World War

by C M Dancha

  Claude sat as stiff as a board behind his desk and tried to prop himself up so he wouldn't shrink into the mammoth desk chair. He’d known he was in over his head and there wasn't much he could do to wiggle out of this mess.

  "Claude, how long do you think it would take Milkweed to arrest your ass and put you on trial for murder, if I turned over my evidence to him?" This was another rhetorical question and Raul didn't wait for a response. "I'm guessing you'd be hauled out of here in about fifteen minutes. Then your buddy Slice would turn on you. He'd come up with some cockamamie story about he knew you were a killer and that he’s finally collected enough evidence to turn you over to the authorities. Do you agree, or do you think I'm bluffing, and Slice would never abandon you?"

  "You're right, Raul. Slice would hang anyone if he thought it would benefit himself or the World Council."

  "Good answer, Claude. Now let me tell you what's going to happen. I'm leaving Phoenvartis in a couple of days. After I'm gone, you can make up any story you want about why I left. Each month, you’re going to send 2,000 World Credits to an account number I give you."

  "Two thousand; are you kidding? That will wipe out the raise I got to be the top man."

  "That's too damn bad. I need credits to live on and in exchange for me leaving, you're going to send me your raise credits. Otherwise, the Callie murder evidence goes directly to Milkweed. Understand?"

  Claude reluctantly nodded.

  "Here's the rest of what's going to happen. While I'm here, my senior agents, Murphy and Zeggler, will report to me, not you. Understand?" Before Claude could respond, Raul continued. "In exchange for the credits and control of my department, I'm going to tell you some time in the future why Claudette was killed and who did it. By the way, have you considered cloning her? Milkweed might be able to recover some of her vital parts even though it's been a while."

  Raul could see Claude jerk to attention when he mentioned Claudette. It was likely that he was the only person in the world who knew about their relationship.

  "Raul, I don't deserve this, but would you help me get some of her remains so I can try to clone her?"

  Raul considered Claude's request. He hadn't anticipated their conversation migrating to a discussion about bringing Claudette back to life. "If you play ball with me over the next few days, I'll do everything I can to get some of her remains for cloning. I can't guarantee anything. Milkweed's department may have disposed of her body already. I'll try, but that's all I can promise."

  "Thanks, Raul."

  "Okay, let's get back to what I was saying earlier. For the next couple of days, all you need to do is act like everything is fine and nothing has changed with me or my department. Stay out of my way and if Slice asks about me, either plead ignorance or make up a lie. And by the way, your little friend Slice has his own problems so don't think he will bail you out of this. Do you have any questions so far?"

  "No. You're basically blackmailing me."

  "You're absolutely right, Claude. But, there's one difference between what I'm doing and what Slice and Milkweed would do to you."

  "What's that?"

  "Before I leave, I'm going to give you a bit of information which will make you a bigger hero than you are today. In fact, it may get you another raise. Don't ask what it is. I can't tell you until I'm ready to vanish."

  "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "Claude, you don't know. But you should know by now that I follow through on anything I commit to. Besides, who would you rather trust; Slice or me?"

  "Raul, I'll play along with you for four days. If you don't follow through on the things you promise, I'll… I'll do something. I'm not sure what, but I'll do something you won't like."

  Raul stood, grabbed another cigar and said, "Deal. Remember that I can't promise Claudette's remains. Everything else, I'll produce. You make sure you keep your end of the bargain."

  "I will." Claude almost added how much he wanted to see Claudette again but caught himself. There was no reason to let Raul know how much he hurt inside since her death. He also wondered why he hadn't thought of cloning her. Was it possible that he’d been so infatuated with his rise up the Phoenvartis ladder that he’d forgotten how lonely the top could be without someone to share it with?

  As Raul headed to the office door, he spoke in a loud voice. "Claude, call my men and tell them I'm in charge. And I'm coming downstairs to talk to them."

  When Raul got to the security office, he found Murphy and Zeggler waiting like two lap dogs for their master.

  "I want to see both of you in my office tonight around 6pm. In the meantime, if anyone asks about the nude man hauled out of here this morning, deny that you saw anything. Got it? You know nothing. Now, go home and get some sleep."

  When the agents left, Raul contacted Milkweed on his micromic.

  "Jason? Raul. Getting back to you on the incident here this morning involving a nude guy. Do you want a lie, or do you want to hear the truth?"

  "Go ahead and humor me. Try the truth."

  "Here's the bottom line. Slice is up to his old tricks again. He grabbed a clone for interrogation. If you would, don't get involved in this. I'm pretty sure I have a better chance at handling this than you."

  "It goes against my better judgment, but I'll let you handle it providing you keep me informed and ask for help if you need it. I must admit, I have enough problems without tangling with Slice and searching for a fake human. By the way, what was the lie?"

  "I didn't think of one because I knew you would want the truth."

  "You know me a little too well, Mr. Hakala. You're making me feel vulnerable."

  "Don't worry. Right now, I'm the best partner you can have."

  "I'm not sure how to interpret that but I'll assume you meant it in a positive way."

  "I did. Moving on to a new subject. Are Claudette's remains still available? She was the one who got torched in the apartment explosion."

  "To be honest, Raul, I don't know. Why do you ask?" Milkweed quickly followed with, "Raul, let me guess. Someone wants to clone her."

  "You're right. If I can produce her clone it might guarantee some of the things I'm trying to accomplish."

  "Let me find out and I'll get back to you."

  "Thanks, Jason."

  As soon as the contact was broken, Raul placed another call. While he waited for an answer, he wondered why Milkweed hadn't asked for the identity of the kidnapped clone. He must have thought it was Easton. Or, did he already know it was Rollie Sweats?

  "Good morning, Mr. Hakala. Did you get my deposit?"

  "Yes, and I thank you. Sun, are you ready to do your clone and have you got the balance of payment?"

  "Yes, to both of your questions."

  "Good. Plan on Monday night for the cloning. Bring an extra set of clothes and a vehicle big enough to transport a person at sleep. It would also be beneficial to have a doctor available. You do understand that we can't keep your clone in the Phoenvartis building during the recuperation period?"

  "I understand. In fact, I wouldn't want to keep it there; too chancy."

  The accelerated cloning schedule was making fundraising very difficult. Sun had experienced a lot of trouble finding enough supporters to ante up the fifty percent deposit. Now, he had to find the remaining fifty percent in less than two days. He didn't want to ask his old man for money, but he might be forced to do so. He could almost hear the old man's tongue lashing after being asked for money by a son he hadn't seen or spoken to in years.

  "Do you have any questions, Sun?"

  "I don't think so. You are a very detailed man, Mr. Hakala."

  "That's why I'm still alive."

  Raul broke the connection and completed a few menial tasks. He also spent some time thinking about what he would tell his two agents at the 6pm meeting. Of primary importance was getting them to follow commands, without question, during the next few days. All their lives may be dependent on shooting first and asking questions later.

 
Krieger, aka Sun, was considering Hakala's last comment about staying alive. He didn't want to take the clone by force, but he might have to if he couldn't find the remaining monies or negotiate a deal with Hakala.

  18

  MAN, THAT HURTS

  "Have you got anything out of him yet?"

  "Not yet, Mr. Slice. Every time we wake him, he falls back to sleep almost immediately. We haven't been able to keep him awake for more than a couple of minutes."

  Slice stood back, watching the nude body which lay in a puddle of water on the cold concrete floor. Anyone who could sleep in such lousy conditions must be truly exhausted. Slice finally accepted that it would be at least twelve to fifteen hours before Rollie's clone could be interrogated. This new clone needed to invigorate every cell in its body and brain and right now, he was like a dead battery going through a recharging phase.

  Slice made a mental note to talk to Claude about speeding up the cloning and birthing stages of ReLife. At the current rate, it would take centuries to create an army of clones. He estimated the goal was to produce a replicant and have it ready for field duty within thirty minutes. With several thousand CR47 machines on-line around the clock, an army could be replenished endlessly. And if parts from soldiers killed in action were used, the new replicants would emerge from the CR47 incubators fully trained and ready for war.

  Slice looked over at one of the three military men wearing the signature lavender beret. "Lieutenant, would you have the body put on the air bed over there and cover him. There's no sense letting him get sick."

  While he watched his men move the replicant, he wondered if clones could become ill. Would they be susceptible to the mutating viruses which constantly plagued humans? There was so much that had yet to be discovered and understood about these new creatures. But for now, his main goal was to find the host samples provided by the World Council and intentionally lost by Rollie Sweats.

  As Slice was considering his plans for the future, the new Rollie Sweats was dreaming about another place which he vaguely recalled. He had no idea how long ago he’d visited this place. It could have been a day, or a million years. All he knew was that everything there, including the beings, were white, the misty white of heavy fog.

  "Hello, Sunny Boy."

  "Hello, Grandmother." Rollie wanted to run to her and experience her warm embrace but couldn't get his body to cooperate.

  "How do you feel Sunny Boy?"

  "Not well, Grandmother. It's the way I use to feel when the coach made us run penalty laps on a muggy day."

  "I know, Sunny Boy. Let me hold you."

  The two of them sat for a long time without talking. She sang to him while caressing his head and shoulders. At times, it seemed as though her songs were accompanied by a full choir of singers. Unfortunately, he was too tired to look around for who or what was creating the reverberating melodies. He couldn't help smiling at how much this sounded like his singing idol from the 20th century, Aretha Franklin, and her Motown backup singers.

  After what seemed like days, Grandma LeeLee stopped singing.

  "Sunny Boy, I want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say. For the next day or so you are going to be abused by the forces of evil. They will beat you and torture you. They will try to trick and mislead you. When all else fails, they will threaten, plead and negotiate with you. They are led by a master of deceit and lies, so don't try to outwit him."

  "What should I do, Grandma?

  "Remember that the abuse won't last forever and if you keep Him in your heart, victory will ultimately be yours. You're a smart young man so be creative when choosing your path of resistance. When the end is near, I will send you a sign. Look to the heavens for my sign."

  "What kind of sign? When will this be, Grandma? Where should…?" Rollie mumbled question after question until he realized she was no longer at his side. His eyes opened, and he surveyed the sparsely furnished room. There were no windows which made Rollie suspect he was underground. Other than a table and four chairs the only other objects in this concrete cell were a cooler and air bed.

  "Lieutenant, the turd is awake."

  Three men in military garb and lavender berets converged on Rollie's air bed. The closest soldier grabbed Rollie's blanket and yanked him to a sitting position. "Mr. Sweats, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Which do you prefer?"

  "I don't understand what you’re—"

  That's as much as Rollie managed before the soldier holding the blanket gave him a roundhouse punch to the temple. Rollie saw stars and lost consciousness for a few seconds. When his head and eyes cleared, he realized that the soldier had lifted him to a standing position.

  "Let's try this again, Mr. Sweats. Are you going to be cooperative or try to be a hero?"

  "I don't know how to answer your question if I don't know—"

  As Rollie hurtled through the air, his last three words came out, "—what you want."

  Rollie ricocheted off the wooden desk and crashed to the concrete floor. He was nude which made the impact with the floor worse than if he’d been wearing clothes.

  As he wrestled to get up from a fetal position, Rollie screamed shouted, "What do you assholes want?"

  "Us assholes want the World Council host samples you stole." Before Rollie could react in any way he was sent flying through the air again. The left side of his body slammed into a concrete wall and came down hard on the floor. Rollie heard a snap and sharp pain exploded in his elbow. He was certain his elbow was broken near the funny bone. The irony of his injury was humorous, but a smile or laugh would only antagonize his tormentors. What Rollie couldn't get out of his head was the strength of the soldier tossing him around the room like a rag doll.

  For the next twenty-four hours, the three soldiers took turns beating Rollie. They were masters of pain. They exerted just enough torment in various forms to keep him suffering without losing consciousness. The physical torture was intertwined with promises of sleep, food, and water if he would only tell them where the host samples were hidden.

  When Rollie could talk, he denied knowing anything about World Council host samples. He embellished his story by denying that he’d ever worked for Phoenvartis or played a key role in creating the ReLife program. He did everything he could think of to make the soldiers believe he had some form of amnesia. It was either that, or be beaten to death.

  During the infrequent periods when he wasn't being tortured, Rollie tried to make sense of why the soldiers constantly accused him of being a clone. They’d asked him repeatedly how it felt to be a clone as though being a replicant was less than human. They’d made him feel lower than a mongrel dog scavenging a trash container for discarded food. He knew what their references to a clone meant but didn't understand why they kept implying he was one. Other than being tired and bruised and bloodied from toe to head, he didn't feel any different than normal.

  He’d resigned himself to the fact that there must be some significance to their cloning accusations and questions. Rollie knew they wouldn't waste their time bringing up cloning over and over, not unless there was a good reason. Eventually, he even started to consider the possibility that he was a replicant, the latest version of his old self. The only thing he couldn't accept was that he’d died. He knew the brain continued to function for minutes after the heart stopped pumping. If this was true, wouldn't he remember dying? He remembered everything else, why not his own death?

  After a day of beatings, a small, bald man with wire-rimmed glasses and a well-tailored suit entered Rollie's concrete cell. He asked the guards to leave and pulled a chair up next to Rollie's bloodied body.

  "Rollie, do you remember me?"

  Rollie raised his head and focused through two badly swollen eyes at the little man. His guest was immaculately groomed and smelled like a rose garden.

  "No, I don't."

  "Rollie, I know you remember me. I'm Mr. Sedgewick Slice. I'm from the World Council and have come to Zurich to run Phoenvartis. Do you know what
I mean when I mention the World Council and Phoenvartis?"

  Rollie knew exactly what Slice was talking about but put a quizzical expression on his face. "Who are those other men and why are they beating me up?"

  "Rollie, you're trying my patience. I want the host samples you got from Klaus Ekstrom and then switched with other host samples. What did you do with the host samples from Klaus?"

  Rollie lowered his head and shook it, hoping Slice would take this as a sign that he couldn't answer the question.

  "Rollie, your theatrics aren't working with me." Slice paused for a minute or two to see what Rollie would do. When he refused to raise his head and look at Slice, the master of deceit switched tactics and began again.

  "Rollie, do you remember being killed? Do you remember being shot with an energy burst gun in the chest?"

  "No, I don't remember that. Who killed me?"

  In a melodramatic display of sorrow, Slice said, "It was your friend, Raul Hakala."

  Rollie straightened into a sitting position trying to determine if Slice was lying.

  "Why would Raul kill me?"

  Acknowledging that he remembered Raul was Rollie's first mistake. Now, there was no question in Slice's mind that Rollie was faking amnesia.

  "When we captured Raul and interrogated him, he said that he was jealous of you and wanted the reward for finding the World Council host samples. That's why he was in your apartment when you came home and surprised him. He was searching for the samples. Without thinking, he pulled a gun and shot you. He admitted to being in dire financial straits and the ten thousand World Credit reward would get him out of trouble with his debtors. By the way, the reward is still available. All you have to do is tell me where the host samples are, and the reward is yours."