The Last Hope

by C. C. Jameson

  She looked at the small terminal that relayed the pod’s important statistics: the clone’s ID number, its full name, its heartbeat, the number of days left in the womb.

  “Ethan, my dear, you’ll grow up to be a fine young man. I can’t wait to meet you in less than a month.”

  The heartbeat increased, a little out of sync with the swooshing sound that filled the room whenever the Mother’s heart would beat.

  These artificial wombs made her feel like a real mother, and if it hadn’t been for her encounter with Stéphane at a conference twenty years ago, she wouldn’t be standing here tonight, surrounded by their babies.

  Juliet spent another hour going from pod to pod in one of the dozens of rows. Each night, she picked a different row. There were just too many to do in one night, so she did her best and tried to make time for them before Christopher would take over and turn them into soldiers that would fight to make the world a better place.

  About ninety minutes later, she reached the other end of the Incubator and took the elevator up to her and Stéphane’s bedroom. She walked into their luxurious bathroom and poured herself a lavender-scented bubble bath in the four-person Jacuzzi, and then walked into her closet.

  She untied the belt of her dress. Reaching behind her neck, she awkwardly found the zipper from the middle of her back and then undid it before letting the dress fall to the floor, around her legs. After rolling down her black stockings, careful not to catch her nails on them, she hung her dress up on an empty hanger and walked back to the bathroom in her underwear. She undid her bra and removed her panties, leaving them on the side of the sink to hand wash later.

  After testing the water with her right foot, she slid her body into the tub. As she did every night, she took a deep breath, held it, and then let her entire body sink under the water in the deep tub. She could hear her heartbeat, but otherwise, it was silent. The warmth of the water around her body hugged her and comforted her. She felt safe. She stayed submerged until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer.

  With her head out of the water, Juliet opened her eyes and pulled her hands through her wet hair, pushing down the bubbles and foam to her shoulders. She imagined their babies felt something similar when they were born. Too bad she couldn’t remember her own birth.

  The music that played on their bathroom’s built-in stereo system was the same that aired in the Incubator. While Stéphane and Christopher never understood why it was important to her, she had insisted during the construction of the house, and she had gotten her way, as usual. Juliet liked controlling what their babies would listen to in their artificial wombs. Classical music was pure heaven to her, and she thought it would be good for them, as well. After Chopin ended, Beethoven automatically took over.

  Once the water became noticeably cooler, she got out of the tub, dried herself, and then put on a see-through nightgown, the one Stéphane had bought her last Christmas that he loved so much. She returned to the bedroom, kneeled at the foot of the bed, put her hands together, closed her eyes, and began to speak softly.

  “Dear God, thank you for another good day. You’ve been very kind to my husband and me. While you took away my ability to have children of my own, I now understand that you did it because you had bigger plans for me. You knew I would somehow find a way to raise many, many more babies, and I wouldn’t have been able to follow this path if it hadn’t been for you. Please protect Robbie, wherever he is. Bless Christopher and my Stéphane, and I promise to make this world a better place with the powers you’ve granted us, thanks to your infinite wisdom. We will make you proud. We will fight to give power back to the good people, taking it from the crooked, power-hungry leaders who are destroying our planet and those who rob children of their innocence in the most awful way. And, as always, we’ll do our best to right as many injustices as we can.” She crossed herself then said, “Amen.”

  Stéphane came into the room just as she got up.

  “Ah... que tu es belle, mon amour,” he said.

  He walked toward her, wrapped his arms around her, and then kissed her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  July 30, 2015

  Robert Robertson

  The Hampshire House, Boston

  Everything in this room seemed over-the-top: caviar and foie gras hors-d’oeuvres, four-tiered champagne fountains, birds carved out of ice, and shrimp the size of a baby’s arm.

  Robert crossed the room as if it were his own, nodding and smiling at unknown men and women in their fanciest outfits. He grabbed a martini from the tray a penguin-looking waitress offered. Sipping his drink, he scanned the room once more. The senator had yet to arrive. No way he’d miss his entrance. After all, the senator was the guest of honor. Based on Robert’s mission brief, the senator would show up here tonight to help support Freedom and Glory, his charitable organization that sent money to US troops and also funded their enemies, although that last part was not known by the public. With his shares in the weapons sector, it made financial sense.

  He put his hand in his right pants pocket, feeling the sharp and sturdy plastic blade resting against his hip. Of course, the metal detector hadn’t spotted it at the event’s security check, but it would work just fine to cut the senator’s throat or knife him in the heart. It worked just as well as the metal version; no doubt about it. He’d stabbed many pigs with a replica of that blade. Sure, it was mostly a one-time use weapon, as bones had a way of damaging its sharp plastic edge, but one time was all he needed tonight. He’d rehearsed this kill many times in his head. In fact, that was the sole mission the Colony had trained him to do.

  Robert had been raised as a premium soldier. He knew he was part of a breed of extraordinary people with laser-sharp focus who received instructions telepathically, or at least as close to that as technology currently allowed. Since he’d left the Colony, eighteen months ago, his primary task had been to set up roots and fit into society. The rules were simple:

  He was not allowed to mingle with other people from the Colony unless specifically ordered to.

  He was to live a quiet life and obey every societal rule until he received his official mission.

  He was to keep his past private and not discuss the Colony with anyone.

  He was to remain unattached because relationships were too complicated and would take his focus away from making this world a better place.

  Each morning, he was to ensure his Colony app was up-to-date on his phone, so new instructions could be downloaded and synced to the chip implanted in his brain.

  He wasn’t quite sure of the chip’s exact location. He couldn’t feel it, but because he was instructed to always bring the phone to his left ear, and never to use the speakerphone feature, he figured the device had to have been implanted around his left temple.

  A little girl in a ball gown ran past him, hitting his elbow with her head.

  “Sorry, mister,” she said.

  Robert faked a smile. “No harm done.”

  He watched her try to catch up with a short boy in a tuxedo and wondered how old they were. Children outside the Colony seemed to drag their feet into adulthood. His childhood had gone by quickly. Everyone at the Colony was on the fast track.

  He had no real recollection of his early years. His oldest memories always involved training of some sort, with immersive education sessions held alone in a ten-foot-by-ten-foot room, with TV screens covering three of the four walls from floor to ceiling. Immobilized in a chair in the middle of the room, he had to sit still with his eyelids kept open by a helmet contraption that was attached to the back of his seat, almost like a salon hair dryer he had seen in movies, but with more mechanical clamps.

  Education sessions always lasted two hours and included an audio recording with several layered voices. He had never been able to focus on any one of the voices. Each time he was being secured to the training chair, the supervisor had told him, “It will be much more pleasant if you just let it happen, if you let the information reach your subc
onscious without fighting it.” And it had been. He’d learned to breathe his way through each session and found that he could absorb the information much more efficiently. In six years, with two hours each day, he had learned much about the world, its history, and what was wrong and right about it.

  In addition to education sessions, each day involved group training led by Mr. C or by senior supervisors. Mr. C was an expert in firearms, knives, and martial arts. These sessions also lasted two hours and were essential components of their training at the Colony. Those who didn’t learn fast enough and those who finished last in the group were never seen again. Expelled out of the Colony, or, as Robert had come to realize, used as live bait for final exams.

  To graduate from the Colony, each person had to prove his or her ability to follow orders downloaded to their chips, even if, and especially if, it involved killing a specific person. No one had told him that, but he’d reached that conclusion during his final manhunt. His instructions had been to kill the man hiding in the forest. The two-square-mile perimeter was limited by a three-story fence topped with electrical and barbed wire. The prey couldn’t escape.

  The prey had entered the perimeter a day before him. At the beginning of the final exam, Mr. C had unlocked the small door in the fence and started a twenty-four-hour timer on his watch. Robert had been given a nine-millimeter gun, a knife, and a small flask of fresh water. The rest he’d figured out on his own, using the education and skills he’d learned during his six years at the Colony.

  His manhunt had gone well. After seven hours, he had caught the prey, removed his mask, and recognized No. 201, a fellow student who had been expelled. The decision had been simple: kill and live, or fail and die as the next prey. He’d given 201 a quick death before boasting in the glory, pride, and accomplishment that filled his heart.

  Upon graduating and being let into the world, they were reminded of how special they were. They’d soon realize there was something different about them and their fast physical and mental development. They had been lucky to be raised at the Colony, for they learned and grew to become adults in just six years after birth.

  They were growing so fast that the only clothes trainees could wear were robes and flip-flops. Once they outgrew those items, they would go to the Supply Building and trade them for the next size up.

  They were fed well, with food they grew and butchered themselves. They spent a few hours each day tending the fields, working in the gardens or caring for the animals. Robert had enjoyed gardening the most. He could see JJ there, and she often smiled at him from across the garden. He didn’t quite understand why he felt a special bond with her. He didn’t know who his father or mother was, but JJ was the closest thing he’d had to a mother.

  A voice on a microphone brought him back to reality.

  “And now, ladies and gentleman, here’s Senator Aaron Russell.”

  The room broke into applause.

  Robert knew what to do. He walked to the back, took out his phone, hit his mission app icon, and listened to his final instructions. He waited patiently until the senator had to use the facilities or go to a private room.

  Three hours elapsed with Robert’s mind clear and focused, awaiting the perfect opportunity. He wandered the room and ignored anyone who approached him to chitchat. He had a job to do, and he was the right man for it. The senator had to die, and tonight was the night.

  Finally, at 1 a.m., he got his opening.

  The senator appeared to have found a woman who piqued his interest. Robert had been informed that his target was a philanderer, so there was no surprise there. As the guests started to leave, he managed to get close enough to overhear their conversation. She gave him her address. He mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to follow her out publicly, but would meet her there within an hour.

  The woman left a few minutes later, but not before turning around to make last-minute eye contact with the senator, who winked at her.

  The senator returned to his tall brunette wife, who looked darn good in a white silk dress. He brought with him two flutes of champagne. Robert giggled on the inside. As if champagne would make up for his cheating. The senator’s security detail wouldn’t leave him alone here; he’d already seen a guard escort him to the bathroom earlier this evening, so following the woman and completing his mission at her house was preferable.

  Fewer witnesses, fewer side kills.

  He didn’t have another plastic blade with him. He only had one shot at this.

  He grabbed his jacket from the coat check and marched two blocks east to the now near-empty parking lot where he’d left his 2012 Toyota Corolla.

  Twenty minutes later, the GPS on his car indicated he was a hundred feet from the woman’s house. He parked and walked the rest of the way there. Once he located her home, he went around the block once to get a feel for his surroundings and possible escape routes. There was a small alley out back, parallel to the main street. He repeated the same path once more, this time counting how many houses he passed by. Finally, he went into the alley to figure out which back entry was hers.

  The alley offered a better way in. Dark, with lots of cedar bushes to hide in. He checked the house. One light was on upstairs. He could see a door on a deck but was not sure if there were motion-activated lights nearby. He bent down and grabbed a few pebbles and dropped them in his pocket.

  After creeping his way closer to the door using the bushes for cover, he spotted a patch of grass surrounding the deck. He threw his small rocks past the back door, and most of them landed quietly on the grass, but a few bounced on the wooden terrace. A light turned on. He retreated into the bushes some more, keeping an eye on the window where there was light. He was well hidden by the bushes but realized the back door wouldn’t work as a point of discreet entry. A woman’s figure came to the window, looked out for a few seconds, and then disappeared out of sight.

  He waited for the light to turn off, and continued his way along the bushes, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness again.

  He saw a window on the side of the house, but it was too high to reach, without anything to climb on. He continued toward the front of the house, and, instead of the cedar edge he’d been feeling for the past five minutes, he sensed a large tree trunk behind his back. An extensive branch hung just over his head, about six feet from the ground. His eyes followed it to see that it almost touched the roof. Maybe he could climb on it, then jump to whatever they called those fake balconies with a sliding patio door and no room to stand.

  The door could be locked, and she could be in that room and see me approach. Not ideal.

  He retreated to the alley and went along the opposite side of the house.

  A few minutes later, he found a basement window.

  Much better.

  He pulled out the screen from one side and attempted to slide the outside window panel open. It worked. Repeating the same action with the inner window panel, he was surprised to see it glide smoothly as well. The opening wasn’t overly big, but it was wide enough for him to slip into the room.

  He crawled into the gap headfirst and cautiously felt the wall as far down as he could to see if there was any furniture below the window. Pleased to find nothing, he retreated, turned around and gently lowered his body until he landed softly on the floor. He tried to decipher the size of the room and where he stood in relation to the house.

  Too dark.

  His eyes needed to adjust.

  The doorbell rang. A second later, footsteps echoed from somewhere above.

  Perfect distraction to look for the door now.

  He moved with his arms in front of him and one of his legs a foot above the ground, feeling nothing but air, then a wall a few seconds later. He let his fingers run along it, trying to find a doorframe. Keeping his body as far out as possible to avoid a potential collision with furniture, he finally recognized the shape of a knob and then opened the door.

  Robert stepped into what appeared to be a hallway, with faint light c
oming in from his right.

  Stairs leading up.

  He made his way toward the light and hit the first step with his foot, inadvertently creating a soft creak. He waited.

  Did they hear me?

  Thirty seconds later, assured they hadn’t, he inched his way up the stairs, hoping they wouldn’t creak too much, but the fourth step did.

  He paused and listened.

  Glasses were clinking over jazz and happy chatter.

  Still undetected. Lucky me.

  One step at a time, he made his way up, timing his movements to the rhythm of the music to hide the noises. He felt the doorknob in front of him but waited before turning it, still not sure if the people above were aware of his presence. The voices had stopped. Robert hadn’t been paying attention to what they were saying before.

  Did they hear something?

  He remained quiet and listened. The song was ending and, in the short pause before the next one started, he overheard faint moaning.

  Good. They got busy.

  The next song came on, and the level of their excitement went up a notch. Now was his chance. He had no idea how long the old fart would last.

  It’s now or never.

  He turned the knob, pushed the door open, popped his head out, and looked toward where the music and moans came from.

  The senator was kneeling. His wrinkly butt cheeks clenched to the rhythm of her moans as he fucked her. Her bare legs were spread around him, her heels resting on the floor. She was lying flat on her back on what appeared to be a coffee table, but then raised one of her red-soled heels to rest on his shoulder.

  Robert inched his way closer, matching his pace with their loud moans, which more than covered the sounds of the creaky hardwood floors. He was ten steps away from the senator, his blade out and ready, when the CD player switched to a different disc.

  Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony started playing, snapping Robert right out of his trance.