear in low gravity. Laramy had his arm around her, his sand-colored hair rising slightly off his head. He was smiling for the nosies, but she knew that glint in his eye. He was eager to get going.

  “That’s not me! That’s an impostor! Doesn’t he know that’s not me?”

  “She’s just a replacement,” the Tenma said. “And I’m guessing she has no idea she’s a clone either, any more than you did.”

  “They’ve cloned me? That’s illegal! That’s…that’s…immoral, damn it!” She jumped to her feet, went to the door, and pressed her hand to the panel, only to confirm he’d locked it.

  The Tenma said nothing.

  “You have to let me out,” she said. “I need to talk to my people.” She turned on the Tenma, but he folded his arms, smirking. “I order you to let me out,” she said, but he just shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not safe for you to leave.”

  She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “I need to get out of here!” She pulled back a hand to slap him, but he grabbed her and forced her back into the seat beside him.

  “How dare you touch me!”

  “You’re a clone,” he said, releasing her arms. “You’re Jinteki’s attempt at the ultimate celebrity.”

  She was the real Miranda Rhapsody—that impostor was the clone. This was all some sort of conspiracy, and the Tenma was in on it. She would demand his owner send him back to Jinteki for recycling.

  “I need to get a new PAD, I need to get on the Net, I need to tell people!” she began to hyperventilate.

  “I’m sorry, that’s not possible, not yet. You need to understand: if Jinteki finds you, they will destroy you. You’re proof that Miranda Rhapsody isn’t human, and that Jinteki is breaking all sorts of laws.”

  “But I am human! You’re not listening to me.”

  His mouth was a hard line, his ice-blue eyes locked on hers. It dawned on her suddenly that if this Tenma was defective, she was in real danger while alone with him. She wanted to get up, to move away, but her legs felt weak.

  “She’s Miranda Rhapsody now,” he motioned to the threedee.

  “I need to talk to your owner,” she begged. “Please.”

  “I don’t have an owner. I’m my own man. I’m working for someone, sure, but I can’t just ping them. It doesn’t work like that. You’re in a dangerous situation, and I’m the only one who can help you. You have to trust me.”

  “You’re rogue,” she spat.

  The Tenma sighed.

  “I need you to listen to me. You are a clone,” he insisted. “A celebrity manufactured by Jinteki. Your past is a fiction, written by NBN. Everything you know is a lie.”

  Her face suddenly felt hot and wet, and she didn’t even have her PAD to warn her when her eyes were getting puffy, when she had to stop crying. How would she know when to stop?

  “I’m going to give you a chance at a new life, a real life. That’s better than no life at all, Randi.”

  Randi? No one had ever called her that. That wasn’t her name. She was Miranda Rhapsody. What had her parents called her? She could picture her parents, but the images were stills, the same stills she’d provided for her autobiography. She couldn’t remember what they sounded like, couldn’t remember a single conversation with them. She didn’t even care about them, and maybe that wasn’t because she was heartless. Maybe they’d never really been there for her to care about.
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br />   She had always thought she was special, different from the rest, better than the rest. Maybe this was why. She put her hands to her chest, tried to keep her breathing steady, but she was gasping for air, she was drowning. Her skin was hot, too hot, she had to get away but she was sinking further down into the couch, darkness closing in around her. The Tenma’s face was in the shrinking circle of her vision and smirking, or talking, but she couldn’t hear him for the roaring in her ears.

  Hands gripped her by the shoulders, the grip too tight, but the pain was an anchor, like a safety line holding her up during a concert; she let it pull her back to the room. Then the hands pushed her head between her knees and she waited for the tingling to pass. She took deep sobbing breaths and fought the nausea.

  What about the new sensie? She was supposed to be at the Hilton. Larry would figure it out. Someone would miss her. Miles would know.

  Did Miles know?

  “You’ll feel better in a moment,” a male voice said. It wasn’t the Tenma’s.

  She tried to sit up and fell back, resting her head on the back of the couch. A man in white scrubs and sunglasses stood over her, smiling. The Tenma stood in the background, watching them.

  “Is this your place?” she asked the man.

  He laughed, a deep belly laugh. His tanned face looked young, but he laughed like an older man. He gestured with a syringe in his hand, the needle glinting in the light, hurting her eyes.

  “Express owns this place, my dear,” he said. “He just asked me to come along and help you out before your journey to ChiLo.”

  “ChiLo?” she asked. “I’m not going to some backwater. I need to get to the Root.”

  “The doctor is here to help you, Randi,” the Tenma said.

  No. She was Miranda Rhapsody. She had to remember that. She had to get to a mirror, to remind herself. Her head was clearing, but her stomach felt sore, like she’d been punched, a stunt gone wrong.

  “Indeed I am,” the doctor said, watching her.

  There was a black bag on the table where the news feed was still running. The other Miranda Rhapsody waved to the adoring crowd. It just didn’t make any sense. Jinteki didn’t make clones of people, and it would never, ever, try to pass a clone off as human. It was impossible. She sat up carefully, eyeing the needle in the doctor’s hand.