Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III

by Takemoto, D. J.

  “Here are the files, sir. The clinic sent them via sat-bot, direct from the clinic. The Nutria-blend CEO appears to have died from a heart attack. It’s pretty conclusive, but they’ll still have an official investigation. I also took the liberty of accessing the safety codes to his bank vault. There is a box at the Tokyo International Bank, set to self-destruct in 48 hours, should you not be there to access it. Apparently it is coded for your DNA only, sir.”

  “Thank you Mathew, your father will be proud of you. I knew I’d picked the best when I grabbed you up from Harvard last year. Tell your Dad I said hello, and I’ll be seeing him next summer at the Music Festival on Cape Cod. Now, you won’t let anyone in on our little secret, right?” Max grabbed the files and turned to go back into his inner sanctum.

  “No, of course not sir; confidentiality is godliness, sir.” The assistant quoted the legal profession’s lst rule, sworn on a piece of the original WME Book of Legal Counselor Rules, saved from the attempted uprising, and now embedded in glass at headquarters.

  “Yes, yes, have a nice day.” Max waved him off and shut the door.

  He immediately ripped open the files, the ones he and the now dead CEO had written up and then kept sealed, in each of their individual bank boxes. Upon death, the contents were to go to the survivor. If not claimed within 48 hours, the files would self-destruct. Max had to get to that box in Tokyo. It contained half of the toxic nutria-blend formula, and that dead CEO’s retirement money, a billion gold vouchers. He had the other half of the formula in his own box; the secret and altered formula for the, now quite toxic, nutria-blend for the rig-ryders.

  Max had insisted they try it on the rig-ryders first. He hated that Roxanne had such a strangle-hold on Leo Songtain. It was a serious weakness in their economic enhancement strategy. Time and again, Leo had pulled back from serious voucher-making possibilities, simply because it might damage his precious Roxanne Smoot. Like his failure to switch from human rig-ryders to robots; what a waste!

  “I only have to wait three more weeks, just three more weeks. Then she’ll be too far gone, after drinking all that toxic nutria-blend. It’s not reversible. Even with his stupid Stem-wads® it’ll be too late for that red haired bitch.”

  Max glanced at the file contents, a single piece of white old fashioned real paper, with a hand-written number on it, the code to the box in Tokyo. It was long enough to be unique but short enough for Max’s still sex-ramped brain to memorize. Max looked at the paper, memorized the number, then he tossed it into the fire pit in the corner of his office. He was too anxious to wait for it to burn completely, and was already out the door, never noticing that the rush of air from the door opening had moved the paper to the side, away from the flames.

  Once Max left his office, a dark haired, glowing amber-eyed, Israeli looking, somewhat lean man stepped from the closet where he’d been hiding. He walked quickly to the fireplace and grabbed up the still undamaged paper, and the single key to the safe box in Tokyo, left under the sofa by Honeybuns, using the hand connected to the arm, with that black orchid tattoo. He was out the door and on his way to Tokyo within minutes. As usual, no one saw him leave.

  When Max reached his staff’s offices, two floors below, he spoke briefly to his secretary, “Ralph, have a hoverjet waiting at the port. I need to go to Tokyo in ten minutes. Tell Rita to be at the hoverport with my #16 suitcase, the one for partial off time, and partial lower management business deals. And contact the hair doer people in the basement. Tell them to have Honeybuns at the hoverjet port. I’m taking her with me.”

  Max would multitask; the trip to Tokyo would deliver Honeybuns to the Las Vegas casino client, and he’d grab up whatever was in that dead CEOs safe book on the same trip.

  “Yes Mr. Peabody, do you wish to stay at the usual place, and shall I make the usual restaurant reservations, with the usual menu?” Ralph was the most efficient secretary he’d ever hired; she knew exactly what Max wanted, almost seemed to read his mind.

  “Yes to all, but add food for Honeybuns, maybe even some real food, but in the hotel room, not at the restaurant. We don’t want to give the wrong impression,” Max commanded as he made a dash for the lift.

  “No sir, we certainly do not,” his secretary responded, taking notes with her bot-scriber.

  Max took only the file with him, bolted into his always waiting personal lift, and rode to the roof, where an aerial was already waiting, along with a wet-haired Honeybuns, to take him to his personal hoverjet at the Hong Kong Port. The hair doer lady came along to finish Honeybuns up, prep her as proper decoration for Max’s business trip to Tokyo. She was finished doing Honeybun’s hair by the time they arrived at the Chek Lap Kok International Hoverport, where she exited and walked back to her job in the basement.

  Sadly, Honeybuns would not be returning to Hong Kong. He had to turn her over to some rep for the clonie client, once they reached Narita Hoverport. She was wearing only that red and white polka dot robe, which was good, because Max insisted on playing with his new toy one last time, and all the way to Tokyo.

  On the day after Max and Honeybuns flew to Tokyo, in an underwater rig haul tunnel dock, Roxanne and Rose were going through their start-up procedures. They had never had to re-track so fast. Usually it took over forty-five minutes to check and recheck coms, make sure the nitro and even the hydraulics were properly operating, and then the control terminal approval would be announced for the track-on. It was similar to the old jet landings and take-offs. And it could be just as dangerous if not executed properly.

  The Trans-Pacific has four main tracks, two going each way, eastbound, and westbound. Plus, there are fully operational and very busy train tracks running below the rig haul route. Heavier, larger, or less perishable items, like a load of clone soldiers, are shipped via the trains.

  Obviously timing is essential, because at any single moment over twenty thousand rigs could be on a single section of a track. Roxanne had to re-track at precisely her allotted time, or not at all. If she did not make it, she would be fired, period. And, because Morton had approved her as his sub, he could be fired as well.

  “Recon number set and fired,” Rose reported, as she pawed in twenty commands, simultaneously.

  “Hydraulic sub-thrusters and override wheel control?” Roxanne almost shouted, over the whine of the sonic engine, warming up.

  “Check!” Rose barked loudly, while setting the proton thruster beam to full charge.

  “Nitro-pulse ready, and fully amped?”

  “Check,” Rose shouted back.

  “Rig re-track is ready to initiate. All systems go,” Roxanne shouted.

  “All systems go, affirmative,” Rose replied, sighing with relief. They almost didn’t make it.

  Roxanne reached over and punched the re-track button, simultaneously with Rose, almost like when a missile is launched. If you have never seen a massive underwater low-way rig re-track, it is something akin to watching those old science fiction movies, where a starship locks onto a space station, or off of one, getting ready to go into warp drive.

  “Rear cab passenger, please belt in for take-off,” Roxanne commanded, over the com.

  In the back cab Gimlet belted herself in, and then she did the same for Chad and Jason, who had to ride in the back cab in full crap-wrap extra-large envelopes with ventilator tubes attached, so their DNA did not read on the detectors. A positive DNA for a clone would override all controls to a full shut-down, followed by a visit from an army of real live tunnel security guards.

  At present, the command center could only read Gimlet, whose DNA had a prior back cab security pass, due to her Smoot family status. You could take your family along, as long as they stayed in the back. It was that way for all the rig-ryders, both up top and under the ocean. The Inc. thought of it as a savings on family housing allowance.

  “How long until we reach #4, Rose; can we request a short stop there? Do we have enough time?” Roxanne asked as she finished the finals before full thrust t
o 300 miles per hour.

  “I believe so, Roxanne. I’ll send the request. It will allow us to drop off your little sister, who is returning from her university off time. She wishes to visit her adopted dad, Eldridge Smoot at #4.” Rose woofed out loud to the control panel, which translated her request to the control tower.

  Approval took fifteen seconds. They could drop Gimlet off at the #4 neutral zone turn-around if they were back on the tracks within ten minutes; it was plenty of time to drop her and the real and not Chad clonies off. They’d be safe for inspection in Tokyo, then would re-load and haul ass back to San Fran in time to pick up their own rig, and return the present one to Morton. Roxanne sucked a large chunk of caffeine-food and asked,

  “Is everyone okay back there? There are canine food balls in the box, if you’re hungry.” Roxanne had not had time to check if anyone was injured in the fight. She knew she and Gimlet were covered in bruises, Rose had a real shiner and a serious piece of missing hair, and that Jason guy had almost lost his mini-incubator thingie, which would have meant he’d only be able to regenerate half of his hand.

  Gimlet was in the back cab trying to re-program the mini-incubator to its original settings so that Jason would not end up with some weird regenerated “not hand” organ sticking from his half hand. The real Chad was uninjured, which seemed to please the hell out of Gimlet.

  And, Roxanne was happy that real Chad did not fall all over her, and that real Chad and Gimlet seemed crazy about each other. Her little sis had a boyfriend.

  Oh man, was Dina going to be pissed with her daughter’s partner choice!

  Roxanne spent the remaining seven hours of the trip to #4 smiling, and singing along to wave station KNUT, random numbers rock.

  MICHAEL SEGEV HAD COME TO SAVE HER!

  16

  “MICHAEL, I WISH TO THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY DAUGHTER IN #3; for your part in the successful rescue of both Roxanne and Gimlet.” Dorian was at Donner Pass, sitting in front of his music message code keyboard. He usually used the system to contact Michael Segev. It was really the safest way. He would use music as a code, masking the song as radio wave static. At the other end, a musical sound would be received and decoded.

  Michael was in the sub-basement of an old Tokyo love hotel, decoding Dorian’s message, and answering by playing a harmonica. To any intruder, he looked like a homeless tunnel beggar, sitting next to a woman wearing a full face-covering black burka. The very expensive business suit he’d worn to retrieve the woman from Leo’s legal counselor, back at Narita, was neatly folded in a backpack at his feet.

  “I am glad they are safe, Dorian. However, you know I cannot confirm being there. On another note, I have the formula we discussed. The package has been retrieved. It is half of the indicated code. Please stand by for transmittal.” Michael sent the toxic nutria-blend formula to Dorian by playing what sounded like a Sonny Boy Williamson.

  “Your message is received Michael. I will send it to the lab immediately. You have a go-ahead for Max. Good Luck.”

  “Luck is for gamblers, Dorian.” The signal terminated.

  Someplace in a sub-basement, below a love hotel in Tokyo, a small bit-lighter clicked on, and a piece of white paper containing a toxic nutria-blend formula, burned to ashes. Unless someone, in some lab, someplace on the planet had memorized that formula, only the current batch of 12 bottles of poisoned rig-ryder nutria-blend remained. And soon, only the name would be changed to protect the innocent, and damage the guilty.

  “I have to get back to #5. Proceed as planned, and then return to base.” Michael spoke to the burka-covered woman, the one with the piece of red and white polka dot cloth sticking out from the hem of her robe.

  “Affirmative,” she replied. The woman then grabbed what appeared to be a full case of rig-ryder nutria-blend, stuffed the cans into her large brown beaded macramé purse, and climbed the stairs to the tunnel entrance. She walked off through the tunnel to catch the tram to Narita, hobbling to make herself appear as if she were much older. No one would ever guess she’d spent some hours in the air, sucking the private parts of Max Peabody, the chief legal counselor for Leo Songtain.

  But, her assignment was not finished. Within the hour, Rachael Gefen, aka Honeybuns, was inflight on an Independent Domain of Israel government hoverjet, first, to visit a bank vault in Tokyo, then on her way home to her kibbutz. The case of toxic nutria-blend would end up at a Ben-Gurion University lab to be analyzed, slightly modified, and then relabeled from rig-ryder nutria-blend to CEO-special nutria-blend. That thought made Rachael Gefen smile for weeks.

  Michael Segev watched his fellow spy leave, turned the opposite direction, climbed the metal stairs to the first floor of the Lust and Canine Friendly Cherry Blossom Love Hotel, and checked in using one of his many identities. Oddly, or maybe predictably, he chose the black orchid themed room.

  At around the same time Roxanne and Rose pulled Morton’s rig into a small section of track in the neutral zone leading to bubble-stop #4, reserved for emergency pee breaks, a fast drop off, or, god forbid, and rapid U-turn. She set the rig to a five minute idle, unbuckled her wrap-in, coded in the door security exit, and set the back cab door to open. Gimlet and her two crap-wrapped companions slipped out of the rig, stepped off the tracks, unwrapped themselves, and sighed. It looked like they could be in the clear.

  “Eldridge is expecting you, but he’s not very happy. I’m sorry, but be sure to enter by the back door. If two clone soldiers walked in the front door of the Eldridge Bar, all hell would break loose. He’s not in a good mood. You have to understand his point of view. He’s been tainted by Dina. You know all about that. She hates clonies. Anyway, it was good to meet you, Chad and Jason. Sorry we never got to that eel place for lunch, Gimlet; maybe next time. Chad, I hope to see you again under more hospitable circumstances.” Roxanne was politely motor mouthing while the others prepared to enter the first security gate.

  She had to step back into the rig quickly to start her re-track. Roxanne coded in their pass, so the slime was already oozing over them. Jason and Chad now looked even more identical, because the cooking had finished and Jason now had a complete hand. She and Rose stood back out of the way, waving goodbye, as Gimlet and her two clonies stood ready to get slimed into bubble-stop #4. Once the slime covered them they could not be heard.

  Roxanne held the pink mini-incubator in her left hand, not sure what she’d do with it once they got to Tokyo. Rose suggested they simply toss it out the window, at bubble-stop #5, because weird things were always expected to turn up there anyway.

  “Well, they’ll be safe with Eldridge, at least for the time being.” Rose spoke, watching the ooze encapsulate the three humans. She was tired, bruised, and ready for a rest in Tokyo.

  “Yes, and we’re lucky. We could be in a prison flash freeze unit by now. It was Michael who saved us. You do know that, right Rose?” Roxanne turned to climb back into her rig, which was now flashing with red lights and speaking in a com voice, informing them that re-track would occur in thirty seconds.

  “I would think so. No one else shoots like that, not even Dina.” Rose walked with Roxanne to the rig, accepted her assistance onto the cab ladder, sat in her seat, and buckled up for the trip. The com voice announced,

  “You have fifteen seconds to re-track. Please prepare for full thrust, and track on to westbound lane two for Tokyo. Have a pleasant and safe journey.”

  “Acknowledged, full thrust initiated, track set on, and ready,” Roxanne responded. This time they were legal. Only an undamaged full cargo of Stem-wads® and a half load of bilge #2 juice remained for delivery into Tokyo. They only had to make that quick run past #5, toss the mini-incubator onto the turn-around track, then on to the Lust and Canine Friendly Cherry Blossom Love Hotel for a much needed rest.

  (Please note: The choice of hotels is always limited in Tokyo, as only a few remaining canine-friendly establishments still allow overnight stays.)

  “Do you ever wonder where he is?” Rose
asked, after they’d re-tracked and were at full speed again.

  “I never ask. Why do you want to know?” Roxanne asked. They were, of course referring to Michael Segev, Roxanne’s absent, but absolute heart throb.

  “No, just asking. I mean, I wonder sometimes,” Rose said.

  “About what?” Roxanne asked, fidgeting with one of the controls.

  “About you and, you know, him.” Rose was clearly getting uncomfortable with the conversation.

  “Why? Roxanne asked, continuing to fidget.

  “Well, I don’t know. Never mind, it’s none of my business,” Rose responded.

  “Let’s listen to an opera. What would you like to hear, Rose?’

  “How about something by Strauss?”

  “Okay.”

  They did not talk much for the rest of the trip. Some of it was the after effects of the battle with the culling patrol, some was the let-down after all that adrenaline surge, but most was their practiced effort to not talk about him. By ten clicks that evening, after check-off and off-load of the cargo, delivery of the rig for drone maintenance, log-off of her sub ride, and a quick check-in with Morton, who was giving a seminar on rig hydraulics to the interns, Rose and Roxanne finally managed to drag their exhausted bodies to a hotel.

  At level three, on the way to their poodle-themed room (Well, it was the only vacant room left.) they passed by the black orchid themed room, just as the occupant opened the door to refill his ice bucket from the dispenser down the hall. Roxanne looked into the occupant’s amber glowing eyes, then slowly stepped into his room as he stood aside, holding the door for her. The door shut.

  Rose proceeded to the poodle room, doing her best to ignore the situation, and the rest is history.

  What? Did you think I was going to fill you in? In your wildest dreams, readers.