by Mari Mancusi
"Wow, its not every day you get to see your own dead body," I mutter, going for gallows humor. Or 'Gazing humor, I guess, as the case might be.
Dawn grabs and pulls me into a fierce, smothering hug, squeezing me tightly against him. I realize he's shaking, too, as terrified and confused as me but trying to be strong for the both of us. I bury my face in his chest, sobbing.
"I don't understand," I blubber. "I'm not dead. How can my body be in this morgue?"
"I don't know," Dawn answers helplessly. "I just don't know."
"It's definitely me, though, right? It's definitely Mariah?" I can't bear to take another look.
Dawns shifts in my arms for a second glance. "Yes," he says after a pause. "It is definitely Mariah. And it appears she's got the burned-out eyeball thing like the rest of them." He takes a few pictures of the corpse. "I'm going to upload these photos and send them back to headquarters," he says, pressing a few buttons on the camera. "They have to see this. Now."
I nod, barely listening, my whole world spun off its axis. "So, if that's Mariah, then ... who am 1?"
"You, my dear," pipes in a voice from across the room, "are not exactly a `who' at all."
Dawn and I whirl around. At the entrance to the morgue stands Duske, flanked by six heavily armed guards. He's dressed in a severe black suit, and his thumbs are swathed in white cotton bandages.
Without giving reason a second thought, I rip my sword from its sheath and charge forward, blinded by rage and madness. My vision is red, my heart pounds in my chest. This man must die. Die for what he did to the people. Die for what he did to Mariah. Die for whatever the hell he's done to me. Whoever I am.
The guards step in front of him, pulling out their own swords and effectively protecting their master. I
stop my advance, sword still held high in the air, glowering at the man who is responsible for so many torn lives. Duske grins and gestures for the guards to withdraw. He pulls out his own sword. "This is excellent," he says. "I've wanted to see you fight ever since I created you. After all, you were programmed with the top martial arts training."
I squint at him. "Programmed me? What the hell is that supposed that mean?"
Duske shakes his head. "Fight first," he commands.
"If you best me, I will tell you everything."
"If I best you, you will be dead and thus unable to speak."
"No, no, my dear," Duske says laughingly. "My guards will not let me die. Don't be stupid. We'll simply spar until there is a clear champion. But we must agree not to shed any blood. I will not kill you if you agree not to kill me."
"From what I saw in the drawer over there, it appears I'm already dead. And why should I believe even for a second that you won't just have me killed later?" I glare at him, not wanting to play games anymore. I should have killed him back at the house. Not doing so was a big mistake.
Duske shrugs. "Because you know I am a man of honor?" he suggests. Then he laughs. "No, I guess that could not be it. How about because you need to know the truth? You're desperate for answers and you know I'm the only one who can give them to you. If you're going to die anyway, wouldn't you prefer to die knowing the truth?"
He's got me there. There's no way I can even pretend the truth does not concern me. After seeing my own face dead in a drawer, realizing the world I thought I was from is just a virtual dream, it's now vitally important I find out who I really am.
I raise my sword again, the blade flashing under the artificial florescent ceiling lights. "All right," I say. "Let's do this." Maybe he'll be weak. After all, how does one grasp a sword with cut thumbs? But then I remember Dawn healing my wrist. He probably just went to an nT medic and had the skin grown back in minutes.
"Skye ..." Dawn interrupts my racing thoughts. "You don't have to do this."
Actually, I think I do," I reply, feeling an inner power swell inside me. It's a growing strength and retreating fear. This is a fight for the truth. And I have to win.
Duske brandishes his blade and steps forward. I launch into an attack, swinging my sword expertly in one hand. I don't remember learning to fight, but somehow something inside me knows how to do it--as if I were born with the knowledge.
You weren't born at all, an inner voice nags. I push it aside.
Our swords clash, the blades singing high-pitched squeals. I slide my sword downward, freeing the blade, then swing upward. Duske catches it again easily. He's good, I realize. Maybe too good.
Back and forth we flurry, blades coming together, separating, then meeting once again. Sweat drips down my forehead, between my breasts, as I dance around him, looking for a sign of weakness. But he seems to effortlessly predict my every move. I'm not sure he's even trying that hard. He certainly doesn't seem winded.
Thinking I see an opening, I lunge. He parries with a twist of the wrist, tossing me a self-satisfied grin. He's toying with me, I realize. If I want to win I can't do it this way. I have to try something he won't expect. Something that's not "all fair in love and swordplay." It's then that I remember my character Allora's finishing move in my RealLife video game. The one my boss Madeline criticized and told me I needed to fix. Chivalry is based on a code, she had lectured. Everything is based on rules. But she's just an NPC, a computer-generated character.
Whoever I am, I'm done playing by the rules. Time to make my own destiny.
I drop to my knees, swing my blade, and slash at his ankles. He screams in pain as the sword makes contact with his Achilles tendon. He stumbles backward, . bellowing in rage. I leap to my feet and point my blade at his now unprotected throat.
"You bitch," he snaps. "You weren't supposed to hurt me."
"You'll live," I snarl back. "Unless I decide to kill you." I press the blade against his throat, just enough to draw a tiny droplet of blood. One step forward and I can drive the weapon straight through and no number of guards can save his life. But, I realize, then I'd never find out the truth. And the guards will simply kill me and then Dawn after their master is dead. If I am going to have a chance to get out of this, I need to stay alive.
Reluctantly, I lower the sword. The guards step forward and disarm me, then tie my hands behind my back. They do the same to Dawn, roughly shuffling us both to one wall.
Duske reaches down and wraps a strip of cloth torn from his suit over his wound, still grumbling. It's immediately soaked in blood. That's got to really hurt. I can't believe he's still conscious. One of the guards kneels before him and takes the ankle in his hands, closing his eyes, just as Dawn did to my wrist. Must be a Healer. How convenient to have one on staff.
A few moments later, the bleeding's stopped and Duske's able to walk. He saunters over to me, positioning himself so he's inches from my face. "You should have killed me when you had the chance," he says with a bitter laugh.
"Yes, yes," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, while inside everything is trembling with fear. "But I didn't. So how about you keep up your end of the bargain? Tell me everything."
Duske grins. "Gladly. In fact, I'm looking forward to it. Ask away."
I swallow hard, get up my nerve. Ignore my pounding heart. "Is ... Earth just a game?" I manage to spit out.
Duske frowns. "It's not just a game. It's the most miraculous creation in the history of the world. It's a new form of reality. A virtual escape, if you will, for all that plagues the Terran people. An amazing recreation of Terra the century before the war."
"Some escape," I mutter, glancing over at the drawers of bodies.
"Well, yes, we're still working out the kinks. Right now it's too expensive to run on a long-term basis. Do you think we want to be stuck intravenously feeding players for their entire Terran life spans? Or worrying about disposing of their bodily fluids? Also, we've found that after a few weeks, the Terran mind starts to decay from the fully immersive experience. So it's far better to pull the 'Gazers from their misery before their organs rot and their bodies are rendered unusable."
"But you've promised these peopl
e a new life on Earth! Instead, you kill them."
"But don't you see? They do get a whole life. We speed up the game. Twenty Earth years can pass within a day of Terran time if we want. When someone commits to a full emigration we put their life on fast forward. By the time their mind starts to decay, they've already experienced an entirely full life. They're old. They're ready to die." He smiles, obviously proud. "And in return, here on Terra, we solve the overpopulation problem and help fund government programs. Besides, all of our subjects are perfectly willing to go."
"But if they knew how they'd end up.. ."
Duske shrugs. "What's the difference, because they never will. They'll die peacefully, thinking they've lived out an entire life in paradise. What could be better than that?"
"What about Mariah?" Dawn interrupts.
"Ah, Mariah," Dawn says. "Beautiful, sweet Mariah." He wanders over to the back of the room and looks adoringly down at the naked body lying on the slab. "We started noticing her poking around Earth about six months ago. She tried to give a false identity, but there's not much our daemons-the program's security subroutines-don't pick up on. Not to mention it's nearly impossible for a celebrated rebel like her to keep a low profile. We were amused by her interest, and so we let her take a peek around, knowing she would never find anything wrong. Not on the surface."
"And then she got addicted?" Dawn asks.
"Sure." Duske shrugs. "If you want to call it that. The more she jumped back and forth, the more taxing it became on her brain. With all the 'Gaze she was inhaling, her life on Earth started seeming more real to her than her life on Terra." He smirks. "So that's when we decided to make our move-make it look like the infamous Mariah Quinn, would-be savior of the Dark Siders, turned traitor."
"Make it look like?" Dawn repeats. "You mean she didn't actually ... ?"
Duske stares at him, then starts to laugh. "Didn't actually betray you?" he asks. "You really think she did?" He shakes his head in mirth. "You two may have slept together, but you obviously didn't know the girl very well at all. She was as loyal as they come. I mean, sure, she became a brainless, desperate drug addict, but still she refused to betray the Eclipsers up until the very end. And believe me, we tried a great deal to make her spill."
"So then, how did you know about our plans to sabotage the seminar?" Dawn demands. "You know things that only she could have told you."
Duske smiles. "Once we realized that no amount of convincing was going to get her to talk, we simply allowed her to go 'Gazing in a specially doctored booth. While she was inside, we ran a brain scan and stripped her mind of all short-term memories. After running a quick analysis through a supercomputer, we got all the details we needed to thwart your pathetic plan. And Mariah never had any idea."
Dawn is silent for a moment, probably trying to digest this startling revelation. The girl he's been thinking a villain all this time is actually an innocent victim. He must feel so guilty for judging her. But how could he have known that in this instance two plus two did not equal four?
"But she still left us," he says at last, grasping at straws. "She still abandoned her people for a better life on Earth."
"Please." Duske snorts. "She didn't go anywhere. She was too sick. Her brain wouldn't have survived another trip. We didn't waste the resources. Once we had the information we needed, we cloned her and killed her and sent in Skye here to start 'Gazing in her place."
"So then ... who am I?" I interject. My head is spinning. "Where do I come from and why do I look exactly like Mariah?" Even as I ask, I'm not sure I want to hear the truth.
"You're the spare."
"The spare?" I think I'm going to be sick again.
"Sure. A clone. Similar to the nTs. We took a sample of Mariah's genetic code and grew a new version. Then we implanted false memories of Earth into her brain, mostly stolen from our non-user character designs. The idea was to send the new Mariah to Earth in place of the real one so people would see her. We could relay back clips of your new life if we wanted, prove that Mariah had really migrated there. And if we needed you for something, we could bring you back. Hell, you never do know when a spare revolutionary leader turned traitor might come in handy." He laughs.
I stare at him, unable to even breathe. "You mean ... ?"
He smiles. "Yes, Skye. You are that clone. You have the same genetic makeup as Mariah. Same fingerprints, same DNA. But your brain is filled with a false life on Earth that we created especially for you. You are not now, nor were you ever Mariah. In fact, you are not, nor were you ever a real person at all."
My face crumbles, tears robbing me of my vision. So, I'm not Mariah. I'm not the girl Dawn is in love with. I'm just a clone. A nonuser character. A fantasy. My whole life, every memory, is a lie.
"In reality, Skye, you've only been alive for about three months," Duske says.
"But how come..." I'm grasping at the falling straws. "How come I remember sometimes? I mean, fleeting images, feelings. In Terra I feel like I have deja vu all the time."
Duske nods grimly. "Our experiment wasn't a hundred percent successful. For some reason you seem to retain a few memories of Mariah. We're still not quite sure why. You even tried to escape us once. Do you remember? Before we implanted those memories in you? Then you were a shell of a person, with no past, present, or future, and yet you took off, almost escaped into the underground. It could have been a disaster had my men not captured you in time."
The dream of my running through the underground flashes into my mind. I remember being frightened, absolutely terrified, not remembering who I was. I'd had no idea that was because at that moment I wasn't anyone to remember.
"Aw, she looks as if she's going to cry," Duske remarks to his guards. They snicker. He turns back to me. "You pathetic bitch," he spits. "You really thought you could be like her, didn't you? You thought you could simply waltz into Terra and did take over Mariah's legacy. Pathetic." He sneers. "Please. You're not fit to lick her boots. You're not even a real person. You're just an empty shell that I can fill with whatever I see fit." He motions to the guards. "Take them to their cell," he commands.
18
We're thrown into a bare cell on the other side of the building, similar in style to the one that caged Glenda, though style may be the wrong word. The cell is filthy, the walls stained fecal brown, the floors are damp and reeking of piss. A rickety cot in the corner is the only furnishing, clothed with thin gray sheets and a ratty yellow blanket.
"Sorry about the room," Duske says as the guards lock us in, not really sounding all that broken up about it. "It's the best we can do on such short notice. Next time, do warn us when you'll be dropping by." He pauses. "Oh, wait," he adds, as if something just occurred to him. "There won't be a next time. So sorry." He peers between the bars. "Better say your good-byes now, dearies. In a couple of hours, Skye here will be going under another little memory transplant."
"Memory transplant?" I repeat, not liking the sound of that.
"Oh yes," Duske says. "It's a two-part procedure, actually. Part one will get rid of all the memories you currently have in your head. It's like one big magnet, erasing your brain like a disk. And then, after that happens, my doctors will perform the second part. They'll inject you with a little memory cocktail we've whipped up, give you a brand-new identity. We're going to turn you into a Mariah who has spent time on Earth as herself. She remembers all of her past revolutionary activities but has now found peace and happiness in her new world. She has returned for one night only, to speak at my Moongazing seminar and let all the Indys know just how wonderful Earth really is."
"That's crazy!" I cry. "I d never-"
"You'd never what?" Duske asks, his face darkening. "Lie for me? As far as you know you'll be telling the truth, my dear. When the doctors are through with you, you won't have any recollection of this conversation. Or any conversations, really, besides the made-up ones we'll inject into your head. Sorry to break it to you, sweetie, but remember you're just a clone to do
with what we like. With just a small dose of serum injected into your cerebral cortex, we can transform you into anyone at all." He pats the bars of the cell. "So, it was nice knowing you, Skye," he says. "I look forward to meeting the new you very shortly. Maybe I'll even throw in a crush on me this time. So we can finish what you started."
He turns and exits the room, flanked by his guards. The metal doors clank shut, leaving Dawn and me alone in filth and darkness. I consider screaming and yelling, and even begging for freedom, but I know there's no use, so instead I resignedly wander over to the cot and slump down on the grimy mattress. It creaks under my weight, but I scarcely notice, I'm so wrapped up in my terrified thoughts.
Dawn joins me, his face ashen. He kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. He brings them to his lips, pressing my knuckles against his soft mouth, capturing my eyes with his. We sit there for a long while, thoughts whirling madly inside our heads, but nothing seemingly worth saying out loud.
"I can't bear this," Dawn finally says in a choked voice, breaking the silence. He drops my hands and rises to his feet, pacing the cell like a wild tiger, caged. "To lose you again. It's just-"
I sigh, feeling very old, even though I now know I'm a mere babe of three months. "What are you talking about?" I snarl. "Didn't you hear a word Duske said? You're not losing me again. I'm not Mariah. Your precious Mariah is lying in a drawer."
"I meant lose you again like when you went back to Earth. As Skye," Dawn corrects.
I screw up my face in frustration. "But don't you get it? I'm not Skye either! I'm no one! I'm just some fucking clone that, at the end of the day, doesn't really even exist. You were right when you said being with me is like being with a shell. That's all I am."
Dawn turns to me, eyes wild, face haunted. "Skye, don't say that," he says. "Don't buy into their game. You're a person. Just like me or anyone else. You're real. Special."
