Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III (27 page)

After his bite-a-bit landing, Michael ran to the exit portal
to avoid the possibility that the next passing rig might decide to take the
turnaround and squash him. He used his fake #5 ID to gain entry, and pushed
open the rarely used portal, stepping into bubble-stop #5 proper, or as
referred to by everyone else on the planet…
the void
.

At around the same time, the merger session was wrapping up
back at Leo’s Board Room. He’d gained full control of the North Korean
Federation for Neurological Organ Regeneration, and was arguing with his new North
Korean CEO partner about what to rename the organization. Several weeks back
Leo had commissioned a focus group of 50 CEOs, worldwide, to come up with seven
acronyms to run by the group, at a cost of thirteen billion gold vouchers. It
was worth it for the name recognition. Salty acronyms brought in customers and
it didn’t matter what they meant. You always picked the acronym first then
thought up a name that matched.

They narrowed the decision down to two, NOPE for
Neurological Organ Progress Enterprises, and Leo’s favorite, BORE, for Brain
Organs Regeneration Enterprises. Leo had already approved the product slogan,
“Life
is never a bore with BORE.”
That little jingle cost him another thirteen
billion gold vouchers to an elite ad agency out of New York.

Just before the voting and debate Roxanne nudged Leo,
indicating she had to go to the toilet. “Leo, I’ve got to visit the ladies’
room. I’ll just stay out in the lobby until you finish.” Leo smiled at Roxanne,
squeezed her arm, and chimed a female assistant who immediately appeared, white
linen napkin over her arm, causing Roxanne to wonder if she planned on using
that napkin on her, and where. Luckily, it really didn’t matter because Roxanne
didn’t even plan to visit that toilet. She’d been scouting out her exit
strategy, and with Leo uber-involved in acronyms, it seemed an ideal time to
vacate the premises.

“Roxanne, this is,” Leo glanced at the assistant’s name tag,
“this is a -85 level assistant who will be at your service for the day. Use her
however you wish.” Roxanne exited the meeting, following the nameless -85.

She marched behind the serious-faced assistant, who tottered
on three inch red sequined,
Wizard of Oz
shoes, down the marble hallway,
turned the corner left, and continued. “So how long have you been working here?”
Roxanne made small-talk, wanting to distract her toilet-napkin lady.

“Oh, I just started last month. We work our way up through
each unit in the Inc. Right now, I’ve been assigned to the Employee Hygiene
Department for the first six years.”

The assistant almost twisted her ankle as she negotiated the
turn down one hallway to the next. “So did you have to train for the job?”
Roxanne asked, taking in the fact that the building lacked windows, but did
have emergency fire exits, and what looked like small laundry chutes; but the
former would set off alarms, so she nixed that idea. She’d be taking a laundry
chute.

“Yes, I went to undergrad at Tokyo University, then to the
Business and Employee Motivational Program at Harvard for my Master’s degree. After
that I had to attend the Monterey Language Business Program to learn those
three required languages, and then get my PhD, in Human Resources, of course. I
speak Mandarin, English, and de droite loop-speak.”

The assistant spoke with pride, that weird mix of confusion
and terror, and like she was always asking a question at the end of each
sentence. It was the tone now found in all the speech patterns of new
employees.

“That’s great. You must be happy. I’ll bet the competition
was huge. How many applicants were there for your position?” Roxanne asked,
noting that one of those laundry chutes was stationed just outside the door to
the ladies’ room.

“About twenty thousand, I would guess. That’s the usual
number now. Plus, they don’t even interview you until you’ve finished all your
training. If you don’t get hired you still have those loans to pay back for the
training, although now you can work them off by selling yourself at the slave
markets. That became legal three years ago to protect the banker’s investments.”
The -85 assistant led Roxanne to the ladies’ room and opened the door.

Roxanne bent down, pretending to scratch her knee, and
retrieved her second knockout dart, this one with a double dose of ketamine and
garble juice. “Does the job pay well?” Roxanne asked after she’d palmed the
dart and set the little switch on the side to the
on
position.

“Yes, very well. I have enough for my own sleep capsule at
the employee residence next door, and to purchase my meal vouchers here. But, I
took on quite a debt because I had to do an unpaid internship for 24 months,
then do volunteer work with the Inc. for another 36 months before they’d add me
to their interview list. But, I was an alternate on the permanent temp
interview list for the entire time I was a volunteer. It’s really an honor to
be on any permanent temp list. Wow, I mean only ten percent gets on that list.
And permanent temps get the best volunteer positions. Plus, now that I have a
real temp position, I’ll be able to pay off my loans before I retire…unless
they let me go.” The -85 level assistant continued standing by the door to the
ladies’ room, but stepped aside so that Roxanne could enter and use the toilet.

It was the extravagant one meant for visitors.

 “I’m sort of embarrassed to ask, but can you come in with
me? I’m just a rig-ryder; I always get confused with how to use those bidets,”
Roxanne said, just before she entered the room. She’d had time to notice the
bidet in the corner.

“They’re voice activated, Ms. Smoot. You just speak into the
bidet and it tells you what to do next,” the -85 level assistant replied. “Oh,
okay, I’ll just go ask Leo to see if he can show me.”

“No! I mean, yes of course I’ll show you, Ms Smoot.” She’d be
fired if Roxanne went to Leo for help. The assistant followed Roxanne into the
room. It was the last thing she remembered before everything went black. She
woke up three hours later motor-mouthing nonstop about a shoe sale at the
Lane’s.

Roxanne was not there when she woke up; she’d exited the
toilet right after that assistant passed out, and was gently placed by Roxanne,
inside one of the stalls, with one of Leo Songtain’s large diamonds in her bra;
a gift from that safe heist. Roxanne peeked out the door to be sure the hallway
was empty, opened the laundry chute door, and slid inside and down the tube.

Unfortunately it was not a laundry chute; IT ENDED IN A
GIANT PAPER SHREDDER.   

                                                                                     
23

“WHAT’S THE PAPER SHREDDER FOR?” Michael Segev was standing just
inside the entry to #5 proper, after Morton dropped him off; he was talking to
Jason Yac and his reunited wife Jena Yac, who was carrying a large and ancient
hand-operated paper shredder.

“It’s for that formula, Michael. You know we can’t keep a
paper version here. It could get stolen.” Jason signaled for Michael to follow
him into the security entry region. The security slime oozed over them while
they continued their conversation.

“So I went to all this trouble getting the formula to have
you destroy it? That sounds logical, actually. What’s your plan?” Michael and
the two other Yac clones stood together inside the plasmon bubble getting
checked for whatever you were supposed to get checked for to enter bubble-stop #5.
God knows, it wasn’t for the possibility of viral or bacterial contamination…not
in #5.

“Here’s the deal Segev, we have two brain-stored versions of
the formula, one here, and one someplace else on the planet, by somebody, and
in someplace unknown to Leo. And for safety sake, it’s better if you are both
originals; as in one of the original clone soldiers. You guys are fairly
invincible, in my opinion.” Jason and the other Yac clones were not older
version clone soldiers, but were almost as dangerous, thus the less respectful
use of Segev rather than Michael Segev, sir.

“I see. I’m the traveling version. Who’s the on-site
version? No, don’t tell me. Did Dorian store Stephen here in #5? Where is that
old guy? I haven’t seen Stephen since the Las Vegas games.” Michael glanced
quickly at the formula, memorizing all twenty pages in fifteen seconds, a
benefit of being one of the original four clones. He’d be able to recite it,
write it down, call up any page, or even read it backwards, forever. Well,
until he was dead anyway. And that could be over two hundred years from now.

“Yes, how did you guess? Oh right, there are only four and
you all started in the same lab,” Jason replied as they continued to be checked
by the security drones. “It was Stephen’s idea to use the originals. The WME is
sure you were all killed at the Las Vegas games, back twenty years ago. Leo
would suspect one of us newer-cloned versions, immediately. It’s public
knowledge we still exist. But the WME has you four marked as dead. So Stephen
said we should store the formula inside his head, and you have already stored
it in yours. He’s the mayor here,” Chad went on.

“How did Stephen get here, in #5?” Michael asked. “After Las
Vegas, Dorian helped him get away. He’s been hiding out here, away from Dina
Nampeyo, for ages. Anyway, I checked and he’s listed as terminated in all the
data-banks. He’ll be our stationary formula, and you’ll be the away version,”
Jason added.

“Yes, good plan,” Michael replied. “We give Leo Songtain his
formula, hand-written on official bubble-stop #5 letterhead, and tell him about
the other two brain versions.” Michael thought for a second, and then said,
“Yes, that way when he gets his formula back for whatever obscene amount of
vouchers you will demand, he won’t just pull the backwash tubes out and flood
this bubble-stop with seawater, like the last time. He’ll have Stephen as proof
that we have a memorized version, and me as a threat. If he starts to flood you
here, I blab the formula all over the bot-sat net; a workable plan. But, you’ll
have to do the face meet yourself, because they do think Stephen is dead. Do
you have recall?” Michael asked.

“Yes, though not as good as yours; Chad or I will meet
whoever Leo sends in for confirmation. I think that should be Max Peabody. I
understand you have issues with him. Dorian says you’ll know what to do when
the time comes,” Jason finished as they left the security slime behind.
“Definitely,” was all Michael replied.

Michael handed the paper to Jason, and when the plasmon ooze
slimed completely off, the com voice said, “
Welcome to bubble-stop #5, and
have a nice day.”
Once past the security port, they fed the paper with
Leo’s formula for the
Stem-wads
® into the paper shredder, burned the
residuals, then they continued on to their meeting with Stephen. Michael
followed his fellow clones through the town, wondering how Roxanne was doing.

Roxanne Smoot was not having a nice day inside that giant
paper shredder chute. She had made the mistake of taking the quick route directly
down the tube, and was now trying to wiggle her way back up to that side entry
she’d noticed on the way down. She’d only just been able to stop her descent
before hitting the shredder, and the crotch of her black leather pants looked
like they’d undergone oral sex with a toucan.

She used all four limbs to stop her descent, lowered her
long neck to her ear, and ripped off an earring, tearing her lobe in the
process. The earring contained an ampule of sticky glue, used by rebels to
attach to smooth walls, like the current ones in the chute. Dorian presented
the earrings  to her as a birthday present when she was thirteen years old.
She’d always thought his presents were a bit weird, until now.

“Shit, I would have to end up trying to escape from a legal
building, probably the only place still paranoid enough to use real paper
copies,” Roxanne mumbled to herself, as she bit a hole in the ampule. She
couldn’t even com Dorian for help because everyone knew legal buildings were
security shielded. It was why Dorian had not been able to help her find a
better exit.

Roxanne used her tongue, managing to wipe some of the
earring goo onto her gloved right hand; immediately stopping her from slipping
down the chute wall, and giving her the ability to free the other hand to grab
the wall of the side-chute above her. The entire process took her over ten
minutes, and she was sure Leo would send someone to check on her in the ladies’
room. He didn’t, because once she’d left the board room, his mind zapped back into
CEO-think, and because the entire Board still could not come to a consensus on
that acronym.

After wiggling up the side, leaving one black leather glove
stuck to the side of the chute, Roxanne was finally able to shimmy into the
side chute and crawl to an exit. She had no idea where it led, plus her ripped
ear lobe was bleeding all over her remaining glove. She kept wishing Michael
was there to help her.

Michael followed Jason and his wife Jena down a back alley,
into what was called the outer zone of bubble-stop #5. He thought he’d been all
over this particular bubble-stop, even to that very strange area where
they
lived, in the lower back zone. But apparently, this region was a resident’s
only neighborhood. He followed Jason and Jena to what appeared to be a small
cottage, noticing as he followed that the two must have come from different clonal
batches. While Jason looked almost exactly like Chad Yac, Jena Yac had
strawberry blond, long, straight hair, pale skin, and glowing blue eyes. But like
all clones, both male and female, she was a perfect stunner. The Clone Inc.
figured there would be no market for an ugly clone.

“Stephen is inside. He’s anxious to see you again, Michael.
He wants to personally thank you for your part in saving us. Plus, I guess the
two of you were conditioned together, on Andros, right? He’s an original, like
you and Dorian, oh and Sebastian from New Zealand. I guess that makes four of
you. Are there others?” Chad asked as he knocked on the front door of what
looked like a California bungalow.

“No, no others. The facility at Andros only made four
prototypes. Dorian calls us the four horsemen of the anti-apocalypse. I didn’t
even know Stephen was still alive. He and I, and Sebastian, grew up and trained
as security clone soldiers, together at that facility. Our purpose was to
protect Dorian. They only made one of Dorian, as a prototype,” Michael
responded, looking like he’d called up some fairly painful memories.

“I understand, Sebastian as protector for the free zone in
New Zealand and Australia, Stephen for the undocumented, Dorian for the rebels,
and you protect the Israel free zone,” Jason replied.

“That’s about it, yes,” Michael said softly, knocking on the
door. Stephen opened the door, and gazed into familiar eyes; the eyes of his
clone brother from the lab that had been the Andros Island Human Cloning
Facility, before Dorian turned off the water pumps and let the ocean submerge that
hell hole.

Sometime later, after Stephen and Michael discussed the
current issues with the free zones, but tried not to relive old times, and after
Michael and Stephen set up a long-term survival plan for the new generation of
clones who would now be residing in #5, Michael left the bubble-stop heading
west, back to Tokyo on a hover bike, taking the side section next to the
tracks. From there he took one of those unmarked hoverjets on to Hong Kong. He
was not seen again for many months in #5, as per normal Michael Segev. But he
was no longer worried, because like Dorian with his rebels, Stephen, an
original clone soldier, could guard this new generation of clones for the next
two hundred years.

Back at Stem-Worm® Inc. Headquarters, Leo wrapped up The Board
meeting, having acquired the North Korean Neuro-regen Inc. business, now called
BORE, his choice of acronym. His marketing assistants were elated, the Koreans
were happy, and Leo was anxious to get back to Roxanne. This deal would give Leo
a stranglehold on the world brain regen business, making him one of the richest
men on the planet, and aiding in his bragging rights with Roxanne. Speaking of
which, where was she, was she alright, and had that -85 underling taken proper
care of her?

Leo shook hands or bowed, whichever was culturally correct,
and exited the meeting with Max dragging behind him. “What’s the matter with
you, Max? You look like you’ve been sucking on neuro-pops. Are you taking
illegals? I hope not; you know the Inc. stance on use of illegals by counselors
during business deals. There is absolutely no use of illegals while negotiating
contracts,” Leo whispered to Max, once they’d safely entered The Peabody inner
offices, and once Leo had dismissed Bitbuns, Max’s latest toy.

Leo could never understand Max’s penchant for his toys,
cars, sex slaves; they were all simple monetary purchases. What was the point?
I mean, if you could buy whatever you wanted, what was the point? Leo preferred
an unattainable challenge, like time travel or Roxanne Smoot.

“I must apologize, Mr Songtain. I believe I’ve contracted
something of the viral nature. I know, it is almost impossible given the
current legal counsel immunization protocol, but I believe this is a matter of
industrial espionage.” Max was writing fiction as he went. He had no idea why
he felt so bad given that he’d been drinking the prescribed CEO nutria-blend.

“
Maybe it’s only good for real CEOs,
” he thought. And
with that revelation, Max went home for a five-hour sabbatical, deciding to drink
only the upper management counselor-designated nutria-blend for the duration. And
while he was home, he firmed up that little scheme to ensure Roxanne’s demise. It
would cost him a bundle, but was business expediency. Upon returning, he
appeared his old heinous self, except for those grey hairs, the ache in his
back, and what he also noticed…his slightly blurred vision. But he had to
wrestle his old job back from his assistant, who had already taken over his
office and his Bitbuns.

“Industrial espionage; well, that would explain it. Some
competing Inc. wants to mess with my latest acquisition and merger plans.
That’s it! Max, take some time off. Our competitors are trying to mess with me.
Go to that motivational retreat on Bora Bora, or something. Your assistant will
take over. I’ve already spoken with him.” Leo stalked from the room, almost
bumping into the chief of building security, who had run up from the basement
to tell him, in person, that the paper shredder was jammed with a black leather
glove, and that Roxanne Smoot was missing.

 “Fix it! And, find her!” Leo commanded the guard, and
headed to his office. He passed the women’s toilet on the way and paused,
knocking on the door softly, “Roxanne, love of my life; are you still busy in
there?”

When he got no answer, he motioned to one of the female
assistants; she was a level -3, thus much more reliable than that -85
underling. “Go inside. If Roxanne Smoot is there, do not bother her. If she is
not, inform me
protinus
.”

“Yes sir, I will tell you if there is anyone named Proteus
in the ladies’ room.”

“No, not…oh I’ll do it,” Leo stammered, and opened the door
to the ladies’ room, immediately setting off an alarm, which was always
officially installed in every toilet, by the Morals that Matter Committee of
the WME, to blast a signal to official International Headquarters, when
gender-limited rooms had been breached.

Leo had just enough time to notice the prone -85 assistant on
the floor inside a stall, before he slammed the door shut, pointing at one of
the male assistants, when the guards arrived. The poor fellow would be
flash-frozen for six months, for violation of the Morals that Matter Code,
Human Resources would put one of those “marks” on his resume, and when he was
thawed, he’d be one of those Aberdeen tunnel dwellers for life.

To ease Leo’s conscience after the whole ordeal, the -85
assistant was given an entry level real job in Human Resources, as a level 2 in
paper elimination. When she changed her bra that night, she found the diamond,
and bought her own special luxury living capsule, with a life time fitness
membership at the Harbor Hong Kong Supreme Living Capsule Condominiums. It came
with a yearly trip to Fiji to attend the “
Be a Super-fit Employee
”
workshop.

And back at the Aberdeen tunnel, Rose was getting antsy
despite that yummy German shepherd, Darcy Segev. The place was well-stocked with
doggie food balls of every variety, but was quite cramped, and both she and her
paramour smelled terribly of sex.