Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  Who was he talking to?

  Dominic glanced around the corner.

  “Hey, Dominic,” she said—it came out breathless.

  The entire right half of his face was mottled blue, but underneath it was pale. “Oh… Khalia.”

  She grabbed his hand. It was cold. “Are you all right?”

  “Right enough,” he said quickly. He turned and began to walk away.

  She followed, and saw a dark silhouette of a man leaning against the wall by the door.

  “MFP201 will be kept in holding here for the night,” Dominic said softly without turning around.

  Khalia flicked the light back on. 201 looked up and blinked in the white glare. Dominic glanced back.

  Their expressions were identical—curled lip, belligerent. Same dark eyes, fringed lashes, full lips.

  They were the same.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dominic saw cognition dawn in Khalia's eyes, and instantly he knew what she was thinking.

  She recognized him.

  He glanced back at 201 and saw his own face looking back.

  Her voice came out in a high squeak. “You’re… you’re an MFP.”

  He thought to deny it, but how could he? MFP201 was standing behind him, his exact replica. Damn the genetics!

  I can explain.

  No you can’t, jackass. Now you will save your own skin and 201’s.

  “That’s impossible.” She backed up slowly. Then, to herself. “A12.”

  “Hello again,” he said.

  She backed up, her hands shaking behind her, searching for the wall. She bumped into it and squeaked. Her eyes were almost glassy, they were so huge, so scared.

  Dominic’s heart smote him.

  Damn feelings!

  He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his key pod. “201.”

  201 stepped up behind him.

  “See that door?”

  201 nodded. His breath picked up.

  “Do you know what a car looks like? You remember them from the books?”

  He nodded.

  “Go out that door. Look for a car that has this symbol on it.” He pointed to the silver Mercedes tristar. “Push this button to unlock the door, and get inside. Don’t touch anything. Just wait for me—”

  He snapped his gaze back to Khalia. She was fumbling for her phone in her pocket. He closed the distance and clamped his hand around her wrist. They were nose to nose, like they had been so many times in other places.

  Her tear-stained face had gone from fear to anger. “You’re stealing MFP’s, Dominic? Or should I call you A12?”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw 201 slip out the exit. “I can’t abandon my own kind, can I? Yes. I am stealing MFP’s. And I am an MFP. And you can’t do anything about it.”

  “Oh yeah?” she struggled against him, pounded her fist against his chest.

  He restrained her with the other arm. She kicked at him. He shoved her, hard, against the wall. She squeaked.

  “Remember,” he whispered in her ear. “Remember a certain drug addiction you have? The one that might call your competency into question?”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “I’m no one’s son,” he said, “If go down, you’ll go with me.”

  “I can’t believe I ever loved you!” She looked up at him, tears in her big brown eyes.

  “If you had known what I was you would have gladly rejected me.” He pushed her into the wall again. Her head bounced. “I won’t interfere with your precious MFP2 project, but I won’t let you hurt them, either. There's no way they can pin this on me. The records say he was rejected according to plan. The chip is sitting with the blood sample. There's no evidence 201 was ever here. And you...” he leaned in so they were nose to nose, "You won't say a word. Not a word. Got it?"

  She nodded and gulped. Tears and snot were beginning to run down onto her coat.

  Dominic pulled her into the lab with him. “Compose yourself, and then leave.”

  He took his coat, and walked out backward. When he couldn’t see her any more, he turned and forced himself to walk down the long hall, through the turnstiles, and into the frigid evening.

  201 sat in the driver's seat of the car. Dom shoved him over and started it. 201, for all his bluster before, was silent, his mouth tight and white-rimmed all the way home.

  The adrenaline was wearing off. Dominic’s head pounded from the beating he’d taken. His jaw was so stiff that any movement was an effort. And his chest felt like it was constricted by iron bands.

  Damn it, that was exactly why you began with her!

  He had to deal with 201. With colossal effort, he pushed the pain back, partitioned it off and ignored it.

  He locked the car and walked upstairs by rote. He opened the door and flicked on the light. 201’s footsteps faltered.

  “It’s all right. Come in,” Dominic said. His voice sounded strained to his own ears. “We’ll get you some other clothes… and some food.” 201, with his high metabolism, was probably starving by now. He was accustomed to being fed every three hours.

  He opened the fridge and pulled out soymilk and protein powder, grabbed bananas from the top of the fridge, and frozen mixed fruit from the freezer. He whirled it up in the blender and then poured two glasses. 201 tipped it back and gulped it down. Dom just stared at his.

  “I have to go to the worker district tonight,” he said. “Do you want to stay or come with me?”

  201 looked at him over the rim of his cup. “Come with you.”

  Dominic leaned back against the counter and scrutinized 201. The blank-faced young man wasn’t his exact double—his face was a little fuller, certainly more youthful. And, unlike himself, there was nothing out of spec about MFP201.

  “Did you and 202 plan this out?” Dominic asked.

  “Yes.”

  Then this is all your fault. Still, Dominic couldn’t blame him.

  201 looked down, then straight at him. “What will happen to 202?”

  “He will be held for further observation,” Dominic said slowly. “They want to see how he matures. When they are done with him, he will be scheduled for rejection. But I will see to it that he is not.”

  201’s shoulders sagged. “He is my friend.”

  Dominic leaned against the fridge. “Listen,” he said to 201, “Do you want to go on being called 201 or do you want a name?”

  201 looked up. “I have a name.”

  Dom lifted an eyebrow. Even that small movement hurt. “Well, what is it?”

  “Ryker.”

  Dominic raised an eyebrow. After the biocrib manufacturer?

  But then, what else did an MFP have to get a name from? Dominic smiled a little through his aching jaw. “Ryker, then. Does 202 have a name?”

  “Saber.”

  After the syringe and needle maker. “Do you all have names?” Dominic asked, with a thrill in his belly in spite of himself.

  “No.” Ryker set the glass on the counter and looked around. “Do… do you take… tests?”

  “No,” Dominic said. “Only in the facility.”

  “I thought so.”

  “It just feels odd, doesn’t it?” Didn’t he know it? It had only been six years ago. “I know.”

  “How did you escape?”

  Dominic faced Ryker, looking him over—this young man that for all intents and purposes, was his own offspring. “You know that woman we met in the lab?”

  Ryker nodded.

  “She took me off the floor into the lab, and I overpowered her and escaped. A man took me into his home and let me live there for a while. He helped me receive training to be a scientist.”

  “Why did you come back?” Ryker’s dark eyes narrowed in confusion, mingled with distrust.

  “It's complicated.” Dominic rubbed his jaw. It was puffy, and tender. He hadn’t looked in the mirror—didn’t care to. He wasn’t sure if he could look himself in his eye.

  Khalia. I can’t believe I said those thin
gs to you.

  He stood up straight. “Let’s get you some normal clothes. Mine should fit you.” He turned and walked down the hall toward the bedroom. Ryker padded after him. Dom looked away from the bed and the memories that came with it, and shoved the closet doors open. He pushed through the hangers, row on row of dark, and pulled out jeans, a soft grey t-shirt, and a hooded sweater. He glanced over at Ryker, and figured the plant shoes, socks and undergarments would be generic enough to do for the present.

  “Put those on,” he said.

  Ryker began immediately to undress, while Dominic returned to the entrance and found his second winter coat.

  Ryker came out looking like an academy student, and stood expectantly. Dominic tossed him his coat and they went out into the cold night.

  __

  “You got him out!” Justine said as she opened the door for Dominic. Her bloodshot eyes lit up in her pale face. The warm glow of the kitchen light shone around her, spilling out onto the landing around their feet. Warm air and the scent of herbed soup washed over them.

  “Yes,” Dominic said. He looked over her shoulder and saw Casey and Sebastian at the kitchen table, their faces and hands still reddened from the cold. Sebastian’s head was sagging, and his eyes were also tear-reddened. Dominic just turned away.

  “They are safely situated,” Casey said as he got up. He extended his hand to Dominic and shook it. His eyes narrowed. “Brother, you haven’t seen your face, have you?”

  “Oh.” Justine made a motherly, concerned sound and reached to touch his jaw, but just as quickly, withdrew her hand. She looked at Ryker. “Come in, 201. Please, come in. You are among friends.”

  “He goes by Ryker,” Dominic said, touching his tender jaw. He grimaced.

  “A good name,” Sebastian said softly. He joined them, resting a hand on Justine’s shoulder.

  “Come in, all,” Casey said, “Sebastian and I just returned. We were about to eat. Perhaps we can offer you some tea?”

  “Yes,” Justine said. She turned to go into the kitchen, but glanced back at them. “Dominic, I would like to tend to your face once I have the tea.”

  Dominic blinked. “Y-yes, I suppose.”

  Casey pulled out a chair for Ryker. Dominic sat, stiffly. Justine put soup in front of Sebastian and Casey, and offered to him and Ryker. Ryker glanced at him. He was hungry. Dominic nodded, but refused to take any himself.

  Justine set tea for all of them, went away, and then returned with a bowl of water and a rag. “Sebastian,” she said gently, “When you finish your soup, will you please go and fetch a bag of snow for Dominic’s jaw?”

  Sebastian nodded vigorously, he slurped down his soup and in a moment was throwing on his jacket as he went out the door.

  Justine turned a chair so she could face him, and began dabbing at Dominic’s face with a soft, flannel cloth. The water was warm, and soothing. Her fingers were gentle as anything. Still it throbbed wherever she touched—all along the left side of his face, and his lip. The cloth came away bloody.

  Justine sighed and smiled at him. Suddenly he wished it was Khalia cleaning him up, wiping away the crusted blood, touching him with her fingertips. He gulped, and had to avert his eyes. He could feel tears burning at the back of his eyes. His face flushed with shame.

  Beside them, Casey struck up a conversation with Ryker as they ate their soup.

  “Something happened?” Justine said under her breath. “Something besides 205’s death?”

  Dominic opened his mouth, but that hurt. He nodded.

  “Do you want to tell me?” She passed the cloth over his face again, and set it on the table.

  “No.” Hell no.

  The door banged open, and Sebastian came in with a plastic bread bag of snow. Justine handed it to Dominic, and he held it against his jaw. The apartment was silent. Somewhere outside, a siren rang out.

  Justine tilted her head so she could look into his eyes. Then she stood up and motioned to Sebastian. “Do you want more soup? Let’s go into the kitchen. Come, Ryker. You can have some more, too.”

  It put them only six feet away, but Justine started up a conversation with the two young men, and began dishing out more soup for them. That left Dom and Casey more or less alone.

  Casey had the grace not to say anything for some time. Dominic let the cold seep into his jaw and turn it numb.

  He'd done what he had to.

  He didn't have to manhandle her like that. She was so small, so fragile. Had he bruised her? Was her body throbbing like his jaw? A wicked pang wracked his face and he welcomed it.

  He'd done it for Ryker, and for Casey and Justine.

  He'd panicked.

  And now he couldn't shake the look in her tear-filled eyes, her wobbling lip, her delicate shoulders in his grasp.

  I can’t believe I ever loved you, she’d said. Truth was, Dominic couldn’t believe it either. But what did he know about love? All he knew was that the city felt as much a blank wasteland to him as it did when he emerged from Caspian's metal womb. Dominic dropped his head to his hands. He kneaded his stiff jaw with his thumbs.

  "Feels like hell, doesn't it?" Casey said.

  Dominic jerked his head up. "You don't know shit about me!"

  Casey drew back. "I don't need to know shit to know it hurts to be punched in the face," he said.

  Heat crept up Dominic's neck as Casey stared him down.

  "So?" Casey said, when Dominic volunteered nothing. "I'm deep enough in this. I deserve to know."

  "I took Ryker out through the lab, like Sebastian," Dominic said in a low voice, "But I got caught."

  Casey's jaw tightened.

  "Khalia. We were romantically involved."

  "And?"

  "I blackmailed her."

  "Why?"

  "So she didn't sell me out." He ground his toe into the linoleum. "That was the plan all along."

  "What was?" Casey leaned toward him, across the table.

  Dominic pressed his lips together for a moment. Perhaps Casey had the right to know—at least half of it. There was no need for him to hear the name 'Chassagne'. "The plan is to make MFPs capable of saving themselves."

  "All through DNA."

  "Through their education. DNA matters little. They need to know what they are capable of, and they need to be able to work together. This first group of prototypes proved that wasn't too much to ask."

  "Explain that to me."

  "Haven't you heard the story of the circus elephant?" Dominic glanced up at him with dull eyes. "It stays on the tiny chain because when it was small they used a large chain, and a clamp ring that hurt the baby elephant when it tried to break free. It is the same with the MFPs. They submit because they don't know they are capable of anything else. Meanwhile, they are stronger and smarter than the majority of their handlers." He chewed the inside of his lip out of habit and set off a stab of pain. "I wrote my thesis on MP mortality rates. I spent a lot of time in the MFP barracks. There is no reason why they can't leave, but they stay. If they were aware of their own strength, individually and collectively, they could do whatever they liked."

  Casey gazed at the wall and nodded slowly. "Do you mean to start an uprising?"

  "Not specifically. It may happen."

  "This makes more sense than stealing MFPs."

  "I know." Dominic sat back in his chair and lifted his chin.

  "In fact, the two plans are completely opposite. Do you know how many MFP2s will die because of the capabilities you are giving them?"

  "They'll die anyway. At least it will be on their own terms."

  "That's exactly what Sebastian would have done." Casey thumped both of his fists on the table. "But you couldn't leave him. Why not?"

  Dominic turned away. "I don't know."

  There was a long silence. The clink of spoons in the kitchen filtered in, along with Justine's low voice. In the hall, heavy footfalls passed.

  "Do I ask more, or do I remain ignorant for my own safety?"


  Dominic turned to look at Casey and saw a spark in the man's eyes. "I don't want to involve you any further. In fact, as little as possible.

  Casey licked his lips and looked away. "I'd involve myself more if it wasn't for my family. I have to think of them."

  "I understand." But as Dominic fell silent, he realized he really didn't understand and it appeared now that he never would.

  __

  Dominic held his jaw and pulled aside the drapes. Cool air emanated from the window onto his skin. Below him, the sidewalks were white with new snow, and the street was all ruts. A taxi spun its way slowly through the intersection.

  It wasn't a good day to drive out to the country, but he didn’t want Ryker with him for another day. It was dangerous, and he had a drop with Chassagne in the evening.

  “I can make it,” he muttered as he turned from the window.

  The pain of the previous night had ebbed to a dull ache somewhere in his core. His jaw hurt like hell. It made him angry, but in the morning light he was enough himself to shove aside the emotions.

  He dressed and walked down the hall. Ryker lay on the leather couch, a knitted blanket tangled around him, his head thrown back in restful sleep. Dom glanced at the clock in the kitchen. 7:20. He would awake soon. They were trained to wake at 7:30.

  His jeans and sweater were neatly folded on the coffee table, the shoes underneath. It probably gave the young man a tiny sense of normalcy to go through that routine.

  Dominic put water on to boil for coffee. All night he’d barely managed two hours of sleep, but now that he was out of bed his eyes just wanted to fall shut. He pulled eggs and smoothie materials from the fridge and began preparing the meal as quietly as he could, but in a couple moments he heard a grunt and rustling as Ryker awoke.

  Dominic was quiet, letting the young MFP wake normally and dress. In a few minutes Ryker walked over and glanced around, a lost expression on his face.

  “I’ll have food soon. Do you need to shower or anything?”

  Ryker only looked confused.

  “After.” Dominic poured hot water into the cone coffee filter and then switched on the blender. He watched it until it whirled into a smooth, pink vortex. He poured it out for the two of them, and plated the eggs. They stood at the counter, not even bothering with the table. Ryker had never eaten at a table.