“Dorian, I have some great news. The Stemworm Inc. guy’s legal said they estimate only several hundred remaining clonies still running free. I thought we got the rest the last time, at Point Barrow. But it looks like we’re almost there.” Dina looked up and swatted a spy bot nano-drone, careful to remove its transmitter.
“Not to worry, Dina. I saw that one and scrambled it before it could transmit. I do not detect other drones in your security hut at present. Hello my lovely daughter Gimlet, how have your exams been progressing? Will you outshine all of your fellow colleagues?” Dorian did his best to use normal-speak with his family. But, it still came out too formal. He knew this. So did Dina and Gimlet. They tried not to laugh.
“Hi Dad, I guess I did okay. Did you get a chance to speak to Roxanne or Eldridge about Thanksgiving?”
“Yes most certainly, and I have a shopping procurement list for either of you. I thought that perhaps you would be able to procure Thanksgiving dinner supplies easier in Tokyo or Hong Kong than here at the rebel headquarters. As you know, we are rather limited here in our warehouse. Shall I transmit to either or both of you?”
“Send it to me, Dorian, Gim’s not finished with her exams yet, and wants to take some time off to visit with Roxanne before her east bound tunnel haul. I’ll be heading back directly via hover, but can get the stuff at the station markets. I can use the Narita push tunnel and send whatever you need, directly to Eldridge.”
Dina felt a slight pang of guilt when using Eldridge’s name with Dorian. She knew that, despite Dorian’s intense politeness to Eldridge, he still harbored some less than happy feelings about that whole episode. Dina had left Donner Pass, and Dorian, for five years, blaming Dorian and the rebels for the death of her father at the hands of five clone soldiers, during the Battle of Kyoto. She’d left him without a word, in the middle of the night, for five years. At first, she could not think of where she’d go; then she just sort of drifted through the desert and over the Rockies, until she found herself with her thumb out on low-way #25 southbound for Albuquerque.
Of course Dorian had been following her on his sat-hack system. He’d begged Eldridge, a rebel sympathizer who’d previously picked Dina up while she was on another mission, several years prior, after the Las Vegas Clone Games. Eldridge had been looking for Dina, as he did his usual haul with his, then five-year-old daughter, Roxanne. He picked Dina up and drove her, for five years. She was two months pregnant at the time, with her and Dorian’s only child, Gimlet. He delivered Gimlet, who was named after Dina’s mother, in the back of his cab. Roxanne thought Eldridge was the daddy. Dorian was. They all had a convoluted history, and while it was always great on the holidays to see Roxanne and Gimlet back together as genetically unrelated sisters, sometimes it was difficult for Dorian and Dina, but especially for Eldridge.
“Mom, I gotta tune out. My train arrived. I’ll com you when Roxanne gets here. Love both of you. Take care and be careful, Mom.” Gimlet touched her arm, and her bot-com tattoo tuned out. It would stay that way until she touched it herself, in a special sequence, having been tuned by Dorian to respond only to her DNA.
As she turned right to walk to the train dock, at first she had not noticed the man who followed her. Many people wouldn’t. He’d been selected by Leo’s chief of security to appear very ordinary, to be unmemorable. He was careful as instructed, not to follow too closely, or to be seen. But Gimlet made him at the station entry. After all, she could read minds if the individual was close enough. Besides, Leo had been dumb enough to send a white guy in a black suit into the Roppongi to follow her.
Gimlet had a Mormon-ish looking follower. She thought she’d just let him tail her and see what was up. But she had already informed her dad, and he was also watching, from high on the mountain pass at rebel headquarters. So Gimlet was not particularly concerned. If her dad thought she was in any danger he’d retune one of the recon satellites to laser fry the guy.
She continued on to her last University exam, in astro-organo-archeology, running to make it in time, in her real jeans, funky t-shirt, and soft, black cube fighter boots. Dorian watched her on his sat-vid. He thought she looked exactly like her mother, and she thought she would disappear after her last final…into the Nipon party tunnel for a couple of days.
At about the same time in bubble-stop #4, Roxanne and Rose were attending their weekly one hour ecumenical church session, required for all Inc. workers. Attendance was logged in via one’s employee ID tag, and Roxanne thought it best to get it out of the way before they logged back in to work in the morning. Their next down-time was in Tokyo, and attending one of the Ecumenicals was a mob scene in that city. The church thing had started a while back, when the Ecumenicals won the last election. But in a nod to economics and the worker efficiency protocol, the Bible quotation on the Sabbath had been massaged to include all seven days each week. What the heck, you could select your own day to rest because it was technically almost Sunday someplace in the solar system, at some time; right?
“Sit still Rose, we have to do this. Stop falling asleep. We’ll be tagged by a nano-drone and made to attend the next hour’s service.” Roxanne was sitting with Rose in the back row of the church section of the whorehouse, in front of the coffin-filled rig-ryder sleeping quarters. Most of the other rig-ryders, previously present in her dad’s bar, were now in attendance, trying to stay awake, or at least not get drone tagged for repeat attendance. Morton sat up front next to his newbie trainees, hands folded in his lap, with a practiced look of wonderment on his seriously in need of retirement face. He was still in his orange Inc. uniform; maybe it was all he had to wear. The interns were taking notes on the sermon.
The section was Mathew 19:24. “Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.”
The sermon rarely varied as the WEED had a vast cadre of clergy who passed through on a never-repeating schedule, using the sermon vids from the previous visiting cleric because it was easier. The service would be repeated, with exactly the same format, four times each night, every night, at every bubble stop, on every haul route, under-water and up top.
“I hear they do this 24/7 in the worker zones too,” Rose mumbled from her place under Roxanne’s bench. “Keep it down, Rose. You’re going to get us chit docked for non-church behavior,” Roxanne warned her co-pilot. Dogs were not actually required to attend service, but were welcomed if they behaved. Rose thought that was just insulting, but she remained quiet for the duration, even during the last rousing, hand-holding send-away song.
At the completion of the service, the same exam was given…every time. Roxanne thought she could take it in her sleep. But those interns anguished over every sermon review question, taking way too much time, and delaying the start of the next service, much to the chagrin of the next batch of rig-ryders waiting outside for their turn at redemption.
“Well, thank god that’s over for another seven days. Let’s get back to the house. I’m exhausted. We’ve got six hours until work starts tomorrow.” Roxanne exited the hall, quickly taking the back path to their house, with Rose close behind. They did not want to run into any horny fellow rig-ryders, especially an un-forewarned intern. Roxanne had brought her whip, but preferred to just avoid the situation. That run-in with the pirates had exhausted them both.
“I’m ready for sleep. That little pirate encounter wore me out too, Roxanne.” They crossed through the plasmon lined back alley tunnel, past the public library archive and 24/7 Dock-in-the-Box medical clinic, while watching the glowing night fish peer into the bubble viewing portals lining the plasmon walls. She remembered when she’d first asked Dorian how those walls worked. As usual, he’d given her the scientific version. “A plasmon wall is composed of organic plasma monomers, Roxanne…hence the term plasmon. The monomer units can form and break covalent bonds in response to pressure and oxygen tension. Thus, they expand and contract at the depth of the tunnel rest-stops, allowing th
e tunnel inhabitants to go about their lives without nitrogen bubble issues,” he had explained. Luckily, she had already passed the advanced finals in MolBio/Plasmon Physic, so she understood most of his explanation.
Roxanne and Rose continued walking to the back of the house. Roxanne had a load of items on her mind that night; check the rig pulse atomizer, deposit chits into her account, make her yearly medical exam appointment, get her teeth cleaned. Life was not as simple as when she rode in the back of her dad’s rig.
As they turned into the last alley leading to their small back deck, a newbie came out of nowhere. Rose immediately went into ultra-Dober mode, peeling back the skin around her mouth to show her entire set of chompers. It always amazed Roxanne, how Rose could open her mouth that wide. Rose wanted to take his face off.
“What do you want, newbie? I say the word, and my co-pilot will cosmetically rearrange your face.” Roxanne had one hand on her whip, and the other on Rose’s head. The minute she removed her hand from Rose’s head, the guy would never look the same, even after regen.
“Wait, I have a bot-com message for you. Please call off your dog. I don’t mean any disrespect, Miss Roxanne. My name is Brad Benton. I have a message for you.”
Call off your dog? Who was this guy talking about?
“Talk fast, Brad Benton. It better be good.” Roxanne slid her hand down to her side, to get a firmer grip on her whip. She’d heard the line before in a bar in #2. That guy had a whip-slice scar leading from his chin to just shy of the corner of his right eye. Roxanne never damaged the eyes. Eye regen, like brain, was still not possible. It was meant as a deterrent, not a wholesale job loss thing.
“I met someone who claims to know you. He said to tell you not to drink the new batch of rig-ryder nutria-blend; he said it was poisoned. I asked him if he meant all of it. But he was gone, immediately.” The newbie spoke fast and held his hands over his impending boner. He kept looking at Roxanne’s eyes. She’d forgotten to wear her sunglasses. Brad Benton was about to lose it. He would have reached over to touch that fire red hair, were it not for Rose’s rather apparent teeth.
“Poisoned with what? Did he say?” Roxanne pushed her sunglasses back over her eyes, eliciting a serious sad sigh from the newbie intern. “No, I thought maybe, you know, red peanut oragasimo juice, something like that.” Newbie looked down at the ground. He was blushing, getting embarrassed. Everyone knew red peanut oragasimo juice was used for what was euphemistically referred to as a life style enhancer in the party tunnels, to juice up your erotics.
“Nice try, but a no go. I have no need for erotics, Brad Benton. That guy was probably just a crazy,” Roxanne said.
“I would have thought he was just some crazy guy too, until I noticed your tattoo,” Brad replied, shifting from right to left, like he had to pee, or was trying to hide the rather large bulge in his crotch.
“What about my tattoo?” Roxanne had several; some were for body decoration, and some served as bot-coms to the rebels or to someone else, someone very unique, special to her, and very dangerous. “The black orchid one; he had one just like it. I thought maybe you knew him.” Brad Benton spoke quickly. He wanted to get away from Rose’s teeth.
“Did he say his name?” Roxanne had an idea, but there were probably a million other people on the planet with black orchid tattoos.
“No, he was gone before I could ask him. Can I go now? I’m due in class for intern orientation. Thank you for the opportunity to meet you, Miss Roxanne. Wow, you’re just, wow, you’re so, wow, you really are just like they said.” Brad Benton backed out of the alley, careful not to look Rose in the eyes. It was like she would go into serious threat mode or something; couldn’t control her response. “Really insulting,” Rose thought.
“Well, that was weird. I have to go talk to Dad. Come on, Rose.” Roxanne hurried to the door, keyed in her entry code, and called to Eldridge.
“Well, what do you think, Daddy?” Roxanne and Rose sat in the kitchen with a sleepy, pajama clad Eldridge, drinking left over coffee directly from the pot. They’d had to wake him from a sound sleep. She hated to do that. Eldridge only got to sleep early when he spent extra chits for a robo-bar unit, something he did when Roxanne had her down-time off, once a week.
“I think it’s probably you know who. We should tell Dorian immediately. If it’s true, it could be dangerous. But I doubt it ties in with the problems over in #3, with the pirates. Maybe they are in on it, but not likely. Nutria-blend is sealed and tagged from the Inc., directly. But maybe the #3ers got wind of the poison problem; want to get back at the Inc. by jacking a haul or two. I just don’t know, Roxie. I’ll bot-com Dorian right now. You two go get some sleep. You got work tomorrow. But, in the meantime take some real food from the kitchen pantry with you for the trip to Tokyo. Just save up your nutria-blend rations and dump them for now; use the porta-john in the back of the rig, and flush the junk into the ocean. I never liked you drinking that crap anyway; it’s bad for your teeth, Roxie. Good night, sweetheart.” Eldridge walked back to his room to com Dorian.
“Okay Daddy, good night. I’ll probably be gone before you get up. I’ll see you next week,” Roxanne said, kissing her dad on the cheek. “Give my love to Gimlet when you see her in Tokyo,” Eldridge mumbled as he shuffled back to his bedroom. “I will, Daddy. Sorry I woke you up.” Roxanne walked to her room, showered, and dressed in her favorite sleeping shirt, an old, way too big shirt, from her dad’s throw-aways. Before she went to sleep she sat down to read some of Jane Eyre. It was her favorite book.
The next morning, after University final exams, in a storage box formerly referred to as a capsule hotel, in the fish market district of Tokyo, Gimlet was still so asleep she was not even subconsciously thinking about the “awake” word. She’d finished her exams the previous day; aced them, she thought. Her school friends went out to party in the entertainment tunnels beneath the Roppongi district, but Gimlet had gone back to her cubicle to take a short nap. She had fallen asleep for the night, accidentally missed the whole party tunnel thing. It was probably fortunate. Her white guy tail had been waiting in the tunnel for her most of the evening. Let me re-state that; it was fortunate for the white guy tail. Dorian had a laser satellite already targeting him, should the guy decide to bother his daughter.
When Gimlet dozed enough to know she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, she put on her azure blue-tinted contacts to hide those glowing mutant eyes, punched in the open box code, and her capsule whooshed, like a coffin. Her coffin was six capsules up, at the end of a long hallway. Gimlet had waited for two years to get such a nice capsule location near the window, but not mid hallway; so there was some fresh air, less noise, and no smell from the toilets. The first year she’d been right next to the toilet room and try as she might, she could not ignore the chemical smells and constant flushing noise. Sometimes in the early mornings, when she was trying to sleep in, she could even count the number of teeth being brushed.
“Well, time to go see what my friends are up to. Maybe I can still catch some partying.” Gimlet climbed down the ladder to the white concrete hallway floor, slipped on her toilet slippers, not the indoor, or the outdoor slippers, or even the garden shoes, and went to her locker, against the wall by the toilet room door. She keyed in her access code and retrieved toiletries, some fresh jeans and a t-shirt, socks, underwear, and a hair tie, to hold back her mid-back-length ash blond colored hair.
The shower was cold; it always was too cold to stand in for any length of time. Gimlet economized when she could. Hot water was a full five extra chits per minute. She knew her dad could hack into some rich guy’s accounts for funds, but it was never a sure thing. Someone could find out and it would jeopardize rebel security. She didn’t want to jeopardize her rebels for something as stupid as a warm shower.
Gimlet stepped naked from the shower, almost knocking into a half asleep, and also naked, business man from the cubicle below her. “Ohayoo gozaimasu,” they both mumbled to each other. At first,
Gimlet had been embarrassed by the naked culture in Japan. But she got used to it. Besides, you couldn’t find a time when the showers were empty. As she slipped into her jeans, she glanced at the full-length mirror, built into the wall. It was steamy, but she saw enough to once again notice how height-challenged she was. Even with her dad, Dorian being well over six feet tall, she’d only maxed out at around five feet six inches. Roxanne teased her about it by leaning an arm on her head, like she was an armrest.
Speaking of which, Gimlet glanced at her palm timer to check how many hours she had before her eel lunch with Roxanne at Obana. Good, she noticed she had at least three hours before their luncheon. It was enough time for a quick shopping spree. She had to get the gifts so Roxanne could bring the stuff back on her rig. It was much cheaper that way. And besides, she wanted to get a gift for her best friend and sister. She’d seen that silk-synth scarf at Mitsukoshi; it was fire red, the same color as Roxanne’s hair. Though it cost five chits, she knew Roxanne would love it.
Gimlet exited her living quarters, the Capsule Hotel Hasu no Hana, turned right towards the Tsukijii fish market, and entered the sub-tunnel hover tram port station.
Ten minutes later, when the tram pulled into the Mitsukoshi tunnel, Gimlet had vanished.
The day before, after her bot-com to her daughter Gimlet, and husband Dorian, Dina was getting ready to exit the security-hut in Hong Kong when she noticed someone outside frantically knocking on the portal.
“Hello, please can we talk. Can I come in?” Dina had just tuned out her com when she noticed that Irma, Max’s high-heeled assistant, was outside the security-hut knocking on the portal, with some urgency. Dina used that part of her mind that normal mind readers could not detect.
Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III Page 5
