Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III

by Takemoto, D. J.

  “Yes, sir,” the staff scurried around like sewer city rodents out for breakfast. An interior decorator was called in, black orchids arrived on the loading dock out back, rooms of custom made black leather jackets arrived, and enough champagne, and shark soup was procured to feed a small bubble-stop population for months.

  Leo took no chances. He’d already had his Exterior Motivational Clothing Assistant, the best tailor in Hong Kong, visit several minutes ago to assess his wardrobe necessities. He wanted his and her clothing for everything, tall and short versions.

  “Should I go as Leo Songtain, the fabulously powerful and rich CEO of Stemworm Inc., or should I be Leo, her graduate student best buddy, or maybe Leo the wildly “go ahead,” “risk-taking” rig-ryder? What do you think, Rose?” Leo turned to Rose; who did her best dumb-dog act.

  “Yes, sorry, I forgot you don’t understand me. But really Rose, sometimes you do appear much smarter.” Leo shrugged, turned around, and continued out the door to examine the newest shipment of black orchids.

  He finally decided on the rig-ryder costume, black leather jacket and matching pants, with a version of Roxanne’s knee-high boots. He remembered what they looked like. “After all, she won them from me in that poker game, back in grad school. Why isn’t life simpler?” he asked Rose who only woofed and took another bite of Iberian ham.

  At the #4 rig re-track station, Eldridge gave Roxie-II an express rig re-track lesson. Her double would not be driving the rig; Eldridge would do that. But she had to appear knowledgeable. He joined them at the same time they arrived at the rig dock, leaving Irma to run the bar. “Eldridge, will I be the co-pilot?” Roxie-II asked with some trepidation.

  “No, I gotta be the real driver. Don’t worry, Roxie. I can drive this thing all by myself. I’m a Master level III, but I need you to pass as Roxanne. We can’t stop the hauls just because Roxanne’s gotta retrieve Rose. The hauls always go on. It’s the rig-ryder rule. By the way, do you happen to have a real name, other than Roxie-II, I mean?” Eldridge asked, as he climbed into the pilot seat and buckled in. Roxie-II took the co-pilot’s chair, and Roxanne sat in the seat behind them, so she could give some fast track Roxanne Smoot identity lessons to Roxie-II, on the haul to Tokyo.

  “My real name is Arthur. I know, it’s like King Arthur, and he was a guy. But apparently my parents liked the sound of it,” Roxie-II/Arthur replied, while buckling into her seat. Once the go ahead light flashed, Eldridge punched nitro and the rig took off on the designated track at 300 miles per hour, barely missing another rig that had been delayed due to crap on the tracks.

  The tunnel com voice warned them to watch for late rigs as there had been a pile-up behind them from some vacationers dumping picnic leftovers too close to the tracks. Roxanne and Eldridge had noticed poorer track maintenance lately, probably due to outdated and overworked clean-up drones. The Inc. cut corners on safety.

  Once the rig compensated for the garbage, Eldridge continued the conversation. “Where are your parents now, Arthur?” Eldridge asked, as he did the nitro checks with Roxanne. He was a master level III; one of only a few left on the planet, so he could talk and do the rig checks simultaneously. Plus the Inc. let him drive any rig, on any haul, alone or with a co-pilot.

  Even Roxanne was not a master level III. That would take another six months, four very expensive exams in Amsterdam, and a fortune for a licensing fee. And even if Dorian paid for the license as a Christmas present, she would be the last rig-ryder master level III ever, because with the temp situation, levels were being phased out entirely; too high a salary for the Inc. They could hire twenty temps in place of a single master driver. They’d have ten times the accidents too.

  “They’re both dead. Dad died in the second flu pandemic when I was only three, and Mom did not survive one of the initial prison flash freeze revival experiments; you know the early flash freeze prisoners had a high death rate. I was ten-years-old at the time, of her freeze that is. I raised myself first in the Tokyo party tunnels, and then I sucked a ride to #5 and hung out there until I was eighteen. But, I figured I could make a better go of it back in Tokyo, so ended up chopping fish at Tsukijii. That’s where Max found me; he had me modified to look like the Roxanne Smoot, permanently. I tell you, it got me a bunch of nice jobs after that. Your face opens doors, Roxanne.”

  “But how did you end up back in #5? Isn’t that where you had just come from?” Roxanne asked.

  “Dina Nampeyo found me at Tsukijii, after Max dumped me off back there. She said she’d been watching me for a couple of days. Of course she knew I was a double. She convinced me it would be safer in #5. She said I might get nabbed for the sex slave trade with my face. She was right, of course. Anyway, she took me back to #5 and set me up with funds. She told Stephan to watch over me. Do you know Stephan?” Roxie-II/Arthur asked as she lurched slightly forward in her seat. Roxanne responded to her question,

  “No, I haven’t met anyone in #5. I’ve never even been there. It has kind of a bad rep among the rig-ryders. Most of us don’t stop there anymore, except at the outer drop-off dock. Sorry about that lurch. Dad’s got to open the nitro to full now and accelerate, so buckle in and hold on.” Eldridge spoke to the control center, the controller confirmed his status, and the tunnel com said,

  “Full acceleration commencing in three…two…one, complete, fire full nitro, and have a nice day.” It was no simple thing; re-tracking and accelerating successfully onto a massive plasmon track while thousands of other rigs zoomed by at three hundred miles per hour. The timing had to be perfect.

  After several minutes of silence, and once the rig was normalized to full nitro, Arthur spoke.

  “Are you sending me back to Leo, or are you going yourself? I just want to be sure.”

  “No, if Leo wasn’t happy with you the first time, he’d know for sure you weren’t the real deal this time. Roxanne is Roxanne, and, well, it’s hard to explain. Anyway he’d know, so Roxanne and me decided she had to go in person,” Eldridge explained, as he scanned the com vids, and compensated for a bunch of beer cans on the side of the track, probably left by a partying student hover biker group on a university break. Yup, the clean-up drones were not doing their job.

  “So where am I going after? I mean, I sorta got my heart set on that New Zealand deal. You’re not just going to ship me back to the fish market or #5, are you?” Arthur asked, with true apprehension on her now almost completely melted face. She was beginning to look more like Roxanne Smoot with every passing minute.

  “No, not at all; we keep our deals. Roxanne and I already got you that ticket to New Zealand. We went over the new plan with the individual who gets the IDs and vouchers for tickets and all. We’ll pick them up at the post near the Tokyo rig dock, while they’re off-loading the cargo. In six days or so, when Roxanne returns, you’ll just pass through ID check as someone named Melanie Smith, a made up name, and then you’ll take the tunnel tram to Narita and on to New Zealand on a hoverjet. Someone will meet you there to set you up. His name is Sebastian.”

  “So you’re going to rescue Rose in person? Wow, that’s going to be one hell of a trip, Roxanne,” Arthur said.

  “I am. I’m going in person. Leo will know I’m the real Roxanne, so he’ll release Rose, and I’ll stay with Leo, for a short time anyway. That’s the plan, Arthur,” Roxanne said, but she sounded nervous.

  “So how will you, you know, keep Leo off you?” Arthur/Roxie-II asked. She used a towel to wipe the rest of the melted Stem-wads® from her face, and applied some cream to smooth over the rash left by the final necrotic stem cells.

  “Yes well, that could be an issue. I’m just going to have to make things up as I go,” Roxanne looked at Arthur, then at her dad, then back at the control com.

  “Why don’t you unbuckle and bring us something to eat from the back cab, Arthur. You’ll find some left over eel and rice in the refrigeration compartment, and some food ball in the box.” Roxanne had to think fast, to remember if Rose had left
any of her human meat in the refrigerator.

  Once Arthur left and Roxanne shut off the com, Eldridge said, “You gonna take anything with you as a trophy, Roxanne. You’ve got that look on your face. Is that what your private talk with Dorian was all about? Be careful not to piss Leo off, sweetie. He may be obsessed with you honey, but he’d make a mean enemy,” Eldridge spoke to Roxanne, softly so that Arthur would not overhear.

  “I know, Daddy. Dorian does want something, but it’s best you don’t know,” Roxanne whispered.

  “You’re probably right, honey. But I am worried about this trip to Hong Kong. Are you sure you’ll be okay with Leo Songtain? I mean he’s got quite a security team. You be sure to take care of yourself and get out of there as soon as you can, okay sweetie?”

  Eldridge gave his daughter a kiss on her cheek, just as Arthur/Roxie-II entered the front cab, holding a wrapped package, which smelled of eel, and contained another romantic gift from Michael Segev, TWO EEL-SOAKED BLACK ORCHIDS.

  21

  BLACK ORCHIDS SCENTED LEO’S ENTIRE PENTHOUSE. Rose usually liked the smell, but enough was enough. The place reeked of orchids, like a wake. She’d have to bot-com to warn Roxanne about the smell.

  Rose knew Roxanne was coming in person, not her double, and she was not certain the risk was necessary. Her doppelganger might have sufficed. Now Rose thought maybe she’d have to eat some face to help her co-pilot escape. Dorian had not told her the entire plan of course, not on an open sat-hack. He was beaucoup paranoid about that, so Roxanne would have to fill Rose in, in person, when she arrived at the Opus. And speaking of which, she was due to arrive any minute, and Leo was already going bonkers.

  “How do I look, Rose?” Leo Songtain had gotten in the habit of speaking to Rose, even though she was only a dog. Rose just answered in a feigned moan, because her mouth was usually full of food.

  Leo stood in front of his wall-to-wall mirror, admiring himself in rig-ryder/off-time motif. He had managed to acquire a small sized black leather jacket, even had his limo chauffeur drive over it several hundred times to make it look scuffed up, authentic. Underneath the jacket he wore an official orange rig-ryder t-shirt, from the IRE union picnic the previous season, black leather pants, an orange samurai headband, and those boots. He stopped short of a whip; he didn’t know how to use one and did not want to appear stupid in front of Roxanne.

  “Wait here in the office, Rose. I have one more thing to do before she arrives.” Leo went into his bedroom and closed the door.

  Rose had an idea about that one more thing.

  Leo was doing a manual override before Roxanne’s arrival. Sometimes even canines stooped to that behavior; you know, do the thing in advance. It makes you more relaxed. That’s what that gorgeous German shepherd hunk back at the love hotel had explained to her. They’d make beautiful Dober-shepherds together. Rose wondered what he was doing now.

  He told her he was in security.

  She told him she was in transportation.

  He asked for her bot-com code.

  She told him she’d see him the next time she was in Tokyo.

  Ah, the polyamorous life!

  After way too short a time, Leo came back into the room. “Right, I’m ready now. Let me check things again. Everything has to be perfect.” Leo spoke to his wall, and a false siding came down over the wall-sized mirror, replacing it with a giant panel of water lilies…those famous ones, no, the real ones.

  He went from room to room checking the way too many black orchid flower arrangements, making sure the Fueblaster drinks were ready and chilled, lighting candles, and fluffing up pillows…that sort of thing; but, he kept the door to his bedroom closed. No way he’d come on too strong with Roxanne Smoot. No sir, he’d romance the love of his life in style, slowly, like a proper CEO.

  The door security chimed. She was here!

  Leo froze.

  Rose finally had to trot over to the com and punch it for Leo, barking like a normal dog, to let Roxanne know she was there.

  “Hello Leo, this is Roxanne Smoot. I’ve come for Rose. Open the security door. I want to check her before I come inside. Rose leaves tonight, and I stay after I check her out. That’s the deal, Leo. You send Rose down now.” It was Roxanne. The real Roxanne, not that stupid double Max had tried to pawn off on him two Christmases ago. How could Max even think a double would do? There was no comparison to the real deal.

  “Yes,” was all Leo could manage to garble out. He was already star struck, like back in grad school. In fact, he felt just like that, like a stupid geek grad student. Leo manually pushed the door security release, because he could not speak, and Rose ran outside into the hall, punched in the lift code with her nose, and slid into the mahogany and gold gilded elevator, riding it all the way down to the lobby of the Opus, where Roxanne awaited her.

  “Rose, am I glad to see you. How have they been treating you? You smell like a hamburger sandwich, mixed with essence of bad floral arrangements. Listen, I have to tell you the entire plan verbally, and quickly, before we go back upstairs to Leo.” Roxanne stooped down to pet Rose on the head, and quickly explained the entire plan to Rose, in plain old fashioned Dober-speak. She was nervous; afraid she’d never get away from the obsessive and very powerful CEO of Stemworm, Inc. She didn’t dare use Maori because Leo probably had hundreds of tiny translation nano-drones buzzing around his lift.

  Rose nodded, so Roxanne would know she understood, but did not give herself away to Leo, who was no doubt observing them on one of his several hundred security vids.

  “Okay, ready? Let’s do this.” Roxanne finished her instructions, took a deep breath, stood up, entered the lift with Rose, and rode to the top floor.

  On the smooth ride up, Rose barked, “Try not to laugh, and mind the orchid smell.”

  Just outside of Hong Kong, Max was likewise enjoying a smooth evening ride, on an outdoor track he’d had made especially for his collector Ferrari. His head of security had matched the key with the car, in its underground CEO slot at Nutria-blend, Inc. There was still no news on the missing billions of gold vouchers, but Max figured he could stand working another ten years for Leo Songtain, if he got to drive this work of art around on his weekends off.

  And now he held major shares in the track, and on collector Ferrari futures. Not the betting tables though, that always went to the Hong Kong Triad. Max made the turns around the track at 120 miles per hour; slow of course, by modern standards, but so much more exciting than the stupid digital hum of the current hovers. This car made noise, real noise. Max buzzed around one more time, drinking his bottle of CEO-specially-formulated nutria-blend that had arrived from somewhere overseas the previous night. It was the latest in motivational enhancing nutrient drinks, but Max was still not sure if he was cheating. After all, he was not technically a CEO.

  Somewhere overseas and at the same time, in a very secret lab, the Ben Gurion chemist asked,

  “Do you think he has any idea yet?”

  They were watching a satellite vid of Max, happily racing his new toy around the track while downing his first bottle of the Shen Bet version of a toxic nutria-blend drink. All these modified versions had nano-vids, so the scientists could count the number of bottles he’d imbibed and record the results for their reports. The ISA wanted to make an example of Max, so future Incs would not even think of killing workers to increase productivity. It happened indirectly all the time, in sweat shops and mines, every time some CEO cut corners on safety. But this was going too far. So this time, the ISA had partnered with the rebels. They were serious.

  “No, it’s too soon; he won’t feel the worst effects for another two to three weeks. It will be too late by then. Once he feels the worst effects it’s irreversible. But he might get a bit dizzy from time to time And he will see some aging effects,” the other chemist replied. “He deserves it,” the second scientist replied. He offed the vid and returned to his lab bench to examine the original and very dangerous formula meant for the rig-ryde
rs. He was becoming intrigued by this new product.

  “You know, this would have killed all the rig-ryders, and not in a very pleasant manner. This Max guy must really have a personal vendetta against Roxanne Smoot,” the senior scientist said, as someone walked into the room, that someone. The two scientists froze.

  “I’ve come to take that off your hands, gentlemen. We wouldn’t want anyone to be tempted; and, what about Roxanne Smoot?” The someone person took the bot-scriber with the formula encoded into it, procured by Honeybuns from that vault, and held it to a hydrogen-flint, watching while the flames melted the device and the only copy of the original and very toxic rig-ryder nutria-blend drink, the one that Max and his dead CEO partner had planned to use to speed up their version of the Worker Productivity Protocol.

  “The formula was a personal thing meant for her, right?” the older scientist asked, timidly. Both scientists were rather terrified of this individual.

  “It would have taken out thousands, not just her,” someone replied, as he watched the device melt into a charred clump. The scientists looked on resigned, but somewhat disappointed that they would not have a chance to examine this new chemical mixture.

  “Sorry, orders from headquarters. Even scientists can be tempted.” Someone, who was probably Michael Segev, nodded a brief goodbye and left the lab.

  The scientists let out their breaths in unison, but did not speak.

  Roxanne did not speak either when the door to Leo’s Opus penthouse lift opened. She was glad Rose had warned her. Leo was standing in the middle of several hundred bouquets of black orchids, holding a large chilled glass of Fueblaster in one hand and a gold key in the other, dressed in a Roxanne Smoot Halloween costume.

  “Leo, it’s been a while. You look the same as last time. Is it your Stem-wads®, or just a clean life?” Roxanne smothered a laugh and walked into the room, taking in everything at once, while trying not to undergo black orchid olfactory overload. The place smelled like decaying floral arrangements or bad wedding planning. She knew she’d have to give Rose a good wash over when they got back, if they ever got back to #4. That thought made her sober.