Second Lives

by Scott K. Andrews

  The hundreds of repurposed mining vessels that constituted the Godless fleet had so far been unstoppable. Various colonies had put up a fight, but they had been swiftly and easily overcome. The news told of massacres, spinning lurid tales of hideous atrocities so obscene that Dora again questioned the truth of them - did clones really eat human babies? Really? It seemed unlikely to her, but the news insisted it had happened on Charon. As colony after colony had fallen, and the corporations had been forced to shut down all mining activities, the outcry and panic had increased. Determining that the best chance of stopping the clones was to make a single stand, Earth had sent its entire fleet to Mars and had pledged to stop the Godless in their tracks.

  According to the news channel, Earth's fleet was overwhelmingly superior to that of the Godless. Ramshackle mining ships stood no real chance against purpose-built warships, footage of which was plastered across the screens almost continuously, showcasing sleek, gleaming battleships bristling with weapons and staffed entirely by crisply uniformed supermodels with really, really white teeth. The coming battle would be over in minutes, apparently, and then everything would return to normal.

  Which raised the question - if it was going to be such a pushover, why were Earth bothering to negotiate? Why had they agreed to talk peace with the Godless here on the supposedly neutral territory of Mars? Dora had no idea what was really going on above Mars, but she didn't think for one second that it was as simple as a small fleet of mining ships facing off against a vastly superior force. The news insisted that the Godless had requested the peace conference, implying that they had baulked at the size of the opposition they were facing and were trying to find a way to back down and save face. From what she knew of Quil, Dora doubted that was the case. Kairos had said the blockade was propaganda, and she was inclined to believe him. She didn't think Earth would stand a chance if Quil pushed on.

  For all her attempts to find out the truth of things, Dora had way more questions than answers. Maybe beyond the doors of the suite ahead of her, she would finally find some.

  As she approached the door to the Godless suite, Dora tried hard to calm her nerves. She was not accustomed to feeling nervous anymore; it had been one of the primary objectives of her training - eliminate the disadvantage that comes from fear. She had conducted covert operations in far more dangerous situations than this without feeling the tiniest flutter of butterflies, but this was personal - she was too invested in the outcome of this meeting to damp down the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Once she entered that suite, there would be no going back. This was the day it all began, from Quil's perspective. Whatever actions Dora and her friends would take at this point had, in the original timeline, led to a terrible tragedy and set Quil upon their heels.

  She scolded herself and remembered how helpless she had felt in Sweetclover Hall, the day her world had changed for ever. The timidity, the fear, the way she had retreated into herself as shock had taken hold. Since then Dora had distanced herself from that pathetic whimpering child as much as she was able; that version of herself represented everything she had sought to repress, excise, banish from the person she had turned herself into. So every time she felt fear, she turned inwards in a flurry of self-hatred, embarrassed and repulsed by the final unkillable vestiges of the girl she used to be.

  Nonetheless, as she pushed the refreshments trolley she kept her face neutral, her pace steady and even, gave no outward sign of her internal struggle. She had no idea what to expect when she stepped beyond those doors.

  The two template faces of the Godless were well known, plastered on screens and walls across the city. The material for the male clone had been taken from a Samoan line. His eyes were dark, his skin light brown, his nose flat and wide above a full-lipped mouth. The female clones had Asian echoes, epicanthic folds, button nose, thin lips but a perfectly symmetrical face. If they had taken their masks off, Dora wondered if she'd be able to identify individuals. Tattoos, hairstyles, make-up, piercings, facial hair - all would offer means to distinguish individuality between identical faces. Age would also be a factor, as clones were produced in batches so some would be older, some younger. Maybe environmental factors would have made a difference - scars and injuries, different skin tones depending upon what levels of ultraviolet light they had been exposed to, or which chemicals had been involved in the particular mining process they'd been forced to use. The unquantifiable element would be their mental states; how their individual experiences had shaped their personalities. Would differing amounts of cynicism, trauma and anger have shaped their faces in unique ways?

  And then there was the third face of the Godless: Quil. Dora doubted their leader, who had gone to such lengths to preserve her anonymity, would allow her face to be seen by a strange maid but maybe, in an unguarded moment, she might catch a glimpse through a half-open door or a reflection from a conveniently placed mirror.

  Dora had a horrible suspicion she would recognise their tormentor. This, more than anything, was the source of her fear.

  There were four Godless guards outside the suite's door - two men, two women. One of the men had an entirely blank mask. It was the only one she'd seen undecorated in any fashion, and the dull metal combined with the singularity of it rendered it uniquely threatening, as if there was nothing behind the mask but purpose, no person at all. This one didn't move or speak, but she saw his eyes follow her as she walked forward. If her reconnaissance turned into a fight for any reason, he was the one she'd have to deal with first. The other man had a yin/yang on each cheek of his mask, while the two women had symmetrical patterns of delicate painted leaves; Dora recalled that matching masks denoted marriage or at least couplehood within the Godless. The idea of marrying someone with the same face creeped Dora out. She couldn't decide whether it was more like narcissism or incest.

  Yin/yang and one of the women stepped forward and barred her way. Neither spoke, but they made it clear they would take the trolley into the suite.

  T'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to let you do that,' protested Dora. 'It has to be served properly.'

  Yin/yang shook his head firmly.

  'Please,' Dora wheedled, giving her very best performance of a scared service worker. 'My supervisor will freak out and I'll really cop it.'

  Leaf mask shook her head and pointed back to the lift, indicating firmly that Dora should go.

  Dora stood there for a moment allowing her lip to tremble. She even mustered a single tear. But the hand stayed pointing and eventually Dora gave in and turned away, leaving the trolley behind.

  Seemed things weren't going to be that easy after all.

  Twenty minutes later, she was heading to the kitchen to collect another tray for room service, trying to think of strategies to infiltrate Quil's suite, when her manager collared her. Mars- born, and thus tall and thin-boned, he was also comically fat. When he walked his gut would undulate in the low gravity, which, combined with his spindly arms and legs and great height, made him look like a thin man with a balloon full of jelly stuffed up his jumper. He was a pedantic man too, and Dora braced herself for a lecture on following orders and how she shouldn't have let the trolley out of her sight, especially since the guest in question was an evil dictator who could nuke their hotel from orbit if she didn't like the pastries.

  'Predennick,' he said, his voice as wobbly as his belly. 'There's some kind of problem in the delegation suite. Can you pop up there and do clean-up for me, there's a good girl.'

  Dora decided that scared and patronising was better than annoying and bossy, so she gave him a pass on the sexism, nodded once and ran off to get her clean-up kit.

  This time when she approached the doors - still nervous, still trying to tamp it down - Yin/yang stepped to one side and held the door open for her. She smiled her thanks and entered, carrying her bucket, sprays and cloths. She had expected there to be swarms of Godless inside but in fact it was quiet as the grave. She was immediately on high alert, suspecting a trap. There were s
o many different ways her cover could have been blown, not least by Sweetclover popping forward and dropping her in it, that she couldn't take anything for granted.

  When she moved through into the main lounge area she immediately saw the problem. Someone had thrown the fruit plate, splattering grapes, orange slices and all manner of berries across the wall.

  Dora was aware that she was not alone. She could hear breathing and faint movements to her right, but she did not look, not wanting to alert whoever it was. She did not get a sense of being stalked, so she pretended she was unaware and tutted loudly before putting down her bucket and pulling on some rubber gloves.

  'I'm sorry about the mess,' said a voice behind her. Dora started, aping surprise, and turned to see Quil sitting on a corner chair, surveying the room from behind her mask.

  'Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am, I didn't realise you were here,' said Dora, giving her best impersonation of a frightened housemaid. 'Shall I come back later?'

  'No. Please continue. I imagine it will start to smell if left long enough.' Quil was softly spoken, her body language relaxed. She had no tablet or book and she was sitting with her hands folded in her lap. Dora got a sense that she had been enjoying the quiet.

  Quil's voice was different. The barely concealed madness that had seeped out of her in Sweetclover Hall was absent. This woman seemed calm and composed.

  'Yes, ma'am,' said Dora, and began wiping the wall clean, using the cloth to gather up the fruit pulp that had stained the already gruesome wallpaper. As she cleaned, she tried to work out how best to start a conversation. Her best-case scenario had been to overhear a meeting, or catch a glimpse of a secret communication on a screen, but here she was apparently alone in the suite with the woman who was the focus of all her efforts. And she had a huge advantage because Dora knew Quil's future - possible future. She had been so unprepared for such a stroke of luck, she had no idea how best to exploit it. It turned out she didn't have to - Quil was feeling talkative.

  'One of my generals found the food . . . offensive,' volunteered the most feared military leader in the solar system.

  'Was the fruit spoiled, ma'am?' asked Dora, sticking to her role.

  Quil laughed softly. 'No,' she said. 'Nothing like that. He was a miner on a dwarf planet. Lived his whole life on processed protein bars and algae soup. He finds such largesse inappropriate.'

  'Large what, ma'am?' asked Dora.

  'Largesse,' said Quil patiently. 'It means luxurious generosity.'

  Dora nodded her head and said, 'Oh, I see,' in a manner designed to make Quil think this dim little maid had no clue whatsoever.

  'He spent his life starving and now, because he strikes fear into the hearts of his oppressors, they offer him more fruit than he can possibly eat,' explained Quil. 'It angers him - and me - but I have more self-control than he. And I hadn't quite finished the plums. I love plums.'

  Dora could hear a smile in Quil's voice. She continued wiping the wall; the sickly sweet smell of fruit juices mingled with the antiseptic odour of the wipes she used to finish the job to create a noxious smell that made her curl her lip in involuntary disgust.

  'What is your name?' asked Quil.

  'Dora, ma'am.'

  'That's a nice name. Pleased to meet you Dora, I am Quil.'

  'I ... I know who you are, ma'am.'

  'Of course you do.' Was that a tinge of regret Dora could detect?

  'You are not a Martian,' said Quil.

  'No, ma'am,' replied Dora. 'Earth-born. Came here with my parents a couple of years ago. My mother got a job with the administration.' Dora parroted her cover story.

  'Do you like Mars?' asked Quil.

  Dora made a show of considering her answer, but she was mostly masking her surprise at how friendly and chatty Quil was being. 'I like it well enough,' she said. 'But the gravity does not agree with me. I feel like I'm wasting away sometimes.'

  Quil nodded. 'That will happen, you lose bone density and muscle tone. That's why they made us Godless. Genetically engineered to thrive in extremely low-gravity environments. Makes them perfectly suited for work out on the edge. My troops are actually finding the gravity here on Mars quite uncomfortable.'

  Which raises the question, thought Dora, how they would function if they were required to fight a ground war on Earth? She filed that piece of information away for later consideration.

  'Don't think that's privileged information, my dear,' said Quil. 'I would not have told you if I did not think the Earth government knew it already.'

  Dora stopped and turned, feigning affront. 'I wouldn't tell a soul, ma'am,' she said. 'I'm not a gossip.'

  Quil was silent for a moment and then laughed. 'You are either terribly naive or a very good little spy,' she said. 'Either way, you will be asked to repeat every detail of this conversation to large men in dark suits as soon as you leave this suite.'

  Quil waved away Dora's protests. 'It doesn't matter, child,' she said. 'They will not hurt you. It's nice to have someone different to talk to.'

  Dora settled for a simple 'ma'am' and continued cleaning on her hands and knees, tracking down errant blueberries.

  Quil seemed content to let the silence linger, so after a few minutes Dora decided to take a chance on continuing the conversation.

  'Ma'am, you said "us Godless". But you . . . you are not like the others.' She let the question hang, playing the tentative girl, nervously curious rather than cunningly interrogatory.

  'No, I am not,' replied Quil. 'I am a clone, but not like them. Not bred for hard labour. I was designed for a very different purpose.'

  There was no subtle way to voice the obvious next question, so Dora looked quizzical and hoped Quil would volunteer more information. She did not.

  Again Quil let the silence hang for a while, but Dora was conscious that she was being studied.

  'You are a very pretty girl,' said Quil.

  Dora faked a nervous, embarrassed laugh. 'Thank you, ma'am.' She then made a play of trying to return the compliment and failing, hoping it would restart the conversation. 'I, um, I really like your mask,' she said. 'Nice patterns.'

  The eyes behind the whirling black spirals and cold, dull metal sparkled. 'Why thank you, I drew the designs myself. They are mathematical. Fibonacci fractals. They remind me that everything is numbers.'

  'Numbers, ma'am?'

  'Physics, higher mathematics,' said Quil. 'Trust me, it's all very complicated and you're probably better off knowing nothing about it.'

  'If you say so, ma'am. I've never had a head for figures. Is that the only reason you wear it?'

  'My reasons are my own,' replied Quil, still kindly but more firm in the face of a direct question.

  'Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am, I didn't mean to be impertinent.' Dora resolved to let the silence last this time. She located what she thought was the last of the blueberries beneath one of the sofas, then turned her attention to some pieces of kiwi fruit that had been mashed into the carpet by angry boots.

  'Are you scared of me?' asked Quil as Dora used a scraper to get all the little black seeds out of the pile.

  Dora considered her answer carefully and decided to be honest. 'You are not what I was expecting,' she said cautiously, keeping her eyes on her work.

  Quil seemed amused by this. 'What did you expect?' she asked.

  'Someone bossy and shouty, who would threaten me a lot.'

  'Get a lot of those, do you?'

  'Especially in this suite, ma'am,' said Dora, risking a little bit of cheek.

  'I bet you do,' laughed Quil. 'They are your enemy, Dora. Mine too. The people who think they own us, who tell us what to do and punish us if we dare to think our own thoughts, try to live our own lives. Earth tells you that we are your enemy, but that is the biggest lie of this entire war. We should be allies, you and I. The real enemy, our mutual enemy, sits in big houses and luxurious suites like this, never giving a thought to the people who mine the minerals that make their toys, who serve their food, who clean up aft
er them.'

  There was passion in Quil's voice now. Not the ranting fervour that Dora had heard in the past, but a balanced, politicised anger, focused and reasoned. She began to get a sense of the path Quil had walked, from righteous indignation to rebellion and eventually to madness. It made a kind of sense. She risked a bit more cheek, gambling that this version of Quil - the rebel who resented authority - would warm to someone who gave a bit of lip.

  'That's as may be, ma'am,' she said, concentrating on her work, avoiding eye contact so the challenge was less direct, 'but I don't see you helping me clean up this mess.'

  For a second Dora thought she'd made an error. It took Quil a couple of seconds to get over her surprise and bellow a single appreciative 'Ha!' Then she rose from her seat, walked over to Dora, picked a roll of paper towels out of the bucket, got down on her hands and knees and began drying out the damp patches of carpet that Dora had just washed.

  Dora was both pleased and disconcerted. Pleased that she'd judged Quil correctly and seemed to have formed a bond of respect so quickly; disconcerted because if she hadn't known what a madwoman Quil was going to become, Dora would said she quite liked her. This was definitely not the Quil she had met, and she wondered how awful the imminent, unspecified tragedy must be to drive her to such extremes.

  She considered the best way to capitalise on this opportunity. As she did so, Dora found a plum under an occasional table. She reached out, picked it up and proffered it to Quil.

  'You said you like plums,' said Dora, smiling.

  It was impossible to see if Quil smiled back, but the eyes wrinkled, so Dora thought she did.

  Quil reached out to take the fruit and as she did so, her index finger brushed gently against Dora's little finger.

  A little cluster of red sparks arced between their fingers. Quil's laughing eyes suddenly widened in shock and then narrowed in suspicion.

  'Wait,' said Dora, 'I can—'

  'Guards!' yelled Quil, backing away from Dora as quickly as she could.