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Mirror Game

 

 

(c) 2000 Dominique Millette

 

 

It was unusually hot for the end of summer. Jared felt the sweat trickle on his forehead, saw it glisten on his muscles and drip onto the bronze circle around his wrist as he worked the pitchfork. Ten more bales to go, then rest. Morning exercise for the heart and muscles: better outdoors, with clean fresh air, they said.

 

He saw Annie watching him from the lab doorway. She liked to watch him exerting himself, see his biceps swelling in the fields as he worked. You're so beautiful. He heard her voice, saw in his mind's eye the look of wonder on her face when she touched him, running her fingers through his hair. I'll protect you.

 

He felt desire, then gall rise within him. He caught himself. Avoid all bitterness, resentment and anger. These are dysfunctional emotions. If they see you reacting, no more antipsychotics or electroshock this time: they'll just wipe out your mind for good. Or they'll harvest you.

 

Repentance washed over him. Ambivalence. He should be grateful to Annie. She loved him. They were good together, she said. One day, soon, she would take him to Earth, where all the offworld clones were granted refugee status and treated just like masters.

 

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Most other field clones had a much shorter lifespan than he'd already had – though with his hair beginning to grey at the temples and the lines beginning to show on his face, Annie could choose another Speciman at any time. That was what they all told him. Maybe it was jealousy. Jared saw the looks of the younger copies, the way they smiled at her and showcased their bodies. They all thought they had a chance. Maybe they did. Doubt gnawed at him like a phantom rat, growing.

 

He glanced around him. Behind him were a few copies with vacant eyes, their bodies still perfectly intact: former troublemakers, now mindwiped, no threat to him. However, off to the right was 10453, his perfect abdominal muscles and tapered waist clearly visible through the skintight blue onepiece, standing up to wipe his brow, then stretching himself, smiling at her, his eyes traveling down the length of her body.

 

Annie's eyes wandered over to him, the rival. All good-looking Specimen were possible rivals, some more than others. Like a pack of simpering house clones, when they're nothing more than organ giver meat like me, thought Jared, bitterly. Rueful, he remembered that was what they called him, at least the ones who were too ugly to attract anyone themselves: House clone. Masters' boy. He'd never gone looking for the scientists who ogled him. They'd always picked him, whether he liked it or not. It didn't matter much. The result was the same.

 

 

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She'd called him Jared: the name of her deceased husband. He savored it on his tongue, treasured it, made it his own. Jared was a master's name, better than his official name, 10341. The other Specimen called him Bruiser, a name he'd earned after severely beating one of the scientists who'd grabbed his ass. Most copies just accepted the pawing: that was what you did, that was the way things were, just as most accepted giving their lives back to those who'd created them. He'd just erupted, with his unpredictable, uncontrollable temper. The only thing that saved him from being mindwiped immediately was Annie's intervention.

 

After he'd calmed down, after the treatment, he was able to appreciate it: I'm sorry for what I did. Thank you for helping me, Dr. Shoer. Yes, ma'am. Annie. She was not only more attractive than the others, she was the boss. It was good protection. He knew it. He'd gotten used to the feel of her skin, her hair, the scent of her, during their six standard years together. Did he love her, the way she said she loved him? He desired her. He missed her when she failed to summon him. He wanted her to love him and no one else. He feared her leaving him alone. That was all he knew.

 

The ten bales were done. Time to hit the showers. On the way in, Jared saw 10453. Four-five-three, called Pretty Three, had only two surviving brothers with him: Pretty Four and Pretty Five. They came from a batch of embryos originally cultivated for household use, the surplus sent out to various Farms. Here, the brothers all hustled the scientists, both

 

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male and female. Three, the most histrionic and articulate of them, as well as the most cunning, gave Jared a mocking look and threw a towel at him:

 

"Good old Bruise. Annie's a nice piece. Too bad about the competition, eh?"

 

Jared whirled around and sneered:

 

"In your dreams. She'd know better than to fall for you! You're just a common piece of meat. A house clone reject, at that!"

 

Pretty Three shook his head and answered in an exasperated tone:

 

"You won't get me upset, Bruiser. I just feel sorry for you. No wonder you don't have any friends around here. You still buy into the fairy tales! When will you learn? She's had all of us she's wanted. It's a fact. Believe it! Did she tell you she'd take you to Earth? That she was in love with you? You think you're the only one?"

 

Jared grabbed his interlocutor by the neck and shook him:

 

"I'm tired of hearing your lies. You're all jealous! Get your own scientist!"

 

 

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He let the man go. Pretty Three sputtered and coughed, then recovered. He replied, half laughing:

 

"Looks like you need a few shocks, today! Don't worry. I won't bother reporting you. What do you expect, idiot? We're all in line for the top gun! Even if most of us know we'll never get to Earth, we know the favors we can get. And you're headed for the knacker's pretty soon. They'll want to harvest your organs before you get too worn out, and you're getting long in the tooth already. You've had a good life. None of us could ask for more."

 

Jared felt his blood run cold. It wasn't true it wasn't true it wasn't true... The look on Annie's face as she studied Pretty Three looking at her came back to haunt him. He glowered at Three and stomped into the showers.

 

A handful of muscular Speciwomen were soaping themselves, their names gleaming on their shoulders. Some of them were beautiful. A few invited him with their eyes. He glanced at them mechanically and turned away. No need to risk being reported. Annie was the jealous type. She'd made that clear from the first day she'd led him onto one of the gurneys and straddled him. He shut out the sounds of sex wafting out from behind a curtain, turned the water to the cold setting and washed and dried himself quickly.

 

 

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Halfway down the flagstone path to the cafeteria, he felt a hand on his arm. Annie. He turned and kissed her hard on the mouth. You love me. Prove it. Prove they're all lying, he thought, feeling the unwanted anger rising up again, changing into lust. She was avid, reaching for him, leading him into the shade of a clump of trees. Her black hair spilled out around her shoulders as she closed her eyes and moaned, arching her back, riding him. She needed him, he couldn't be replaced.

 

Once it was over, she sighed with satisfied pleasure, then playfully patted him, her gold bracelet softly striking his skin.

 

"Not bad, for an old clone."

 

She zipped up her labwear onepiece in a smooth, practiced motion. Jared felt the sweat on his back and chest grow clammy despite the heat.

 

"You think I'm that old?" He queried. He silently cursed himself. His voice sounded peevish, almost like a house clone's.

 

She smiled in amusement, ran a finger down his forehead, nose and chin.

 

 

 

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"I'm not finished with you, darling. You're still the most beautiful Speciman here. It's a shame there won't be another of you. Though maybe we could get you some new hair and smooth your skin a bit. I hate to see a masterpiece fade away."

 

New hair, for a clone: unheard of. She loved him after all! Only masters got new hair and skin. Well, poor masters who couldn't transfer into their house clones – but masters all the same. He kissed her again, euphoria humming within him. Once more he felt cared for, caring. Safe. Complete. She held him, warm and nurturing. Beautiful.

 

He knew he was special: a medical fluke, the only one of 200 embryos to have survived. No one knew exactly what had gone wrong with that particular batch; but they'd decided to discontinue it. There was no master to claim him as house clone. He was glad of the fact. He would rather be dead than be a house clone. He pictured the puzzled faces of the scientists looking at their failed experiment, shaking their heads, signing the order for a blanket recall: non-viable genetic pattern. He felt perfectly viable, though. He'd been rarely sick, had lived long and was among the strongest and better-looking Specimen, no matter what the others said.

 

The other clones, of course, thought he was a freak. An individual! Discontinued. He remembered the taunts of long ago, as he ate alone in the children's cafeteria by himself. Lone Clone! All Alone!  Three-Four-One/ the Only One/No One Wants Another One!

He'd grown up alongside the others, on the Farm, going in and out of the lab for testing,

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learning to speak and learning his place, the lowest on the totem pole: isolated, without brothers or sisters, prey to every bully in the dorm. Some of his worst tormentors were caught in the act and mindwiped as a warning. He was all the more resented for it but at least they'd finally left him alone.

 

Sometimes he grieved his aborted siblings, who could have numbered up to 25, with three or four of them remaining at this particular Farm. He wondered how he would have been different if he'd had them to talk to. He'd envied the other Specihumes for most of his life, before he discovered he was beautiful, wanted, desireable, the strict Farm exercise regimen paying off in adulthood.

 

He was different from other Specihumes in another respect. He wished he could read, a notion that was universally scoffed at. Why would a field clone want to read? Did he want to be a house clone, did he think he was too good for the Farm? All he needed to know was how to decipher the markings on each Specihume's right temple that helped them distinguish each other.

 

Annie was up, brushing off the dirt from the shiny surface of her onepiece, her mind already elsewhere. She thrust out her chin at him:

 

"Off you go! You need your protein. And I've got work to do."

 

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She strode away briskly, not looking back. Efficient and professional, he thought with admiration. And she was all his.

 

Lunch was beef bourguignon: the sauce a good synthetic likeness of the real thing, according to one self-important Speciman who claimed to have dined on it previously in a scientist's quarters. The day's vegetables, in their usual 2:1 ratio to the meat, were broccoli and stringbeans. Then there was the obligatory 350 mL glass of milk. Dessert was a pear. There was no more than ten percent fat in any meal. Ever.

 

Jared hardly tasted any of it, though he knew the drill: You ate and drank everything in front of you unless you wanted an electroshock session. He dreamt of Earth, where they had skytowers in hundreds of cities and where he would learn to read. He would eat whatever he wanted, whenever he felt like it. Especially chocolate. He would drink real wine and beer, not like the meager undetectable rations of tinny-tasting contraband some of the clones made behind the masters' backs, earning them a serious treatment when they were caught, which they always were. He would eventually learn to fly.

 

After the meal, he was directed to the warehouse to unload crates of equipment, replacing the previous clone who'd been harvested the day before. As usual, the incoming landtruck was driven by a house clone: smooth-skinned and uncalloused, carefully coiffed and manicured, dressed in a black onepiece, his wrist encased in the glowing silver circle that

 

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identified his ilk. His name tag identified him as Frederic the Second. He hopped out of the cab and snapped his fingers at Jared, waving him towards the back.

 

Jared scowled. All house clones seemed to assume Specihumes were stupid, devoid of human speech, as if they'd all been mindwiped from birth. He kept his temper in check and carefully spoke:

 

"Thank you, I know where the back of the landtruck is."

 

Frederic the Second cocked an eyebrow and retorted:

 

"Are you being flippant with me? Just get to work! As long as you don't utter another word unless requested to, I won't report you."

 

Jared cast his eyes downward and quickly turned around to hide his growing anger. He could feel the imperious eyes of the house clone boring into his back, savoring the power. This one was even worse than most others of his kind, who usually contented themselves with a show of icy indifference.

 

As Jared unloaded the crates, a male scientist entered the warehouse. Frederic the Second sauntered up to the new arrival and proffered the carrier receipt with a smile:

 

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"Benny! How are you? So glad to see you again!"

 

The bespectacled scientist nodded a perfunctory greeting and replied in a neutral tone as he signed for the delivery:

 

"Very well, Frederic. I trust you and your master are healthy and happy. Please pass along my greetings."

 

The house clone half-curtsied as he responded:

 

"Of course I will! Master Frederic and I are doing very well. Thank you so much for asking! We've increased our business all around the continent by buying out two smaller cargo companies. An absolute coup, I tell you. Master Frederic is a genius. I will be enormously proud to receive his brain – speaking of which, you're invited to the ritual, of course. It's next lunar cycle. Don't forget to mark it on your calendar, or we'll all be terribly disappointed! Our wife wouldn't stand for it."

 

Ben looked up with a show of surprise:

 

"Already! Well, well. You'll have to send me the details. I wouldn't miss it! Oh, and if you need to replace yourself at all, we can always supply you with one of ours."

 

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Frederic laughed in embarrassment:

 

"Dear Benny. Always the joker! We wouldn't dream of taking away one of your organ givers", he replied, his voice tinged with disdain. "We already have a Frederic the Third onstream, though I gather some cost-conscious Masters are a bit slow at defrosting new embryos. You'll have all the details of the party. I'll see to it personally. In fact, I'll be coming by again with a load of mindwiper replacement parts and skinwriting equipment in a week, so I can drop off the invitations then."

 

His face averted, Jared grimaced. Another lovely visit to look forward to, with a lovely cargo to match. He worked off his frustration by unloading the last of the crates as fast as he could, his muscles straining with the effort. Once he finished, he stood at attention.

 

Benny smiled at him with approval, glancing at his shoulder patch where his official name was etched in bronze lettering:

 

"Fast work, Three-four-one! I think we'll be placing you on warehouse duty from now on."

 

Jared forced a smile in return and uttered a thank you, silently sending out rays of hatred to the new driver. Frederic the Second eyed him with a hint of lingering suspicion, then looked away in indifference. Both he and the scientist ignored him as they exchanged

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goodbyes. Finally, the house clone drove off and the scientist dismissed Jared back to the main station.

 

Once Jared arrived, no one needed him. He was free for the rest of the day. He felt a pang of fear at the news, even if he knew that all Specihume labor was expendable. They could easily mechanize most of the tasks that needed doing at the Farm and simply direct all field clones to the gymnasium to keep them fit and serviceable. Manual labor, in fact, was viewed as a benefit to the clones more than to the lab. It kept them busy and feeling useful. So Annie said, in any case. He remembered the way she said it, her tone dismissive, as if he wasn't really a Speciman and she had been describing a foreign species.

 

All clones off-duty were encouraged to report to the gymnasium to keep them active. Though he usually complied, Jared decided to break the routine. He wandered around the perimeter of the Farm, his eyes drifting to the posts of the forcefield. More than once, he'd seen a rogue Speciman killed in an attempt to escape harvesting, trying to find a passage above or underneath the forcefield, which was impossible since it stretched out twenty meters beneath the ground and another twenty metres above. It happened a few times a year. The rogues' bodies sustained little damage and the needed organs were taken right away.

 

 

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A few other psychotics attempted escape by other means. Most were quickly reported, hunted down and taken back. It was difficult to hide as a Speciman outside a Farm. However, everyone had a story about a friend or a sibling who'd gone out of his mind, gotten out and found his way to Earth. It was well-known that an underground organization, Friends of the Mirror, shuttled escapees across space. Helping out the lunatics, as most of the masters put it.

 

There was nothing lunatic about wanting to go to Earth, thought Jared. Or learn to read.

 

He grimaced as he neared the Church of Helpers. Fanatics. A field clone was standing in the doorway of the modest round building painted with seven stars. The red sash of sacrifice tied around his waist and the white sash of innocence hanging around his neck, he beckoned Jared to enter:

 

"Come, brother Speciman! Celebrate the utility of your life as a gift to the masters! Pray for the salvation of all Specihumes, that they recognize the beauty of their destiny and bless their fate!"

 

It was useless to argue with Helpers. Jared shook his head in silence and walked past. The Helper clone's voice rang out louder, as if the problem was a question of volume:

 

 

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"You are amongst the Chosen! See the light! The Stars know your heart and all it desires! Help us help the rogues and fight the forces of evil and lunacy, the Friends of the Mirror who go against the will of the Stars!"

 

Another level of ignorance, thought Jared. Even clones knew that stars were a non-sentient force of nature. Bright or not, they were as deaf, dumb and blind as the rocks and trees on this planet. Mirra was terraformed a hundred Earth years ago by colonists evading the restrictive ethics of Earth. This was another kernel of information that Annie had told him in secret, since clones were not to learn history and as little as possible of anything else.

 

Whether or not Specihumes joined the Church, superstitions flourished. Such and such a rock would give you ecstatic visions, better than contraband wine. A certain tree would help you get the woman or the man you desired – clone or master. If you hung out a piece of metal at midnight, you would live seven Earth years longer than the average field clone, harvested at 32 standard Earth years, give or take a few.

 

As he walked, Jared reflected on the Helpers. Why and how did they persist? The Church had always been there, trying its best to attract and keep followers, though the scientists did nothing to encourage it, calling the Helpers "the Starheads", making jokes about them. At most, they let Specihumes become Helper hierophants devoted to the Church, as long as they continued to be fit.

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Few Specihumes took the Church seriously, either, and tended to be shunned by the others when they joined. However, those who did so were loyal followers. They claimed it gave them greater peace of mind, a higher sense of purpose and moments of ecstatic joy through spiritual revelation. It also gave them a sense of importance, thought Jared. The hierophants, especially, believed themselves superior to the "unenlightened clones," busying themselves with conversion and proselytization, filling their days and nights with the will of the stars.

 

He was halfway around the perimeter before he realized he could get heatstroke from walking any further. Two hours out in the sun. He remembered the scientists' admonishment: hat and splat, or scat! Translated, this meant: cover your head, spray on a screening substance or go indoors. There were many such little rhymed instructions, made easy so that even the mindwiped would understand.

 

As he headed back towards the dorm, Jared remembered the question he'd asked Annie once, when he was brooding more than usual: why didn't the scientists just mindwipe all the Specihumes? Not that he, Jared, wanted this to happen, but wouldn't it make the Farm easier to manage? What difference would it make? Annie had been taken aback, at a loss for words. He'd wondered uneasily if he'd given her an idea she would use later. She'd thought for a few seconds, her brow creased in concentration. There was no reason, she finally said to him. We just don't see the need for it, I suppose. Unless it comes up.

 

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Her answer frightened him, still. She'd added to it, explaining that mindless clones didn't always follow directions properly, they had to be treated like children and that was a bit of a bother. A bit, she'd said. Not that much? He wondered.

 

Jared made his way down the final hill toward the main station, the heat heavy on his shoulders. He had a pounding headache, the sun like a hammer against his skull, searing into his eye sockets however much he shielded them.

 

As soon as he entered the lobby, he felt his legs give out from under him and thudded to the floor. Three paramedics rushed to his assistance within five standard minutes, one checking his pulse, the other feeling his forehead, the third holding down his eyelids and shining a light into them. He lost consciousness after a flash of pain.

 

When he came to, he found himself on a nursing station bed, his arms hooked up to various machines, electrodes around his forehead. His skin was an angry pinkish brown under a sheer white film of plasmointment. His mouth felt as if it were lined with charcoal. A scientist was frowning over him. As soon as Jared opened his eyes, the scientist intoned:

 

"Hat, splat or scat! Why did you disregard the order, Three-four-one? You've cost yourself six days in bed. Severe dehydration and some second degree burns! That isn't very pleasant for you. You'll also need to regain any lost muscle tone."

 

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Jared winced. Six days... Despite the terraforming, the planet was still weakly shielded from ultraviolet radiation, then, the sun having penetrated right through the blue onepiece which presumably was shredded by now. The warnings were not overcautious. Now he knew from experience.

 

"I'm terribly sorry", he gasped out, his mouth so dry he had no spit to swallow. "I lost track of the time I was out."

 

The scientist handed him a glassful of water. Jared drank greedily. The man in front of him sighed and continued in a businesslike tone:

 

"Given your apparent absent-mindedness, we'll run some brain scans. In the meantime, and just in case nothing physically treatable shows up, we'll get you a timer chime to prevent this from happening again."

 

The nurses came in and unhooked him, glaring. Time for discharge. As an older patient, his potential for harvest fading with each passing year, he elicited the least possible sympathy. Once the scientist and nurses left, Jared slowly regained his bearings, looking around the nursing station. He got up gingerly, his head spinning. He walked around the room, then sat down on the bed. This was the longest time he'd been sick since adolescence.

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He would have to go to the showers to wash and the dorm to change. He needed to eat, as well. The clock indicated it was almost lunch. Then there was Annie... Would she be concerned? Angry? It was his own stupid fault: sunstroke – entirely preventable, especially if he'd simply gone to the gym as he should have.

 

As he walked in the hallway, restoring his circulation, Jared witnessed a commotion. Two Specimen were holding a struggling third Speciman between them. The captive was hysterical:

 

"Let me go! Let me see him! I know he loves me! I know he wants to see me again!"

 

The attending scientist barked out an order:

 

"Get him to the operating theater. Now!"

 

The scientist turned and shook his head, addressing a nearby colleague:

 

"I hate mindwiping a perfectly good Speciman. I wish everyone would stop using them as playthings. It only encourages them to think they can walk up to us anytime they like. No wonder they forget not to speak unless they're spoken to!.."

 

 

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No one payed attention to Jared, who squeezed against the wall to let everyone pass. He shuddered at the sight of the Speciman crying out as he was led away. It was a searing reminder that if Annie's interest in him had waned, he might have suffered the same fate. He felt gratitude at being spared.

 

After a few more moments, Jared was almost himself again. He stepped outside. Luckily for him, the day was overcast and cooler. In just one lunar cycle, the rainy season would overtake the inhabited continent, soaking everything and everyone in sheets of unrelenting water until spring came again. It was always unpleasant but, apparently, far less so than the winters Annie had told him about on Earth, where in some places water froze in the sky and fell in white clumps called snow, chilling everything beneath it. Jared shuddered at the thought. When he went to Earth, he mused, he would go to dry places where the winters were cooler but never frozen.

 

He made it into the showers, deserted at this time today, with only a slight feeling of exertion. His stomach rumbled in protest. The cool water stung his mangled skin, though the  plasmointment held firm, as it would until he healed completely. He felt cleaner in any case. Or at least more awake.

 

Stumbling into the adjacent dorms, Jared lunged past a few lingering Specimen to reach his locker and grabbed a spare onepiece to wear to the cafeteria. He pulled it on. The pain of contact made him gasp. How much longer? Annie wouldn't like it one bit. He didn't

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either. He pictured Pretty Three smiling at her, batting his eyelashes, sighing out what a shame it was that such a luscious female was left without natural pleasures for such a long stretch of time. Jared knew Annie would be impatient. He knew her appetites. Love or no love, deprivation was never endearing.

 

He was in a foul mood when he sat down to eat his ration of beef stroganoff with potatoes and peas. It didn't help matters that Pretty Three sidled up to him, grinning smugly.

 

"Well, well. If it isn't Burning Man! Glad to see you up and about again. I take it you were the main item at the barbecue? Don't worry, though," he crowed. "I took care of Annie while you were out like a light. She's been very happy with my ministrations. Hasn't had a chance to miss you!"

 

Jared trembled with rage. He held himself in check and kept eating. Three's grin widened.

 

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled out. "Oh, sorry – guess you can't put up much of a fight, now that you're cooked! Well done, I should say! Get well soon, Bruiser! Or should I call you Jared? Not for much longer, likely. You never know: they might want that epidermis of yours, though the Stars know I'd pass on it, myself."

 

With that, he bounced away in glee. Jared counted slowly to ten, breathing in controlled intervals, an exercise they'd taught him after the Bruiser incident as part of his treatment.

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 Lies. Just lies. Annie would understand. She loved him. She'd shown him as much, so many times. They would get past this together.

 

Once he finished his meal, Jared determined to seek her out. Despite the scene he'd witnessed at the nursing station, he knew in his heart his case was a justifiable exception. He would have to be subtle, of course. Play coy. Like most of the hustler copies out here, he reflected cynically.

 

He was still listed as convalescent and, therefore, allowed a half-day of rest. Tomorrow, he would have to go to the main station and take any assigned work or go straight to the gym. If there was such a thing as sin to the scientists, lost muscle tone in field clones was one example.

 

The lab was only 50 meters away. The distance felt like a parsec to Jared, as he tried to gather his thoughts and lay out a plan of action. He'd never been the type to play games of any kind. All his life, he'd prided himself on the fact that he was unique, almost like one of the masters. He'd unthinkingly believed he needed no strategies, no tactics, no help from the weak-minded manipulators he observed around him. That conviction had melted along with his youth and the top layer of his skin. Now, his deliberately cultivated ingenuousness was more of a handicap to him than the pain of his burns.

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This was no time for conceit or self-delusion, however noble or proper it seemed. It was time to be cunning. As he paused on the flagstone path, Jared tried to imagine how a hustler like Pretty Three would handle the same situation.

 

Surely, he would attempt to elicit sympathy for his condition, encouraging guilt in his paramour at the very idea of abandonment. Some scientists, Jared knew, felt bad at the thought of neglecting even  pets such as dogs or snakes. Certainly, the neglect of an intimate clone should have some similar impact. On the other hand, he reflected sadly, the same scientists who grieved at the loss of their favored pets held little qualms about the harvesting of designated Specihumes. And Annie didn't have any pets at all. She didn't like the bother, she said.

 

In that case, he could perhaps remind her of all the wonderful time they spent together, dredging up the better memories, playing on the fondness which shared empathy could generate. This would be especially effective since, in general, there were no bad memories: not with scientists. Well, not if you wanted to live.

 

On the other hand, he'd seen Annie turn against her favorite colleagues on the basis of "the common good", as she put it. Shared memories didn't go far with her.

 

Jared thought harder. Common good. Duty... Annie claimed to care about duty above everything else. There was one last hope: he was a rare bird, the only left of his kind. She

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couldn't let him go so soon. She'd been fascinated with him from the start, he was the most beautiful Speciman on the Farm, on any Farm. It would be a shame to see him destroyed. Scientific interest! It could not only guarantee her protection of him as an individual scientist, but would make it official on the Farm as a general principle, should she ever leave her post.

 

That was the key: he was an original. He would need to be studied further, even throughout the aging process, to determine exactly why he could not be replicated. That would excite her scientific curiosity and satisfy her need for the common good argument, even if she could renounce him as her lover. This, he felt, would be the key to his salvation. His survival.

 

Jared felt heartened, stronger, more self-assured, no longer vulnerable to the Pretty Threes on the Farm. He stood on the path, debating whether to go in on a fabricated pretext, and decided against it. He would wait and pretend to cross her path by sheer coincidence. Scientists did this regularly to clones they were chasing. Tit for tat.

 

A few field clones shuffled past him to go inside. He saw the look of resignation on their faces. It was their Harvesting Day. They were probably going in to ask for a normally-forbidden drug, or a toy of some kind: small favors granted to them on their last day, no harm done, the body would be flushed out thoroughly before the organs were taken.

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Harvesting was completed at the end of the day, once the lab was almost deserted, staffed only by needed personnel.

 

He waited for what seemed an eternity. According to the position of the sun, he calculated the time that passed at three standard hours. At last, he saw shadows moving towards him. One of them was Annie. The other?... Pretty Three! Or Four, or Five: there was no way to tell from the distance where he stood.

 

Jared's heart sank. He retreated into a nearby grove and concealed himself as best he could to catch any wayward snatches of conversation. He felt momentarily sullied, ridiculous. Then, he reminded himself that Pretty Three, Four and Five had probably done the very same thing at many times. They were younger, too. Safer. He cocked an ear and listened to Annie's voice as it neared and faded out again.

 

"... your blood disorder... Important research... harvesting? Not now. The scientific findings balance out the loss of organs..."

 

Jared felt his cholesterol go up by fifty percent, notwithstanding Farm diet controls. It sounded like Three, Four and Five had just successfully gained immunity from harvesting because of a rare genetic disorder. There was no getting rid of them. What would it mean for him? 

 

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He found out soon enough. As Annie headed for the main station, her companion swiveled his head to look back and saw Jared come out of the grove to walk toward the dorm. It was Three, alright. The tone of voice was unmistakeable as he called out:

 

"Bruiser! What an interesting coincidence. We were just talking about you a few moments ago! Annie finds you ever so interesting. She'd love to study you more extensively. What a shame there's only enough funding for practical research. Speaking of which, you'll never guess what came up! It turns out my brothers and I are more useful intact than in pieces. And of course, more fun: especially together," he added, smirking. "Such a shame there's only one of you, isn't it?"

 

Jared shot him a look filled with venom and went in the general direction of the main station, Three's laughter resonating behind him. His luck was changing for the better: Annie was still outside, reading some papers. She looked up and smiled. It was a half-smile. Cryptic. Jared felt tension build in his shoulders. Was it tenderness, fatigue or something else that he read in her features? Other scientists milled about, some within earshot. He approached warily and waited. She spoke:

 

"Three-Four-One. I've heard of your condition. I trust you're making a complete recovery?"

 

 

27

Jared saw nothing in her eyes: no warmth or pity, no anger or contempt. He nodded stiffly and answered in a monotone:

 

"Yes, Doctor. Thank you for your concern."

 

She nodded back decisively and waved him off:

 

"Very well, then. Get your rest and stay out of the heat."

 

His eyes pleading, hurt, he tried to search her face for a sign of emotion. She studied her papers, refusing to look up.

 

It was time for him to go. Before he attracted attention. Jared went to the dorm, his mind a jumble. Was it the presence of others that made her so cold toward him? Or was it more? He was helpless to discover the answer. The next move was hers, when she decided to make it. Or if? No...

 

He felt an ache in his heart, felt as if the ground had given out under his feet. Six standards years of protection. Nurturing. Caring. At her whim and command, yes. Better than nothing, than the hole of loneliness he'd fought his entire life. He reflected bitterly on the few Speciwomen he'd thought had loved him, he'd thought he'd loved, the most beautiful, and how they'd refused him once they were summoned by the masters. He'd

28

eventually learned not to trust any one of them, even as they clung to him and protested their devotion.

 

Jared remembered the tears shed by 10532, after he refused her, once he'd been chosen by Annie. The tears had seemed real, had tugged at him. He'd felt what seemed like guilt. Then, in the space of a lunar cycle, Five-Three-Two was chosen in turn by her own scientist. She barely acknowledged Jared's existence afterwards. She was harvested only a standard year later. Her sister replaced her in the scientist's bed. There were four more of them. They were all interchangeable. All field clones were, even from one batch to another. The dance of survival ended quickly, here.

 

And on Earth? How did people love each other? Jared tried to imagine it, thinking of the gossip he'd heard about masters here, how they married and stayed together for several years at a time, both of them safe. What was it like to be safe, not to need anyone's protection to survive? Some even had children, not only to combine their genetic material but because of affection. Sometimes the children were adopted, not even their own. They loved these children and cared about them all of their lives. It seemed like a story out of one of the books Annie had read to him, when she first chose him.

 

Jared looked at the blue dorm walls, the few shelves along them filled with spare clothes and bedding. He often wondered what the scientists' rooms were like. Annie had never

29

taken him there. No Specimen allowed. He knew they probably had books there, perhaps flowers, paintings, personal adornments: nothing a Specihume could possibly use.

 

He lay down on the first available bed. His skin still chafed under the onepiece. He removed his outer clothing carefully, lay down again and closed his eyes. The hum of circulated air calmed him, the flow of air gentle on his skin. He slept.

 

A hand on his arm awakened him. The bespectacled scientist from the warehouse stood over him, head cocked to one side. Still groggy from sleep, Jared draped the top sheet over himself and sat up. His skin felt much better. The scientist cleared his throat and addressed him:

 

"Three-Four-One. I trust you're feeling stronger? You're slated to report to the warehouse this afternoon to help unload incoming equipment. Then you'll be reporting to the lab for your last tests. You've had a good, long life and you've been well maintained. There's a lot you have to be grateful for. In the meantime, take the next few hours to prepare yourself. Here's your patch. You can go get some oblivion-enhancers, if you feel the need."

 

He handed Jared a small piece of self-adhesive cloth, the numbers of his name written in bright red. His lab pass. The thing that identified him as marked for harvest.

 

30

Jared froze, dropping the patch on the bed. He barely noticed the scientist's departure. It was over. Everything. He sat dazed for several moments. He'd slept through his last day on the planet. It was already late morning. He only had a few hours left to live. It couldn't be so soon! Annie... Everything Pretty Three had said was true. It had to be. He felt as if he'd been kicked hard in the stomach. All this time he'd lied to himself, believed in fairy tales.

 

He felt cold, his heart a block of ice, unmoving. Then the gall came back, the rage. It didn't matter now, how psychotic he was, what they thought of him, what they could do to his mind or his body. He reached for the shelves above him, intending to pull them down, break them to pieces... Then stopped.

 

The warehouse. With sudden clarity, Jared remembered the house clone, the shipment: mindwiping replacement parts. Skinwriting equipment. A time for cunning, not brute destruction. If he broke anything now, if he screamed and flailed, they would mindwipe him before harvesting. Better to wait for the landtruck. If they caught him, he had nothing to lose.

 

He willed away the adrenaline rush that beckoned him. Let them think he accepted his fate, like most of the other Specihumes did, conditioned from birth to give their lives back to their creators. He had to make the scientists trust him. The way he'd trusted Annie, he brooded, the vice of betrayal tightening within his chest.

31

Jared glanced at the patch on the mattress. His death warrant. He had the morning to prepare himself, like all the others. No special treatment. Not anymore. Think, he chided himself: what do I need? A half-formed idea came to him: go to the lab, request an oblivion-enhancer. The drug suspended thoughts, especially negative ones, so the field clones would die happy, looking mindwiped without the bother of the whole procedure, still able to function but unable to feel. After that... he would find a way out. Nothing to lose, he reminded himself.

 

He went back along the flagstone path where he'd stood waiting so long only the day before, passed the grove where he'd heard the last of his hopes melt into nothingness. His patch allowed him immediate entrance. He kept his expression submissive, mimicking the look of the Specihumes he'd crossed. No one gave him a second glance. 

 

Jared went to the dispensary and requested his pills. The attending scientist gave him a cup of water and stood watching him. He popped the drug in his mouth rapidly, tilting his head back as far as he could, placing the pills under his tongue and pretending to wash them down. His heart pounding, he handed the cup back. The scientist in front of him took it and turned away. Jared felt relief flood through him.

 

He entered a sanitary station, took more water from the taps and faked a fit of coughing, turning towards a disposal unit and spitting out the pills. After a few moments, he came out and conjured up the movements and facial expressions of the mindwiped copies all

32

around the Farm, imitating them as best he could. His demeanor attracted a few glances, followed by knowing shrugs.

 

All spare and broken equipment was kept in the back of the lab and taken to the nursing station as needed. Each scientist had a key, usually kept in a belt they wore around their labwear. Jared took a meandering path to the stockroom, smiling trustingly at passing scientists who nodded benignly in return.

 

Familiar sounds emerged through a door as he passed. Memories floated back to him unbidden, of Annie taking him into deserted rooms, slipping out of her onepiece, her belt dropping to the floor... He stopped, pretending to study a decorative print on the wall. The hallway emptied within a few moments. The longest moments of his life.

 

He approached the door, opened it a crack. The room was L-shaped, with a narrow vestibule, the happy couple grunting out of his line of vision. He saw the onepiece and belt on the floor. It was just out of his reach, but still out of sight of the scientist and field clone. For the first time in his life, he prayed to the Stars as he dropped to his knees and crept forward. As the sounds reached their predictable crescendo, he grabbed the belt and felt inside. No time to choose: he took all the keys, shoved them inside the rolled-up sleeve of his onepiece, threw the belt back and crept away.

33

He swung the door open and leapt out, almost colliding with a passing scientist. Panic seized him. He did the first thing that came to mind: he smiled seductively and looked her up and down. Then he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, his head indicating the room he'd just exited. The scientist shook her head, frowned, then saw his patch. Her features relaxed but her tone was matronly, stern:

 

"Go on. Move along now!"

 

Jared tilted his coquettishly, pretending disbelief at her refusal. She cocked an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. He pouted in response, shrugged and strolled away.

 

The stockroom was on the right, at the end of a curving hallway. He slowed, watched a scientist emerge with a trolley full of equipment. Traffic was slowing. It was time for the midday meal.

 

Jared slipped in front of the door, fishing out the keys. Which pattern? The wrong one could set off an alarm... They all looked the same to him. He studied the grooves on the lock, scrutinized each key in turn and took a calculated guess. The key pressed into the lock without a sound. He waited. The door clicked open.

 

Inside, the stockroom was well-lit and deserted. Shelves reached up to the ceiling, each with an inscription. The shelves were filled with boxes. Jared swore softly under his

34

breath. Of course everything would be in boxes. He couldn't possibly look through them all. He searched the room for an indication of what he was looking for: mindwiper guns, the self-charging models they used for emergency field work.

 

He'd seen them before, while he'd been on nursing station detail: they were compact, efficient little handheld machines with long needlelike protrusions that delivered a burst of laserpower through the temporal lobes. The intensity of the beam was adjustable, with only very difficult cases receiving a complete treatment. As long as the subject became adequately compliant and suggestible, the goal was accomplished.

 

Jared took a closer at the boxes. Some of them had pictures on the sides. He went through a dozen shelves or so before he spotted the right ones. Finally! He tore the box open, took out a mindwiper. It was exactly the model he wanted.

 

The next problem was hiding it and taking it out of the stockroom. Though it could fit into a holding belt, field clones didn't wear any. Especially not on Harvesting Day. Jared looked at the boxes again, his mind racing to find a solution. Anything...

 

Pillows! A drugged-out Speciman on his Harvesting Day could easily walk about carrying a pillow or a blanket, with no one bothering to question where he got one... Well: maybe not easily, but bizarre behavior on euphoric drugs was not that unusual.

 

35

The supply of pillows was at the far end of the stockroom. On the way back, Jared located a length of rope, slim but strong, and took it. Time was running out: the scientists would be returning from their meals soon. Jared's hands trembled with adrenaline fear as he tore an opening into a small, cushion-sized model and stuffed the gun, the rope and the keys inside, sealing the cover over the torn object.

 

He raced to the door, shaking as he opened it. The way was clear. He breathed deeply, placing the pillow on his shoulder and resting his head on it. He hummed to himself, his eyes half-closed, forcing himself into a state of calm. A few scientists shot questioning glances at him, saw the patch and continued on their way.

 

Once out in the open, away from the lab, he took the pillow off his shoulder and rested it on his leg as he strode to the warehouse. Time to meet the landingtruck... He thought of Frederic the Second and smiled in anticipation.

 

The house clone was waiting for him, walking in circles, tapping his foot in impatience. Alone. As he spotted Jared, he blustered out:

 

"I don't have all day, Speciman! How dare you show up late? I'll have you reported, this time!"

36

Jared took a quick look around him, then rummaged inside the pillow. Frederic the Second exploded:

 

"What are doing with that stupid thing? Did you think you'd be taking a nap here? I..."

 

He never had time to finish the sentence. In a single, smooth motion, the mindwiper gun shoved into in his rolled-up sleeve, the pillow thrown to the ground, Jared whirled around the house clone, grabbed both his wrists in one hand, twisting them behind his back, and covered his opponent's mouth with the other.

 

"Make one move, one sound, and I break your arms," he snarled out in barely controlled fury.

 

Frederic the Second went limp with terror. He whimpered, then was silent. Jared cautiously removed his hand from the house clone's mouth and used it to rope the wrists together. It took a few seconds, not long enough for his opponent to recover his wits from the shock. Then, he covered the house clone's mouth again, took out the mindwiper gun, examined it, chose the third notch out of the four indicated on the settings and leveled it at the right temple of his prey. The house clone attempted a feeble, frantic kick. The laser beam shot out, burning through the frontal lobes. Frederic the Second went rigid.

37

Jared stepped away to examine his handiwork. The house clone's eyes were vacant and his body was motionless. Could he still drive the landtruck? There was little time. Jared spoke out an order:

 

"Get in the cab. Wait for me."

 

The house clone complied. Jared shoved the mindwiper gun back into his sleeve and scrambled up next to him. He directed the clone to drive out of the warehouse. Frederic the Second nodded slowly and started up the landtruck. They lurched forward, then drove out at a steady speed. Jared slid down from the seat as far as he could, curled in a quasi-fetal position. He'd never been past the checkpoints before. He shut his eyes and once again prayed to the Stars for mercy.

 

The truck stopped. Feet crunched on gravel. A voice rang out:

 

"Identification, please!"

 

The house clone took something out of his pocket, thrust it out the cab window. Jared felt his heart thumping so loud he thought the source of the voice would hear it. After what seemed an eternity, the voice spoke again:

 

"All clear. Have a nice day!"

38

They drove on. And on. And on. Once they were well away from the farm, Jared cautiously hoisted himself onto his seat. The road ahead was straight and darkening, the landscape on either side green and lush in the steady drizzle that fell from the sky and dotted with occasional small buildings surrounded by stone palisades. Some of the buildings they passed had glowing flat, vertical rectangles positioned between them and the road. There were markings on the rectangles. Jared wondered what it was they said.

 

He suddenly remembered that mindwiped clones needed instructions for every task they performed. Frederic the Second would keep driving in the same direction until he was told to do otherwise.  Jared was at a complete loss as to what to order the house clone to do next. For that matter, he had no idea what to do himself. His main plan had focused on escape, not on the future... The future was Earth. But how? He had no knowledge of anything outside the Farm, of any places he could hide or where the starships were that could take him to his final destination.

 

How long would it take for the Farm to notice his escape? How would they try to capture him? Would they call Master Frederic? The latter would worry, would know there was something wrong... Jared felt despair wash over him. He willed it away, replacing it with resolve: he was as good as dead, whatever he did and whatever happened. Every hour he breathed was another he'd gained.

39

His stomach began to demand attention. He hadn't eaten in over one standard day. He decided to risk a vague order that required some judgment:

 

"Stop at an eating place."

 

A few moments later, the landtruck slowed near a building with a glowing vertical rectangle. Jared slid down again as they stopped.

 

"Go get some food. Take it back to the landtruck with you," he stated.

 

Frederic the Second remained immobile. Puzzled, Jared tried to think of any further orders he might need. Then, he remembered that the scientists often had different choices of food. He sighed. No wonder the scientists didn't like mindwiping their field clones. He clarified:

 

"Ask what meals they have. Order the first one, then bring it back here."

 

This time, the house clone opened the door of the cab, slammed it shut and went inside the building.

 

When he came back, Jared heard a second voice nearing the landtruck. The voice was angry:

40

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? You have to pay for that, clone! What Farm did you come from? Who's in there with you?..."

 

Unconcerned, Frederic the Second entered the cab, slammed the door shut and handed the food to Jared. Someone banged on the window of the cab on the driver's side. Jared glimpsed a flustered face. He roared at the house clone:

 

"Drive out of here! Fast!"

 

The master at the window went flying backwards as the landtruck swerved back onto the road and lumbered forward at breakneck speed. Jared cursed himself. Pay! Like the supplies the scientists ordered for delivery at the warehouse, food outside the Farm had to be paid. He hadn't even thought of it. Food, sold like equipment? How could he have known that?

 

The question was now academic, as there was no audible sign of pursuit. Jared tore open the package of food. It was chicken with rice. No vegetables. No fruit. No milk. No matter, he thought, as he wolfed down the contents of the box. Once finished, he raised himself onto the seat again and threw the empty receptacle out the window of the speeding landtruck. He looked out and behind. They were alone on the road.

41

As they continued under darkening skies, he brooded further. All further decisions were his and his only. Yet, there were so many things he didn't know or understand. How would he survive? He suddenly thought of their trajectory. The landtruck had proceeded in a straight line without interruption. Surely, that would be detectable... He barked out to the house clone:

 

"Turn at the next fork! Turn left if the fork goes in both directions."

 

The truck screeched as it careened to the right, hardly slowing in the process. They barely avoided falling sideways. Jared turned to yell at the house clone, then remembered once again that the creature had no will of his own. He had only one mission: to do what he was told, when he was told to do it. The perfect clone. Whatever attitude Frederic the Second had had before the mindwipe was gone. There was no point in anger, any more than there would be towards a machine. Was that how the scientists and other masters viewed them? No doubt, thought Jared, his blood running cold.

 

The landscape now was almost entirely barren of any signs of habitation. This was good, since there would be no one to stop them or enquire after them. It was also bad, since they would be stranded should they choose to stay there... Either situation had its hazards and advantages, Jared decided. After what he deemed an appropriate distance, he told the house clone to turn to the right at the next fork. Slowly, this time.

 

42

Now there were a few buildings dotting the sides of the road, though not as many as when they'd first left the Farm. The buildings, visible in the surrounding darkness through the lights which surrounded them, were more complex than the previous ones he'd seen.  Jared stared openmouthed at some of the more fanciful constructions they passed. Some had spiraling staircases leading to balconies shaped like the petals of a rose. Others boasted multiple towers. In some buildings, a section of the wall visible from the road was transparent and flooded with light. Jared could see figures moving on the different illuminated levels.

 

These were the places where masters lived, Jared guessed. They had no lab, no visible gymnasium, dorm or cafeteria. From the gossip he'd acquired, he remembered that masters lived in separate units called families, different from the groups of brothers or sisters constituted by clones but at about the same number. Each of these families had their own dwelling place.

 

He waited, uncertain, letting the same feeling which had propelled him out of the Farm guide him further. The buildings became fewer and farther between. Some distance ahead, another rose up in the darkness, far enough from the others that walking from it would take considerable effort.

 

"Slow down," Jared ordered his driver. "Go to that building."

 

43

The structure Jared had pointed to was situated many meters from the road. The landtruck pulled up at a snail's pace. Midway between the road and the building itself, Jared commanded the house clone to stop and turn off the landtruck lights.

 

In the soft pink lights which flooded the main dwelling, he could distinguish smaller structures on the left and right at some distance behind. He wondered at the purpose of these places. Were they secondary dwellings or were they something like the warehouse or the lab? If the latter, it could give him a place to hide and think, less threatening than an inhabited dwelling and with more potential resources than the open landscape.

 

He took a closer look from his vantage point in the cab. No figures moved in either structure. They could be uninhabited. Jared decided to take the risk. He turned to Frederic the Second and uttered his last commands:

 

"Give me all your payment chips. Once I leave the landtruck, drive away. Keep driving as long as you can. Once you come into contact with anyone else, you will say nothing. You will respond as if you remembered nothing."

 

With these last words, Jared took the proffered chips, hopped out of the cab and watched the house clone drive off in the too-conspicuous vehicle. He fervently hoped no one could override his last orders. Of course, they would know how he'd escaped. He would deal with that later. In the meantime, he had some exploring to do.

44

He crept forward, heading for the building on the left of the main dwelling. The only sounds surrounding him were the familiar chirps, whirs and cackles of wildlife in the night. The structure he'd targeted was about five meters wide and six meters high, illuminated only by floodlights from the ground. Two square windows were carved into the walls, positioned on either side of a arched door. He peered inside each of them and saw nothing but darkness. Something covered the windows from the inside.

 

The door was locked. Too difficult to push open: it would make too much noise, he decided. Jared looked at the windows again. In the feeble glow of the floodlights, he studied their closures. A strip of vertical material held them in place from the inside. He took his mindwiper out of his rolled-up sleeve, set it to the fourth notch on the dial, and pointed it at the inside window strip. There was a flash of light and a puff of smoke.

 

Jared peered into the edge of the window again. The strip had disintegrated. He put the gun back in his sleeve and  pushed against the window. It opened with a slight creak. He froze. No other sound emanated from the window or the surrounding area. Jared slithered into the opened window, felt around him for obstacles. There were none. He propelled himself forward, down onto the floor, landing with a soft thud, then reached out and closed the window behind him.

 

The room into which he'd crept was iridescent in the soft incoming light. In front of him, Jared saw a table heaped with boxes of toys, books and clothing. A rocking chair on the

45

right held more boxes filled with cables and pieces of equipment he couldn't identify. Storage. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe. For now.

 

He padded about in the lambent glow suffusing the room, looking for anything useful. The clothing? He took it out of the boxes. Most of it was far too small, made for children. However, he found a green master's onepiece, frayed at the cuffs but still serviceable, that fit him well enough. There was a belt with the fabric a bit worn and stained. It would do. He put it around his waist and put his mindwiper in it.

 

Next, there was the matter of his temple. He'd seen scientists cover their heads on occasion, though clones never did so. Jared found some strips of cloth, twisted them as artfully as he could and wound them around his head, hoping it would look masterish and not too improvised.

 

The other boxes held nothing of interest that he could think of using... What else did he want? Earth: he knew that much. He needed a starship. And someone to pilot it. Well, there certainly wasn't one here. Suddenly, he regretted sending away Frederic the Second. The house clone might know how to fly in space. House clones knew many more things than Specihumes did. But the mindwiped driver seemed more of a liability than an asset.

 

Did masters keep spaceships at their dwellings? Jared searched his memory for some snatch of conversation or gossip. He remembered none. It was still possible, he decided.

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If not, they had vehicles to get to a starship – assuming he could find out where the ships were. That was the first thing to do.

 

He pondered his surroundings. This dwelling seemed large. The masters here were rich. They would have their own house clones. Another problem, or an opportunity? House clones were cowards, as far as he'd seen, though he hadn't seen every possible variation of them. Cowards could be threatened to do what they were told. His hand went to the mindwiper gun... This time, he wouldn't use it: just display it. He would wait to capture another house clone, who would drive or fly Jared where he wanted to go and know how to get there.

 

The next step would be to take advantage of the dark, before the masters woke. Jared unlocked the door and ventured out again. The grounds seemed to stretch out forever. Next to the storage shed was a pathway, wide enough to drive on, which turned into mud tracks at the back of the dwelling. The tracks passed a round canvas tent, surrounded by a garden dotted with statues. Further back, the tracks disappeared into a palm-filled grove. He followed them. The trees opened into a clearing. There were several landvehicles, all small to moderate-sized. No starships, but transportation nonetheless, reflected Jared with a twinge of disappointment mixed with hope.

 

The sky was lightening. Jared hesitated. Should he scurry back to the shed or stay out in the open? Judging from the dust he'd seen which covered everything in the storage unit, it

47

was seldom visited. However, Jared felt restive and prefered to be outside. There was no sign of rain. Yet. How far would he have to wander in order not to be discovered? He decided not to chance it and headed back to the storage building.

 

The crack of twigs against the ground alerted him to someone's presence. The sun was barely rising: no master would be up so soon. For that matter, what would a house clone be doing out early in the morning, either? He slipped behind a palm tree and peered out at the moving figure.

 

The woman was crying softly. She was dressed in black: a house clone. Jared was puzzled. He'd never seen any of them despondent before. No matter. An unhappy house clone was just as useful to him as a happy one. She carried nothing with her. No other sound or movement came from the house. Now was his chance.

 

He leaped out and pointed the mindwiper at her, commanding her to be quiet with a shushing motion. She sprang back, her eyes wide with terror. He grabbed her, spun her about, held her wrists behind her back and pointed the gun at her temple. He spoke close into her ear.

 

"Don't cry out or I wipe you mind out for good. Do you understand?"

 

He felt her tremble as she nodded.

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"Do you have the keys to the landvehicles?" he asked in a whisper.

 

She shook her head forcefully. His heart sank. Was she lying? He rummaged through her belt. Nothing. Jared considered his options. He couldn't very well command her to go into the dwelling and get the keys, not without mindwiping her first, which would reduce her usefulness considerably. And she would be conspicuously different. If anyone else was awake, he couldn't use her as a human shield: his cover would be blown and many house clones were expendable in any case, however highly they thought of themselves and however they were prized by the masters.

 

"Is anyone awake in the dwelling?" he asked.

 

Again, she shook her head. His spirits rose again.

 

"We're going in to get those keys. Don't try anything. Just do as you're told," he said.

 

She nodded, still shaking with fear. They entered the main dwelling together. Jared made her stop at the entrance, which appeared lined with gold leaf in an ornate curled design. He could hear creaking.

 

"What's that sound?" he hissed out.

49

"It's just the floors. The house makes those noises by itself," she whispered back tremulously.

 

He shook her.

 

"Don't lie to me!"

 

She was crying again, soundlessly.

 

"I'm not lying. It's true. Please!"

 

He pushed her forward, grabbed her by one arm and hissed out again:

 

"Alright. Let's get those keys. You'll be driving."

 

She went to the back of the house, entered the kitchen, high-ceilinged and gleaming white, and stopped in front of a panel with several keys hanging from it. Each key had markings below it. She paused and picked out five of them, putting them in her belt. It was the same number as the number of vehicles in the clearing, he recalled. Good.

 

This time, the creaking around them was louder, emanating in a rhythmic pattern. Footsteps! He grabbed the house clone by the hair and pulled it hard, his hand over her

50

 mouth. He glanced around him. There was a door leading outside. He shoved the house clone forward and pulled her outside with him. They ran toward the landvehicles. A voice rang out behind them:

 

"Hey! You! Stop immediately!"

 

Then, an alarm, ear-splitting, like the sound of a horn. More voices:

 

"A scavenger! He's got Nema Two! He's armed. Call the guards!"

 

Jared and Nema Two reached the landvehicles. He pushed her into the driver's seat of the nearest one from the passenger side, the mindwiper squeezed against her temple:

 

"You'd better drive us out of here fast or we're both going to die," he snarled.

 

She complied in a smooth, practiced motion, fear galvanizing her into survival mode. The canvas-topped all-terrain vehicle roared past the house. As they approached the exit, Jared saw gates unfold in front of them to seal off their escape.

 

"Accelerate and drive through!" he yelled out.

 

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He closed his eyes, anticipating the shock of collision. A screech of metal deafened him as the vehicle lurched to the side, skidded, then righted itself and sped forward. He glanced at the damage. The side of the all-terrain was dented, the door unuseable but the wheels still free of the twisted metal.

 

As they moved on, Nema spoke through clenched teeth:

 

"They'll catch you, you know. They always catch the scavengers. We won't get far."

 

She was probably right, Jared reflected angrily. He should have mindwiped her and directed her to take the keys. It might have saved them both all this trouble... He caught himself. He was thinking like the scientists at the Farm, the same people who'd decided when it was time for him to die, when they didn't want or need him anymore. In any case, his fate had already been sealed with the masters' awakening, he reminded himself, whether Nema Two was mindwiped or not.

 

"We'll see," he retorted. "Just drive to the nearest starship station."

 

Her answer was desultory:

 

"Starship station? That's a day's travel away! And how do you think you'll get on a starship with everyone looking for you? They'll be double-checking everyone's Identipatches more closely than ever!"

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Identipatches. Yet another thing he hadn't known. What else would there be to stop him? In a day's travel, they would need food. He would need rest. Jared's eyelids drooped, his whole body crying out for sleep. He kicked out in front of him to stay awake.

 

"What happens to me won't be your problem, once we get there," he finally said. Then, he asked: "Why were you crying before you saw me?"

 

Her voice held barely contained fury:

 

"That's no business of yours, scavenger!"

 

He shrugged at her anger. Scavenger... He supposed it was another type of master. Perhaps not. He risked the question:

 

"What are scavengers? Are they masters or clones?"

 

Nema the Second glanced at him wide-eyed a fraction of a second before turning her attention back to the road.

 

"You mean you don't know? Who are you? Where are you from? Are you an offworlder? Is that it? Is that why you want to go offworld?"

 

53

His tone hardened:

 

"Just answer the question!"

 

"Scavengers are poor masters," she replied. "They have no houses. They steal things – like that onepiece you're wearing. They don't work. Some of them were kicked out of richer families. Others just wandered onto Mirra from Earth or some other colony, looking for a better life, and never fit in."

 

Jared pondered this.

 

"Why would they come from Earth?" he asked. "Isn't Earth better than here?"

 

Nema the Second shrugged.

 

"Who knows? I hear it's dirty and overcrowded. They don't have any clones at all over there. They probably wouldn't have any room for them."

 

Jared felt his shoulders sag. Paradise lost? He brooded at this, then thought of the opinion house clones had of Specihumes: dirty, dumb and stupid. Maybe their impressions of Earth were no more accurate.

 

54

"Do you like being a clone, then?" he ventured.

 

The question seemed to take her completely by surprise. Her features melted in bemusement.

 

"What do you mean, do I like it? It's what I am," she riposted. " I'll become a master soon. I'll inherit the brain! I'm as good as a master, in the end. It's the master who dies, but not exactly. The two of us are one person, really. At least I'm not an organ giver! They're like cows or machines. You don't know much about anything, do you? You really are a stranger."

 

Jared stared at her. He thought of his hopes and dreams, utterly alien to her and all her kind, and how he could never give them up, however unreacheable they seemed, however many times he had been mocked and betrayed for clinging to them. He, the field clone, the organ giver: more of a person than this creature next to him! He tried again to strike a chord:

 

"Don't you want to be yourself? Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to live your own life, without ever getting the master's brain?"

 

She frowned, puzzled.

 

55

"Myself? Myself is the master and the master is myself! I've never thought about it before. There isn't anything to think about, actually. It's just the way things are. The way they're meant to be! What would I do with my own life? Without the master's brain, I wouldn't have any purpose at all! I suppose to an offworlder who comes from a place without clones, it might be difficult to understand. But it's really very simple."

 

She was beginning to warm to him, thought Jared with amusement, even as he reflected on her lack of anything resembling free will. Her tone was conversational, almost chatty: educating the poor lost stranger. Even if he held a mindwiper gun aimed at her temple.

 

His musings were cut short by the sight of a roadblock ahead. Nema's tone was almost apologetic:

 

"There! You see? They've caught up with us. There's nothing I can do now. We won't get through. You can't bluff your way out of this."

 

He brought the mindwiper closer, his tone deadly serious:

 

"This is an all-terrain vehicle and we're going to use it. Turn left, off the road, and accelerate."

56

He heard her gasp and saw her tremble as she obeyed the order. The vehicle veered and lurched but righted itself quickly, trundling through the fields straight into the terraformed jungle. Shouts and the shriek of a siren followed them. Jared glanced quickly over his shoulder. Five armored vehicles were in pursuit, fanning out to encircle them.  Nema the Second wailed out:

 

"Now you'll get us both killed! Why can't you just accept it? There's no way out!"

 

Jared shouted back:

 

"Just drive! And watch the trees!"

 

Baobabs loomed in front of them, creepers wound around the enormous trunks. Nema swung sharply left and right, the sides of the vehicles scraping the bark. Behind them, an explosion sounded: one of the armored vehicles, less manoeuvrable than the all-terrain, had smashed itself against a tree. Another soon crashed into the first.

 

There were still three armored vehicles left. The baobabs were closing in, growing more and more densely, artificially landscaped in this fashion by some harebrained terraforming architect for the sake of esthetic diversity. Jared grabbed Nema Two by the collar and pulled her with him as he rolled out of the moving all-terrain. Their transport smashed against a mammoth trunk and exploded in a shower of flames. Under the cover

57

of the fire, smoke and noise emanating from the wreck of the all-terrain, Jared dragged Nema Two behind a tree.

 

"Keep your head down and say nothing!" He commanded through clenched teeth as he crept in the undergrowth. He pushed her ahead of him on hands and knees, searching for a place to hide.

 

The buzz of voices wafting towards them confirmed that the search party had stopped to examine the remains of the all-terrain. They had little time before no bodies were found.

 

The ground before them dipped slightly and rose again, carpeted in shorter foliage struggling towards the sun. They were trapped, Jared thought in desperation: no caverns, no cliffs presented themselves for shelter. Even if they should, the party would find them.

 

A rustle ahead stopped him short. He gripped Nema Two and stood stock still. A group emerged before them, holding blasterguns large enough to incinerate the entire jungle. They all wore ragged onepieces, green, red or white, some with gaping holes, probably from battle. Most were filthy, their hair matted, beards long.

 

"Scavengers!" Nema Two gasped.

 

"Real ones, this time", muttered Jared.

58

He raised his arms automatically in a universal gesture of surrender. A gigantic Eurasian man who appeared to be the leader stepped forward, addressing Jared directly:

 

"Are you the Specihume? If so, show your bracelet!"

 

Jared jumped, startled. Nema Two's eyes widened. She hissed out:

 

"A Speciman? You? Is that what you are?"

 

Whoever these people were, thought Jared, they were all about to die or be captured. They or the others would find out his identity. He shook the rolled-up sleeve of his onepiece and his bronze bracelet fell to his wrist. He thrust it forward and waited.

 

The leader spoke again:

 

"So... You're the one. We're Friends of the Mirror. We heard about your escape. We can help you. Go behind us. Now!"

 

Jared hurried forward, Nema stumbling behind him.

 

The blasterguns erupted in a haze of light as the search party members came upon the group. Soon, the smell of charred flesh replaced the scent of earth and rotted foliage

59

around them. When the smoke cleared, the group leader smiled at Jared as Nema Two shivered some distance away:

 

"The element of surprise always works for us. Speaking of which, we didn't quite expect you to come this way – but now that you're here, a lot of people want to meet you!"

 

He gestured at Jared and Nema Two to follow him.

 

Still in shock, Jared lurched ahead. Nema picked her way, trembling. They navigated through the undergrowth for what seemed like many standard hours in a bewildering maze of right and left turns to a cluster of cabins in a clearing. From the faded signs on the walls, Jared guessed they could be abandoned official facilities. He wished he could decipher the symbols.

 

The big Eurasian saw him looking at the wooded boards and smiled.

 

"These are old barracks. Haven't been used in twenty standard years. Except by us, of course. We use several of these places. Not that we advertise our tenancy! Most of the officials think we're marauding Scavengers when they see us, which suits us just fine."

60

He gestured at both of them to enter and followed them in. The barracks were spartan, with four bunks nailed to each wall and a single table in the center, surrounded by three chairs, topped by a candle.

 

The leader put down his blastergun and faced Jared again, wiping his brow:

 

"I've heard about you, since we're in constant radio contact with each other every time there's an escape from a farm. I presume you, here" he said as he gestured towards Nema Two, "are a house clone wishing to escape the Ritual. And you are just as welcome in our sanctuary, until we get you to Earth! My name, by the way, is Baron. I used to be a clone, myself. A field clone. I decided to stay behind and help the Underground."

 

Jared stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting:

 

" Three-Four-One. Jared. It's a name I've grown used to. Even if... "

 

His voice trailed off. He felt tears stinging his eyes, remembering Annie. Her hands on him. Her lopsided smile. Her way of tossing her hair impatiently from her face. The way she looked, curled up, sleeping beside him for a few stolen moments. Her promises. Her love. That was what she called it: her fascination with him, her amusement, as long as he was always available. Gone, now. So easily replaced. Then: her eyes. Cold. Changed. Master. User. Betrayer.

 

61

Baron stood silent, watching Jared's tears slide down his cheeks. He spoke solemnly, quietly, as if at a scientists' funeral:

 

"It's a name a master gave you. We know. A lot of field clones get names given to them. It's still more human than the number you were assigned. We know what it means to you. Or what it meant. Don't let whatever happened stop you from using it. You ARE human. You deserve a name. Keep it. It's a part of who you are. A part of your history. Whatever she or he did to you. A lot of masters give their children names and then hurt them later on. The names still mean something. Take it for yourself and use it as your own. It's still a part of your life. It doesn't have to be a bad thing."

 

Jared looked up through his tears, feeling the warmth of comfort for the first time, a true comfort beyond anything he could give in return. His heart churned in gratitude. It was a different trust from what he'd felt with Annie. This was real. He would not be turned away, he did not have to be beautiful or special now. He only had to exist. He was startled by the newness of this: to owe nothing, to give nothing, to have the right to simply be, accepted, protected, no longer having to fight or prove himself. He felt somewhat disoriented, the ground giving way beneath his feet.

 

Baron spoke again:

 

62

"We know you're going to feel a bit lost at this point. You're not used to having anyone take care of you just because you're there. Don't worry. As long as you're with us, we require nothing of you. We want your freedom as much as you do. We're doing this because we want to. Because we think it matters. Once you get to Earth, you'll have to fend for yourself. We'll do everything we can to help you on your way. In the meantime, we want you to feel at home with us."

 

Jared shivered, his fatigue overwhelming him. He staggered. Baron caught him and steadied him:

 

"Looks like you need some sleep. Just lie down on this bunk here. We can talk later."

 

Jared nodded in silence and slumped into the bunk. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Nema Two piping up querulously:

 

"... But I don't want to escape the Ritual! Please... Bring me back! Drop me off somewhere they can find me. I won't tell anyone about you. I promise!"

 

Baron's voice echoed in return:

 

"... I'm sorry but you're a liability now... Have to stay with us... Go to Earth, with Jared..."

 

63

Jared dreamt of Earth. He was walking down roads lined with tall buildings, filled with people, many of them clones. They all looked like Pretty Three. You're going to the knackers, they said, in unison. There are too many people here already.

 

He woke with a start. He was no longer in the bunk. The walls around him appeared to be those of a cavern. Was he still dreaming? He shook his head in confusion. Baron entered the room and smiled down at him, slightly stooped under the low ceiling.

 

"We had to move out, of course. Slight change of plans. They would have come looking for us, otherwise. Out in the open, there was too much of a chance they would find us. Here, we're much safer. This cave is a hundred feet underground and its mouth is sealed by a moss-covered boulder. Hardly detectable. We've moved hundreds of clones through here over the past ten years."

 

Jared rubbed his eyes as he looked around him. He was lying on a fur-covered bundle of cloth stuffed into a long sack. The walls were moist and glowed with a faint green phosphorescence. A few staglamites dotted the ground, with short, thick staglatites hanging from the ceiling. Some of these had been sculpted into hooks for weapons and garments. On a single table, some cheese, meat and bread were laid out in plates. Jared stared hungrily. His stomach rumbled. He looked up at Baron, who spoke for him, smiling:

 

64

"Of course, you should eat something before we introduce you around."

 

There was nothing left in the plates once Jared finished. He looked up sheepishly at his host. Baron laughed out loud and slapped his back:

 

"Don't worry. We have more! We don't just look like Scavengers. We act like them, too! Come on. Time to meet your new friends."

 

They walked down a tunnel and emerged into a hall. Several long tables were piled with weapons and various pieces of equipment. A dozen people milled about them, some polishing blasterguns, others checking boxes covered in wires and buttons. All were dressed in red, white or green onepieces, in various stages of wear. Some were identical twins and triplets. Clones. Field clones, Jared saw as he stepped up close enough to see the familiar forehead markings. They smiled at him. Some waved, others nodded, still others extended their hand.

 

Baron pointed out the inside circle, each member informally assigned certain tasks, though everyone rotated. For now, the main scout and communications expert was a lean dark-skinned and dark-eyed woman called Knuckles; Cobra, a stocky redhead, took care of munitions; food and others logistics were largely the domain of a rangy, curly blond called Brad. Two of the clones were also fairly recent escapees: Olsen and Freedman, ebony-skinned identical twin brothers. The others' names blurred into a haze: Bluze. 65

Peter. Crasher. Doc. Robber. Pirate. Kwan... Some had kept their clone nicknames, others had kept the names given by masters and still others had named themselves.

 

Baron spoke up after the round of introductions:

 

"Time to get up to speed. How're we progressing?"

 

Brad grinned in evident satisfaction:

 

"We got a ship," he said. "It's a commercial sloop headed out to bring hardwood back to Earth, leaving in three standard days. All the papers are authentic, this time. The captain's a friend – a clone saved his life on Earth and now he'll be helping us out! Knuckles here has Identipatches ready for Olsen and Freedman, in case there's any problem getting out. I've made up some synthifaces for them as camouflage. They'll be listed as part of the crew. All we need now is something for Jared. Shouldn't take longer than a few hours."

 

Baron slapped Brad and Knuckles on the back:

 

"Good work! We're getting quicker. And it looks like our list of friends is growing. Word is getting out. Even better."

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- Jared wanders out, finds Nema Two huddled in a corner, totally disoriented and intimidated. He feels bad for her. The two start bonding despite their differences. Bond will grow deeper.

 

-         one of the Church Helpers will eventually be a spy infiltrating Friends of the Mirror and will try to destroy the escape expedition, before they are set to go

 

- Nema will be taken but not Jared or the others. Jared will break back into the house with the help of the Friends and will interrupt the Ritual at the last minute, retrieving Nema

 

-         they both escape and get to the starship just as it is ready to leave

-         last scene will be Jared and Nema arriving to Earth

---

 

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