Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III (23 page)

But in his Opus penthouse in Hong Kong, Leo Songtain was
screaming at his house staff. He was dancing around on his perfect tiny little
white feet doing what the staff called his
prancing pansy
routine,
behind his back of course. He’d just sent a very happy but impatient Max off,
once they’d finished a quick run-over of the day’s economic enhancement
strategy. He told Max, yes, to the monopoly on Nutria-blend, Inc., but nixed
the acquisition of a custom Ferrari race track on the outskirts of Hong Kong.
In a grand gesture of charity, Leo told Max to take those track stocks for
himself; he could use them to build his retirement.

Max left humming some weird pirate song, “Ho, Ho, Ho, or something
like that; he sang off-key.

Leo was in his outer penthouse office, sitting behind his Koa
wood desk, in his red silk day robe. Rose reclined on her private satin bed in
the corner of Leo’s inner living room, in front of a wall sized screen,
watching vids of the most beautiful dogs in the world contest. Next to her were
three silver platters containing Iberian ham, ice cold purified water, and more
raw Kobe beef.

Rose already knew Roxanne was coming for her. Dorian just
told her most everything about the plan, through the bot-com tattoo on her ear.
Rose would miss the food. Job food was nothing like this. But it was usually
calmer. From the outer rooms, she could hear Leo screaming,

“I need an orchid tattoo! Get me the best in the business,
now. I want this place cleaned from top to bottom, and take that Roxanne bounty
poster off the ceiling. I don’t want her seeing it. What kind of flowers does
she like? What are her favorite foods? What does she like to wear? What does
she do for hobbies? What’s her favorite color? Find out, now! Paint the whole
place in her favorite colors.

Oh, and get me all the Charlotte Bronte books, and ten
copies of
Jane Eyre
. No, find me the original!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                         
                         
21

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

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

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

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

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

Rose had an idea about that
one more thing
.

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

He told her he was in security.

She told him she was in transportation.

He asked for her bot-com code.

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

Ah, the polyamorous life!

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

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

The door security chimed. She was here!

Leo froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think he has any idea yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leo, on his part, still seemed to be rooted to the floor,
dumb struck. After fifteen seconds, he managed to blurt out a single word,
“Drink?”

“Yes, thanks; what’s the key for?” Roxanne took the drink
from Leo, careful not to touch him or spill the drink on her black
leather-gloved hands. She walked around the room, examining for vids, drones,
false walls, and especially safes. She needed to get access to Leo’s famous
safe. Roxanne had been briefed on its location.

According to Dorian, it was on a far wall next to the bed in
the back, unfortunately in his bedroom. The location was not optimal. She might
have to improvise. If necessary she’d sting him with garble juice and ketamine,
using the tiny device she carried in the side of her boot. But she hated to do
that because she only had two, and you never knew when they’d come in handy for
her future escape.

“Key,” was all Leo managed to say. He was still in grad
student geek mode; back when he was a student, moping around behind her,
admiring her from a distance, but painfully monosyllabic.

“Yes, it’s a key. I can see that, Leo. But, what does it
open? Would you like to show me something?” Leo looked blankly at the hand
holding the key and jumped slightly, like he’d been given a shot of CEO
motivational medication, something he often used before a public speaking
engagement.

“Oh yes, show you, I can do that.” Leo handed Roxanne the
key and pointed to his bedroom door.

“So, you don’t waste any time. Same old Leo, I can see. You’re
very clever, Leo; trying to get me into your sack by offering me some magical
key. Well, I don’t think so. Rose goes, I stay. But, what happens when I stay
here with you, and for how long, depends on if you can be a good boy.” Roxanne
handed the key back to Leo, and looked directly into his eyes, lowered her
sunglasses just enough for him to get a peek, and then she re-covered her eyes.

Leo fainted.

And Max fainted; but not at the same time or place.

He had just finished his last turn around the track, while
decelerating to slow enough for a safe drive back into the van. Of course he
had a special van commissioned to transport his baby to and from the track. No
way would he drive it in Hong Kong, on normal up top streets. It would get
pulverized on the first trip, or the wheels would melt in the heat.

Max did manage to get as far as the ramp to the van; then
everything went black for about ten seconds. “I wonder if it was the heat.” Max
mumbled to himself when he came to. The track was, after all, up top, and even
though it was at night, it was not protected from the global warming version of
Hong Kong. Max was used to a more controlled environment in the upper
management zone tunnels.

“I’ve got to have this track covered and temperature
controlled.” Max commed his assistant to check the costs, drove onto the ramp,
and into the temperature-controlled van, and walked back to his waiting and
cool limo.

“Where to, sir?” his driver asked. “Take me to my bank. And,
next time keep the champagne cooler.” Max complained all the way to his bank.
He was feeling hot and dizzy.

On the way, he set up the order to have the track covered
and temperature controlled, and then he sent out the initial IPO for his new Ferrari
track options, after checking that the Triad got their cut. Once at the bank’s
underground parking facility, he exited the limo into the enviro-tunnel, and
rode the robo-tram to the vault building of the Hong Kong International
Managers Bank. He was scanned, DNA typed, and buzzed into the lobby.

“Good evening, sir. I hope you have not been outside. You
look hot; can I get you a cool drink? Would you like to visit your vault
today?” A bot-receptionist asked, while keying in Max’s personal data.

“Yes, ice water, and I’ll need access to my major vaults,
and a private room,” Max replied.

“Of course, sir,” the robot replied. The door buzzed open
and Max stepped inside, where another robot handed him a glass of ice water and
directed him to the vault.

Max needed access to his supply of gold vouchers for the Triad
deal. He hated to part with any of his wealth but if he wanted Roxanne Smoot
dead, it would cost him. It would cost him big time. Max knew that going into
the deal.