Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III (21 page)

One part of Michael really did want them all to make it, but
the other part of him was Darwinian, survival of the fittest.

“Alright, on my count, I’m going to open the slide and ramp
off on my bike. Good luck.” It was something Michael rarely said. They’d need
it this time. It was a dangerous way to exit one of the under-ocean transits,
but his handlers, the real ones in Israel, not Dorian, wanted these guys safe,
squirreled away for future use, maybe as something similar to Michael Segev, a
free agent, and a killer. He was, after all, also a rescued clone soldier;
another reason for his elusiveness, and his real motive for their salvation. Like
Dorian, he wanted to save his own kind.

Michael made the ramp jump look like a picnic. It wasn’t of
course, and two bikers bit it, got draft-sucked onto the tracks, under those
mega-ton hovers, and ionized to dust. It happened all the time, but usually it
was some poor sucker trying to escape a flash freeze prison squad, or even
sadder, someone trying to leave their zone illegally to try their luck at
finding employment in the legal zones; someone on their way to a job fair. Michael
waited at the portal until everyone arrived.

“Let’s do a head count. What do we have now, seventeen?
Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. We have to leave, now! Let’s go!” Segev
shouted.

Michael led the group of clonies, in shock from the loss of
their friends, to the pedestrian portal into #5. It was rusty, old, not often
used. People just did not go in and out of #5. Michael had been coming and
going via a  bribe-and-ride coupon on someone’s rig, which meant he boarded at
the rig dock, carrying a vial of some human DNA as ID, not his own of course. The
seventeen, now silent clone soldiers entered the slime security wall, all using
fake IDs, DNA donated by twenty-two nursing home dwellers from Beit ……Moses (
deleted
to protect their IDs
).

After the slime oozed off of them, four individuals awaited on
the other side of the portal, Chad, Jason, Gimlet, and the mayor of bubble-stop
#5, ready to ferry the Yac clan into what others called
the void
. After
living on
Deceit
, Gimlet was not sure if they’d be overjoyed or shocked.
THE PLACE WAS CERTAINLY NOT AT ALL WHAT SHE HAD EXPECTED.  

                                                                                    
19

“THIS IS NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED!” Max had just opened
that dead CEO’s safe deposit box in Tokyo; the one left to him by his assassinated
partner, the CEO of Nutria-blend, Inc., and the target of Michael Segev’s latest
hit. The box did contain a single white piece of paper, with a hand-written half-formula
for the toxic rig-ryder nutria-blend, although it was a fake formula
substituted by someone he knew of as Honeybuns.

But, Max also expected to find about thirty-five billion
gold vouchers, the life savings of that now dead CEO. He had counted on that
little bonus to enhance his supplemental annuity plan, his SAP, for his
retirement. They’d agreed on it, even shook hands on it. If one died, the other
got the contents of their safe deposit box, any money or luxury items, and the
formula. Could no one be trusted; not even a full-fledged CEO? Did the guy blow
it all on his daughter’s lunar destination wedding? Would Max be working for
Leo Songtain for another ten years?

And most importantly, how should the mayor of bubble-stop
#5 use this newly obtained wealth to help the Yac clan? Those were the almost
simultaneous thoughts of the mayor of bubble-stop #5 when Segev handed him the
CEOs gold vouchers; obviously at another location.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Max slammed the box shut, a
no-no in any bank. The com announced his vault visit was over, due to use of
inappropriate banking language, and violent behavior, and that there would be
an official lock-down and sleep gas dispersion, if he did not exit the vault in
eighteen seconds, and
thank you and have a nice day
.

Max gathered up the contents of the safe box as fast as he
could, the paper with the bogus formula written on it, a few interesting sets
of what looked like slightly radioactive gold and diamond cuff links, a platinum
rolodex supernova watch, and a key to whatever, maybe the CEO’s 1957 Ferrari
625 TRC Spider.

“This could be interesting Maybe this isn’t so bad after
all,” Max mumbled as he got ready to leave. But just before the vault shut, and
issued forth those toxic fumes, Max noticed the false bottom.

“Ah ha! Shut up, I’m leaving,” he screamed at the com
warning, as he pulled up the bottom to uncover an envelope. He only had time to
stuff it into his back pocket and squeeze through the closing vault door. Max
did not bother to stop at the reception desk, where a rather annoyed robo-assistant
stood with its bot to what looked like its ear, ready to issue him a banking
vault ticket for illegal use of the Nipon language in the International Union Capital
First United Security People’s Bank and Savings and Loan of Hong Kong, where
only Mandarin was spoken.

When Max returned to the underground parking lot, to his
awaiting limo, he did not notice he was being watched by a short, elderly man
in a maintenance worker uniform, pushing a manual mop. Odd, as robots usually
did that. Max ruminated on that for a few seconds before the man accidentally
bumped into him, said, “
Excuse me, sir
,” in five languages, and went
back to his work. Max got into his limo in a bad mood. He hated having to deal
with the riff raff, usually only went out of the protected zones for important
and essential business, like today.

He was back on his private jet for Hong Kong, sans
Honeybuns, when he noticed the envelope was missing. Because he’d not had time
to open it, he had no idea it contained the real formula, hidden under the
false bottom by the expired CEO. He thought the envelope probably contained a
final letter to his wife and kids, maybe dispersing his left over personal
items, like suits or pets. Max knew the white paper he had in his briefcase contained
the poisoned rig-ryder nutria-blend formula; but it was really the one
substituted by Honeybuns the previous night. His now modified version would
only make any unsuspecting rig-ryders imbibe a full week’s supply of vitamins.

“I wonder what the envelope contained. Oh well, I have the
formula and a possible Ferrari out of the deal. I hope I can hack his accounts
for those gold vouchers. His wife probably got to those vouchers right after
his death,” Max was mumbling to himself as he pushed the com, first to contact
his official bank account hacker, then to send for his newest purchase from the
sex auction. Honeybun’s replacement was a tiny Asian doll, thin as a reed, with
pale skin, jet black hair, and dark almond eyes. He named her Bitbuns. Max had
a thing for buns, and he hated long hoverjet rides without onboard
entertainment. 

Back at the bank underground limo parking lot, Honeybuns,
aka Rachael Gefen went immediately to the maintenance closet, took off her mask
and uniform, and checked the contents to be sure this envelope did, in fact,
contain the formula she’d missed the previous night.

She’d been watching Max on the palm vid she’d planted on him
in her role as Honeybuns. Rachael sent the envelope to Ben Gurion via the
underwater push-service, donned her burka, and headed to the transit tunnel
leading to Narita to catch that drab green military transport hoverjet, parked
at the end of the other runway at Narita. She’d passed the now dead CEO’s life savings
off to Segev, right before he boarded the train to #5, without a clue how he’d
disperse the funds to take care of the Yac clan.

On her part, Rachael didn’t care for blood money; she would
be home tending to her flowers at the kibbutz within 12 hours. After her weeks
with Max Peabody, she needed time to wash his stench away. Let the other asset
finish off the mission with those clone soldiers.

And, those clone soldiers were the current topic of a tense conversation
back at rebel headquarters in Donner Pass.

“What do you mean, they’ll be late? You never do
late
,
Dorian. What’s going on?” Dina had just returned from the rig dock in Sacramento,
using her hoverbike at full nitro to ride from the rig offload dock back to
Donner Pass. She then walked the path out of the low-way tunnel to the up side
part of town. At 5000 feet, it was still cool enough to walk outside, even
during the day.

From there, an alley led to what looked like a dead end. It
was really the entry to another tunnel, leading to the first gate of the
underground rebel city. Most of the up side, non-rebel citizens of WME Donner
Pass Zone knew of the rebels, even knew how to get to the first gate. Many had
been delivering supplies to them for years. They were what Dorian referred to
as the friendlies, not real rebels, but part of the movement nevertheless, and
critical to the cause.

In return, Dorian made sure his creative procurement of
those CEO accounts skimmed off a percent to this particular group. Thus, no one
in the WME Donner Pass Zone ever went hungry, or got the urge to make new best
friends with any WME culling patrols.

The first gate to the rebel headquarters was guarded by a
mind reading security team, required a DNA pass, a retinal scan, and blood type
analysis, and finally a visual approval by Dorian. Thus, he was in the control
room and prepared for the confrontation, when his wife arrived, sweaty, and fully
pissed off.

“I just got word the train had mechanical issues near bubble-stop
#3. They believe it is pirates again.” Dorian lied to his wife, something he
was really bad at. She could not read his mind, but his face was like an open
book; a pale white glowing open book, which glowed off-color when he lied.

“Tell me what’s really going on, Dorian. You let them get
away didn’t you?” Dina was standing across the room from her husband Dorian,
dressed in a business suit. He thought she looked beautiful, but it was hardly
the time.

“Yes. Sit down, Dina. We have to talk.” Dorian had spent
several hours rehearsing what he might have to do.

Dina was a great fighter, could move fast. But Dorian was
protected by his implants, which sent off a high frequency scream sound,
causing individuals to pass out. He practiced it once on Dina, when they first
got to Donner Pass, just to see what it would do. But, he had no intention of
using it on Dina now, unless he had to prevent her from running off and doing
something stupid, or worse, lethal.

“I don’t want to sit down. I want you to answer my
question.”

“No, sit down, please sit down. We have to talk. Sit down,
Dina.” Dorian used a non-negotiable tone, one she’d never heard before.

Dina sat warily on a bench set into the far wall of the
control room. The look on her face said it all. She was fit to be tied, but knew
she needed to hear his side, or maybe she had to. He was one of a few
individuals on the planet whom always commanded her attention. Dorian took his
time. He got up, went to get some hot chocolate for both of them, and handed
Dina her cup, along with a roasted rabbit sandwich on flatbread, her favorite.

“l need to begin with Gimlet, our daughter. The story begins
with her. Please just listen and don’t say anything until I am finished. And,
eat your sandwich. I know you must be starving after your trip back from Sacramento,”
Dorian began. Dina nodded, took the sandwich, ate most of it in four bites, and
then she drank the hot chocolate in one long gulp.

“Okay, so talk,” she said, after finishing her hot chocolate
and wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her black silk business suit.

He and Dina spent the next thirty minutes doing just that,
talking. And for once in his life, Dorian spent one hundred per cent of the
time talking, just to Dina. She knew this was important because he’d put all the
controls on pre-programmed auto, something he did only when he and Dina were
together, alone, in their quarters, or, as he often said, for events as
important as having your hair on fire.

Dorian started with the part when Dina left him to live with
Eldridge so long ago, and finished when Chad and Gimlet welcomed the clone
soldiers into bubble-stop #5, with the help of Michael Segev. After he
finished, Dina looked at him for twenty seconds without speaking. It seemed
like an eternity to Dorian. What she finally said took him totally by surprise.
But he wasn’t a mother.

“You mean after sending her to Tokyo for University, I’m
supposed to stand by and watch her get a job and make a living in #5? Do you
have any idea how she’d be wasting her potential in #5? I mean, she’d be
totally limiting her career options in #5.”

“Yes, I understand that but…” Dorian could not continue.

 “It’s why we sent her away and spent all those gold
vouchers on her education, so she wouldn’t have to live underground here, so
she could make it in the real world, even the WME real world. It was so she’d
have a choice.”

“But bubble-stop #5 is…”

 “You can’t be serious, Dorian; living in bubble-stop #5? I
don’t want my grandkids growing up there.”

“But I could…”

 “You have to do a sat-hack, and get them a house, right now.
And what about the wedding; I’m not having a wedding in #5.” Dina paced back
and forth in the control room, wringing her hands, and gesturing all over the
place.

Dorian just sat there for five seconds then burst out
laughing, lights twinkling under his skin.

“What’s so funny? This is serious. Our grandkids won’t get a
decent education or job after growing up there. And what does this Chad guy do
for a living? Stop laughing.”

“I’m sorry, Dina. It’s just that I thought you’d be mad she
fell in love with a clone, not that she may be living in #5. I can arrange any
kind of living situation or job for both of them, anywhere on the planet; you
know that. This is only temporary.”

“Well, okay then. But he is a clone soldier, and with the
current Inc. markets for clonies, they’ll always be looking for him. Where will
they be safe? And, don’t you dare even think of sending my daughter to one of
those sewer cities.” Dina got up and went to her husband.

“Turn the controls back to
Dorian-mode
. I want to see
what this guy looks like. Can you vid them in #5? Do they even have a bot-com
system there? And did he go to college? Has he been trained for anything? How
much will he make? Is he taller than her?” Dina motor-mouthed the normal mom
concerns, still present even after three world-wide pandemics, a 62% decrease
in the world’s population, a full seven meter ocean rise, and current
domination by the WME.

“You’re not going to run off and try to kill this group of
clone soldiers?” Dorian asked.

Dina stopped; she was taken aback. “No, I had a long
talk…with myself,” she said softly. “I wasn’t even going to kill the ones
arriving in Sacramento. I was going to have a van bring them here and test them
in our labs; maybe modify them, like you suggested last week. I thought you had
already gotten rid of them when they didn’t show up at the off-load dock. I
thought maybe they were already all dead. It’s why I was so friggin pissed off
at you. Why do you have that stupid smile on your face?”

“It’s just that I was certain you would wish to eliminate
Gimlet’s boyfriend. It is why I sent them to #5. I knew they would be
relatively safe…from you, Dina,” Dorian said.

“Safe from me; you thought I’d harm my own daughter, or her
boyfriend? Okay, you are right. I’ve been obsessed; I know that now. I’ve done
horrible things for revenge. But, you are right. Revenge won’t bring Dad back,
and these clones are innocent, maybe not even dangerous. But be sure to check
them all Dorian. You check this Chad Yac guy too; promise me! I don’t want
Gimlet in any danger. And we don’t want mass killings, even in #5; well,
especially in #5.” Dina sat down next to Dorian at the control unit.

“Yes, especially in #5; they may be necessary for the
revolution, when it happens, if it happens.” Dorian hugged his wife then pulled
up a vid from the pedestrian entry portal of bubble-stop #5, showing their
daughter standing among a group of clone soldiers.