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SMASHWORDS COPY
All Rights Reserved ©2011 SMASHWORDS and ALISIA COMPTON Publications. First Printing: 2012. The editorial arrangement, analysis and professional commentary are subject to this copyright notice. No portion of this book may be copied, retransmitted, reposted, duplicated, or otherwise used without the express written approval of the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
United States laws and regulations are public domain and not subject to copyright. Any unauthorized copying, reproduction, translation, or distribution of any part of this material without permission by the author is prohibited and against the law.
Any resemblance to characters living or dead is purely coincidental.
Continuing reading at the end of this novel for a sneak peak at the sequel: Lobotomy
To Key, You are greatly missed.
“Death gives meaning to our lives.” Ray Kurzweil
Chapter 1
With a soft glow, traffic passed by the window, moving over my skin and touching my eyelids. In a way it was as if the world had changed, shifted and maneuvered itself so that I had a clear view of it all. The plates shifted, causing bodies of water to flow between them, like Pangaea to the modern world, an ancient history lesson bore itself into my brain and then suddenly the light was in my eyes and I’d woken up.
Indeed the medicinal apparatus had become twisted during the night and cut off my supply. Only something was different as I’d had a vision and I couldn’t shake it. My mouth tasted first like metal and then like chalk. Protocol told me to disentangle, to return to slumber, but I needed a drink and to cleanse the acrid taste from my mouth. No matter, the drugs had spilled up into the tube and pooled in the middle of the hose, shooting out and piling up, unable to continue flowing. It would be dangerous to use it again. I had two choices, lay there suffering or hydrate.
The empty house offered up the memory of the unoccupied expanse of The Factory hallways I’d moved down a thousand times before. Only instead of motivational posters, the walls were littered with digital images depicting moments throughout Darren and Amelia’s life together. At the end of the hallway they were dark and still, but as I moved they came to life around me, Darren and Amelia dancing at their wedding, followed by Darren and Amelia standing Cliffside, surveying some vast land in another country. Their shining, smiling faces were a testament to a happy marriage, something only captured in a photograph.
The house was dark, but my internal senses guided me past their things, signifying that I’d adjusted well enough to my new surroundings. The kitchen quietly came alive as I stepped through the threshold, nearing the sink. The water disrupted the sereneness as it shot from the tap. The sound of it drumming onto the stainless steel basin was alien at such a late hour. The counter turned, alerted by the pouring water. It revealed to me a choice of dishes, from which I selected an aluminum mug. It gleaned under the kitchen’s phosphorescent, liquid cooling LED’s.
The vision came whirling back to me in that moment, cutting through my perception of the room and dimming it in a way. Something about the room was causing the memory of the dream to occupy my mind and take over. It was the same familial space from my dream and I was caught up in a vision of Amelia sinking to the floor and there was something else too, something horrible. Panic gripped me and it was difficult to work through it and cast the dream away to find myself again in the mundane chore of having a drink in the middle of the night. No matter how I tried, the emotion of it would not dissipate, but eventually the images floated by and I was able to assimilate myself to my surroundings once again.
Until now there hadn’t been any dreams, but I’d known they existed somewhere in my subconscious. I poured quickly, only allowing into the cup what I knew would satiate my thirst. Once the valve was closed, the house returned to its former idle state so that when Darren’s foot set itself down in the hallway, I immediately heard him. I could tell by the intensity of the creek which one of them was coming into the kitchen. He weighed exactly ninety pounds more than Amelia did. Judging by the sound, the deep pinch of the floorboards, I knew it was Darren.
There wasn’t time to back away without first alerting him, so I held my position and formulated a greeting. He meandered into the kitchen with little grace, stumbling over a partition between the rooms. I’d lived there three short weeks and could navigate the house in complete darkness, but with the kitchen light on Darren could not making it into the room without first injuring himself.
“Good evening, Darren. I hope I didn’t disturb your slumber.”
“Baby,” he said, reaching for me with fumbling tan arms and long fingers. “What are you doing out of bed so late?”
Conditional response, category Inappropriate Contact – “Code ^e68 of the Responsible Clone Ownership Guide clearly states that any personal touching between clone and Superior is prohibited. These acts include hugging, kissing, caressing…”
Darren quickly dropped my arms, which pickled and caused the individual hairs where his hands had been to stand on end. He was disoriented, as humans often feel fatigued and distressed when they awake suddenly in the middle of the night. The moment had grown powerful and I regretted reprimanding him so.
“Okay Twelve,” he said, retreating a step backward. “I thought you were Amelia. I’m terribly tired.”
“Can I assist you in any way, Darren?”
They’d asked that I call them by their first names the day I arrived, finely packaged in a purple hemp suit with long hair that was cut short on the second day, to help avoid confusion. I happily obliged to refer to them by their first names. I liked the way their names drifted off my tongue and the time it saved to drop the formalities.
“How can I help you relax,” I asked, after he did not respond to my first question. As logical as my questions were, Darren’s reaction was odd as he cast tired eyes on me, first dancing them around my ankles and then rolling them up my body and finally landing on my eyes. His dark features were handsome, even in the middle of the night with a tired sag around his brown eyes and his thin lips. There was a harmony to his features, although he was not traditionally good looking, there was consistency about him and that coupled with his intelligence was what made him desirable to women.
“What are you doing out of bed so late, Twelve? You know nothing good ever happens after midnight.”
“I needed a drink,” I answered, awkwardly. The cup had been returned to the counter and it disappeared into one of its many working spaces underneath, to be silently cleaned and then returned to its position on the driver. My eyes were firmly trained on the counter, in order to avoid meeting Darren’s intense gaze. Electronic things had it so easy, they could assist people in their activities, but they weren’t called on to answer for their actions. They operated without suspicion, even after midnight.
“Curious,” Darren said, still eye balling me. He stood in his underwear, with socks pulled up around his shins. His brown eyes were trained on me, and it was quite clear I needed to retire from his presence as things were becoming weird.
“I’ve had a glass of water and with your permission I’ll return to my quarters.”
“You’ve got it, Twelve. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
“Twelve, wait…”
“Yes?”
As difficult as he was to read, I thought for sure he would grab me by the hand and pull my body to his. It seemed he may kiss me or hug me tightly. There was something suddenly softened about his gaze and if he had taken me in his arms, I wasn’t sure I could stop him. These moments between us, the heat was becoming more frequent, but it was the ultimate rule to break. I cautioned myself, and visibly stiffened.
“Nevermind. Good night.”
Disappointed with myself, I retreated to my bedroom, but it was too dangerous to reengage the medicinal apparatus. Under the moonlight the petals of a bromeliad looked soft and lovely, a turnaround from their daytime bitterness. The flower was unfolded and it twisted and leaned toward the window, but bowed slightly in a nod back to me. I lay awake for as long as possible, hoping to watch its petals refold themselves and return to strict buds protected by long, harsh leaves and flashy bracts. Before this could happen, sleep grasped me and I returned to a heavy, now dreamless slumber.
Chapter 2
Dinner never went as planned in the Star household, with their proclivity to eating in the elements, surrounded by nature’s flying creatures in the backyard. For them, eating in the backyard was quite a natural thing, especially to Amelia who was pleased to eat closest to where we spent our afternoons with hands saturated in damp earth.
In the first days Amelia was like a nurturing mother, guiding my hands and showing me what to do. It wasn’t long before we settled into a routine and could work side by side immersed in the earth. I’d help her out of her wheelchair and she’d sit awkwardly beside me, her leg encased and unable to bend. Looking at her was like staring into a living, breathing mirror, although she was quite weathered from her illness and my skin was younger and tighter than hers. I tried to distinguish myself in those first days, on instinct, but that did not last long as both she and Darren encouraged me to be like her.
“Hold your fork like this,” she said, raising her index finger and allowing it to hover over its base. I watched her for a moment, before finding her way more comfortable and adopting it for my own.
“Twelve,” she said, with familiar shining blue eyes. “Have I passed on a deep rooted love of vegetation to you? You know, through my DNA?”
What could I say to appease her and not upset her? Most of her DNA transferred into my body to make up my biological parts, but I was only the same in looks and mannerisms. So much of what makes a person is determined by experience and upbringing. She grew up on a farm in the Midwest. I was born four years ago in The Factory and there weren’t many similarities between us. I had no preference over the work I did. The flourishing garden was a reward for service well-done, as it grew in near perfect rows and the thick squash showed we’d done our job well. I’d be just as satisfied with a clean lavatory.
Amelia wanted desperately to know that she’d created me, that I was like her in every way. It didn’t make a difference to me, but I lived to please her and so I thought about all of the chores I did for her. After weighing my experience in the garden against organizing and sanitizing, I could not say for sure I had a favorite at all. There was nothing to truly love about any of it.
“Your genes certainly carry a strong work ethic, and for that I am very grateful.”
Amelia and Darren both snickered from behind their forks. “Twelve,” she said, while sipping the red stuff. “Do you like your name?”
Darren turned furrowed brown eyebrows on her, not wanting to hear the story of her trip to The Factory and my subsequent birth. They’d had their choice of names, but Amelia had settled on Twelve, as I was their twelfth attempt and in The Factory I was referred to only as AS12 – Amelia Star, twelfth attempt, successful clone.
“What,” she asked Darren, with bated inflection. “She doesn’t mind talking about it! Do you Twelve?”
I shook my head, a habitual response when she looked as if she wanted to continue speaking. “Besides,” she carried on. “I have to be certain she likes it. She’s still quite new and if she’d prefer another name, I’ll give her one. Any name you want, Twelve. You have your pick. We could look at a list and see if any strike your fancy?”
Automated Response, category Unlawful Acts – “Names are to be determined and created at the discretion of a clone’s superiors. This name can be changed or altered for a period of one year from a clone’s inception. If you would like to change a clone’s name simply state the date and the name clearly to the clone in language he or she can understand. Under no circumstances will a clone name themselves, pursuant to code ^a02. Would you like me to recite the code for you?”
Amelia starred at me in wide eyed wonderment, before bursting into laughter. A raised eyebrow from Darren caused her boisterous guffaws to descend to a slight giggle before she quieted completely. Her hands were ice cold on my skin, but I still appreciated her quick squeeze and wished for her hand to linger on mine a while longer, but it didn’t. In those first days, she seemed to always be guiding my hands with hers. She touched a lot then, but no longer. The red stuff invaded her sincerity and made her sad and happy, miserable and elated, hateful and loving. With her constant waves of emotion, she no longer reached for me for any extended period of time.
“It’s amazing how much you’ve memorized, but you can start forgetting it any day now,” she told me, with cursory blue eyes. “The first versions were cast off. I wasn’t sure if any of me would take in one of you.”
“Not this again,” Darren said, as he danced his fork across his plate. His dark eyes would cloud over when she angered him. He would sulk and sneer and eventually go back to work for a late night. On those nights Amelia stayed up, sipping the red stuff until long after I went to sleep. I worried for her on those nights. I did not want this to be one of those nights.
“She likes this story,” Amelia snapped back, and she was quite right, I did like the story. “The first eleven were determined unfit for whatever reason and I started to wonder if I’d have a clone at all. Not to mention all the human tissue going to waste over one ear out of place or a lack of a tongue. Number ten would not adapt to Nano-learning devices. She was slow and that never would have worked.”
“I’ve seen that before,” I returned, helping her with her story. “I have a memory of those first days. Of course I don’t remember the first day, the day I breathed on my own, but I have a memory and it feels like the first time I opened my eyes. There were other tubes around me, with small windows like the one I had. The random screams from other cases would wake me up. It was blathering and nothing would silence it. Then the matter within would explode. Pop! It splashed red viscera against the steel casing and I’d see the red splotches and hear the faint popping noise again, before scientists in white lab coats would rush to the tube and start making little notes on their devices. I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I have the picture in my head now.”
“You’re very clever,” Darren offered. “Dr. Rubbins was the scientist assigned to that lab and Dr. Jenkins. Those were likely who you saw. Very serious gentlemen, with their yellow gadgets and grim faces…”
“They didn’t think you would make it,” Amelia started again. “They thought you were too quiet. Little did they know…the quiet ones are the smart ones.”
Amelia laughed and I smiled as Darren tried to recapture the stoic faces of his colleagues as they scribbled their notes onto their tablets. Only he couldn’t capture their seriousness, even with his dark brown eyes and mid-tone skin. He was betrayed by his youthful looks and tan, strong features. Those scientists had been old men with deep wrinkles, pale skin and unrelenting scowls. They did not treat me like a person, not the way Darren and Amelia did.
“I remembered the tubes sliding open after they left and the robotic arms would descend from the side of it and moments later the entire mess would be cleaned up. Of course, then I had no idea what was happening and the action was almost elating after hours of just lying there surrounded by the soft hum of machines.”
I wouldn’t share it with Amelia and Darren, but even as clone matter exploded in casings around me, I didn’t feel fear as I lay in my own apparatus. Those robotic arms did not scare me and neither did the devices they implanted, the ones that slowly brought me to life. It was almost as if I knew. I knew I was going to make it, and if I didn’t, what would it have mattered anyway? I’d have never known the difference really.
“You were special,” Amelia continued, with a deep sigh. “You made it, just when I was about to give up. You made it. You are a perfect genetic match with a strong enough code to be fully implemented. When you took your chips, every one of us clapped, even Darren. It was a glorious moment for all of us.”
It wasn’t glorious for me, as the change was overwhelming at first and the scientists poked and prodded me constantly. They kept me on a brightly lit table and strapped me down, covering my mouth to stifle the shouting. It got easier, but things are still so fresh and as the days passed the memories seemed to not fade at all.
They moved with fluidity that I did not share. Amelia picked up a glass, moved it to her lips and with her free hand she shook away a strand of loose hair. Darren moved food around his plate with a fork and used his free hand to strike the glass of the table, pulling up stocks and sport’s scores. I simply sat there, holding my fork clumsily in my hand, just the way Amelia had suggested. I shoveled food into my mouth with harsh, unaccustomed movements that I forced in order to not take a bite at the same time Amelia did. It felt wrong copying her, even if it they encouraged it.
I was suddenly overcome with a rush of gratitude. They acclimated to my naiveté. They created me and they were proud of my accomplishments. Amelia looked at me with her deep, blue eyes and something registered there, as if she could sense my gratitude. She smiled at me between sips of the red stuff and I smiled back, daring to meet and linger in her eyes. There was no moment in the Star household that progressed the way I was told it would, but there were many moments where that just didn’t matter to any of us.
But, just as quickly as those shining moments came they would disappear in an instance of hot tempers. It was my cup Amelia spilled as she was gripped in sentiment. I tried to stop it, cringing as her hand, littered in environmental contaminants nicked my glass and it toppled over. My movements were too slow. It was impossible to prevent its contents from spilling and drenching our napkins. I made to clean up the mess, but her hand caught my wrist and was even colder this time. Its grip on me was not so tender as before, so I wasn’t disappointed when she just as quickly let it go.
“Twelve,” she said, while Darren looked on with a slight irritation. “Sit down. I knocked it over, I’ll clean it up.”
“You wouldn’t knock things over constantly if you weren’t so drunk.”
She ignored Darren and took to refilling my cup with the red stuff, instead of the water I’d set out. As it filled the glass, it bubbled beautifully on top and I wondered what it would taste like if I did drink it. It smelled like a combination of red currant and plum with a small hint of olive. I was curious, but I thought it better to not misbehave.
“What are you doing?” Darren was becoming very heated and stiffened in his chair.
“Twelve is going to have some wine with me. She needs to relax.”
Darren looked up from the tickers his eyes had been trained on, as they dropped and gained a monetary value with every passing moment. Amelia’s voice was different than mine as the alcohol had taken ahold and caused her speech to slur. I wondered if I did disobey, if I sipped the red stuff, would I speak that way too. I shook my head, as using a non-verbal response was the most effective conditional response in these situations. Non-verbal was non-threatening and therefore not antagonistic. It was the best way to avoid confrontation. I mentally selected it from a list of possible responses, believing it to be the right one. Amelia goaded me with her eyes and then slid the cup toward me, threatening to push it right into my lap if I didn’t pick it up.
To say that I was entertained by her outbursts is incorrect, but there was something about these moments that dared me to jump out of my seat and join her in what seemed like complete chaos. Her life was complicated from twenty seven years of living it. She had seen and done things that shaped her into the volatile, mood switching human being she was now. In every way, she was a grown woman, hot-headed and strong willed.
“She can’t have that, Amelia!”
“She can have a little wine, Darren. It’s not like it will kill her. Besides, she’s mine – bought and paid for. If you spent less time losing all your money in those stocks you’re so caught up in, you could have helped me and then she would be yours too. But, she’s not. She’s mine and I can give her what I want.”
Automated response, category Unlawful Acts – “According to code ^e619, clones are never allowed to imbibe alcohol. The result of a clone ingesting any alcohol can and will result in the loss of clone privileges even on the first offence. The clone will be harvested, and the tissue will go to a charity in need. All rights to the clone will be forfeited by the superior. It’s not recommended, Amelia.”
It felt wrong to go against her, but I had to say it. They were always watching, they’d made that very clear in The Factory. A trickle of the sweet smelling red stuff dribbled down her lip. As she laughed, she also reached for a napkin. Fluidity, maturity unlike my newness and she was able to do those things all at once. Darren was not quite defeated, but he quickly swiped his hand across the table, and with it the stock pages he’d had opened disappeared, leaving only a slightly smudged surface that I mentally noted would need to be cleaned later.
“It quotes the law,” she said. “Fine! I’ll drink it.” By taking my glass, she had contaminated it with her germs and Darren once again spoke in my defense. He was an expert in all things cloning.
“You’re not supposed to drink from her cup, Amelia.”
Darren’s dark, inlaid eyes starred at her with a disquieted intensity. My instincts told me he was growing angry, that the moment had grown too tense. My training taught me to remove myself from familial problems whenever possible. At this point, their argument was becoming exhausting. I wished they would both settle down.
“Excuse me,” I said, standing.
“You’re not excused, Twelve. Sit down,” she fired back. I had to listen to her, and so I retook my seat and feigned interest in the mix of water and white rice fluffs that surrounded the mostly eaten piece of chicken breast. These puffs were filled with nutrients intended to help my weak body grow strong. This was my continued diet. I sat quietly and imagined what the receptors in my brain looked like, flickering widely, warning me that I was breaking a rule. The memory of this event would certainly register with The Factory. In order to avoid a reprimand for myself and Amelia, I needed to diffuse.
“Amelia, Darren, I’d like to change the subject. Do I have your permission?”
They looked at each other, both laughing with their eyes and it amazed me how quickly they could change their emotions. Darren’s anger seemed replaced by a relaxed sentimentality and Amelia’s displeasure was replaced by good humor as she shook with laugher and looked radiant, sitting with her back to the setting sun. I was successful in my first attempt to keep myself out of trouble. Surely The Factory would acknowledge that and pass this event over entirely.
“Go ahead, Twelve,” Amelia said, with a smile and a flick of her wrist. Fluidity.
“There are five rows of tomatoes planted in this back yard.”
“Yes, there are,” she returned plainly and Darren snorted.
“On the forth row, fifth and sixth vine in, the tomatoes are planted too close together. With your permission, I’d like to remove the last four tomato vines and plant them again at a distance that will promote their growth.”
“Go to bed, Twelve.” Those tomatoes never did ripen, and instead rotted on the vine. No answer was answer enough, although I struggled to find any logic in it.
Chapter 3
Darren worked at The Factory. He didn’t work around me, as this was not allowed. He worked in another part of The Factory and each morning he left before the sunshine crept in through my east facing window. As the sun filled the room, my apparatus slowed. I woke up feeling fresh, rejuvenated and ready to start my day of service.
My quarters were gradually becoming more than what they were at The Factory. Amelia gave me floral smelling soaps and tea tree cleansers to fill my restroom. The more I acquired, the more I knew I was behaving how I should. These were reminders that things were working out. A set of promises are made to all clones. These promises followed guidelines for how we should morally and ethically behave when living in society.
The promise of a rewarding life of service.
The ability to reward oneself for labor. Your superiors will allow you to humanize your living quarters. When you believe you’ve done a good job, you can rearrange.
Amelia had given me a bromeliad and an old oak table. The table did not have a drawer, but the closet had plenty of room. It had six compartments, each serving a different purpose to store my goods. I had six uniforms, six sets of undergarments and a single leisure suit, leaving plenty of space in the closet. Amelia hated my clothes, but more than that she hated that she wasn’t allowed to dress me until our probationary period ended. She wanted to choose my clothes and made that very clear.
The bromeliad bloomed overnight, but closed slightly in the sunlight. I ached to see if fully un-enveloped as I had the one night my apparatus had stopped flowing and it shone under the moonlight, thick and fully bloomed. In the daytime its broad green leaves hid resilient red petals, that extended up around bunches of skinny, softer red petals. The bromeliad was a measure of my success, as I’d helped cultivate the plants and she’d potted one for me as a token.
The bromeliads were a difficult plant and needed to be set to one side of the garden, as they were totalitarian over water and would suck it from other plants, storing it in its own root. It was a water hoarder. Amelia sat above me in her chair, leg encapsulated and extended. She directed me on how to gently hold the thick petals in hand, turning them and then injecting them with Supplosore, a vitamin that helped reduce the chances of the plants cloning themselves.
“Did they put anything like that in you, Twelve,” she asked me on a warm afternoon. She found it easiest to laugh when she was being condescending, which is why it was more profound that later she brought me the bromeliad and the oak table on which to place it. She rolled into my room and promised that some night she’d let me stay up to see it bloom. It was a transgression that would have to take place after our probationary period, when my actions weren’t being daily monitored by The Factory and the fear of repercussions had passed.
Amelia jarred me from my memory, as her voice rang out over the intercom. It was strange to hear her awake before me, and I’d only begun dressing. I attempted to hurry, but her tired, sluggish voice tore through the intercom again. I raced from the bedroom to greet her.
“Twelve, what are you wearing? When are we going to be over this incessant ridiculousness? You’re not even wearing pants!”
I only had time to slip into the tan zip down. My pants still hung untouched, under the infrared glow of the closet. Amelia was in a wheelchair, capable of assisting her in most tasks that required legs, but she still required my help quite a bit as the pain of regeneration often put her out. She’d be that way for another three years before her leg would be completely reformed. It was important that I be there whenever she needed, regardless of pants.
“Good morning. It’s nice to see you, Amelia. I had only a limited time for dressing. I apologize.”
“Cut the crap, Twelve. You can’t talk like that today. I really need you to abandon your catalog of responses and talk like a normal person. And no quoting The Factory!”
Her eyes were glued to my bare right leg. She spoke to it, instead of looking into my face. Her eyes seemed to trace over my kneecap before sliding up my thigh and then back down again. I nodded that I would refrain from using catalog responses, but secretly worried that one would slip out regardless. Amelia was missing her leg after a work related injury, but my understanding of that was limited and based only on a conversation I’d overheard between Amelia and Darren. I’d been changing the liquid in the encasing from aloe and Hyperheal to Regenerative Tissue Allocation. “Blue goo,” and “yellow goo,” as Amelia referred to them.
“Twelve, we need to talk. I need you to take some pictures for me today…As me. I can’t do them because of this.” She gently knocked on the tank surrounding her slowly healing leg. “The photog will be here by seven. We’re going to have to get you into some new clothes.”
I knew the appropriate response was Automated Response, category Unlawful Acts – Code ^r8 states that household members can only change the attire of a clone after they’ve successfully passed four home visits over the course of a year and their probationary period has ended. Only Amelia had forbidden me from using a cataloged response.
“They may take me away if we change into anything other than sanctioned garments.”
If they did take me back they would harvest my organs, blood and tissue until a period when Amelia needed it most. If this was her wish I was ready to oblige, wishing nothing but the most satisfactory outcome for her. Only there was something that bubbled under the surface of my skin, and that puzzled me. It tickled and nearly ached and seemed to suggest that while they burned what was left of me, I would feel it, but that was a ridiculous notion.
“Why do you think you were created, Twelve?”
“To be of service to you, Amelia.”
“Right. Twelve, your service is to help make sure I don’t lose my career. You have to be me once in a while, Twelve and just for the media and just until I heal. As far as anyone knows, I’m fine. I’m taking a break from SkyView to focus on myself. You were created for this. Please don’t mess it up.”
SkyView was the premier, worldwide production company responsible for some of the greatest films of the century. They discovered Amelia and made her into a household name. According to Amelia, they could just as easily take it all away. Amelia was wrong about me. I wasn’t created to do her job with SkyView. I was created to clean, to serve her and to assist her in day to day activities. These were the things they taught in The Factory. There were no lessons on how to take someone’s place.
“They will know,” I answered meekly.
“How? How will they know? And what makes you so sure they will care?”
“They take the readings. It all comes out in my sleep, all of my bad deeds. They will know, Amelia.”
“If you believe that apparatus can do more than put you into a deep sleep, that you’re not as clever as Darren thinks you are.”
It had never occurred to me that the apparatus may have been a mechanism used to trick me into behaving. It made sense that they would do this, but I wasn’t so sure I could believe that Amelia was right about it. I was willing to change into the black, shimmering dress, but she thrust the cell at me anyway and it crawled to the place on my wrist where my QDR was imbedded.
It immediately read me as Twelve and offered me only a select few numbers to dial. QDR stands for Quantum Digital Receptor and it’s worn around the wrist, allowing users to always be connected to the Network or managing their devices. Only mine wasn’t just worn, it was imbedded. It had none of the features that the silver one Amelia had worn. Hers was diamond encrusted and matched a tennis bracelet she wore. At will she could slide it on and off.
I could make a call and Tia Moore would answer. She was the scientist who’d worked closest with Amelia to create me. I could also dial emergency, grocery and Darren. It was clear Amelia wished me to dial Tia Moore and I selected her image. All of my calls would be monitored and sent as data files to Amelia. If her QDR were ever turned on, it would alert her that I was making a call. But, she never wore it. She preferred the semi-anonymity of browsing the Network without her QDR identifying her.
I liked the QDR as it offered an element of organization that seemed more important than anything else in the world. They were neat, well-formed and compact. Their every function served a necessary purpose. These things were not difficult to understand and I wondered if I was more like those devices than I was like her or anyone else. I didn’t feel anger as she waited impatiently. Instead, I felt brainless and empty, like a cog in a machine.
“Hello, Clone.”
“Hello, Mrs. Moore.”
“What is the purpose of this call? Is Mr. and Mrs. Star okay?”
The exchange was forced and awkward as Amelia gave no indication as to what I was supposed to say to this woman. She simply drummed her fingers on the hard shell around her leg and starred vacantly at the black dress that hung over the arm of a couch.
“Mrs. Moore, Amelia is requesting special permission to change my clothes. There is a photographer coming and he needs pictures of her. She wishes that I should take her place.”
“Sure, sure. We didn’t discuss this at The Factory, as it was an inappropriate conversation to have in front of other clones. For now, simply do everything Amelia asks you to do, including changing your clothes.”
The photographer’s name was David Michael, which seemed strange to me as both were first names and neither seemed an appropriate surname. David Michael snapped what seemed like a thousand pictures. Each flash of the bulb caused me to see stars for the moments afterward. The camera he used was something he’d fashioned himself, with twelve tiny lights across the top and a massive one underneath. The digital images were instantly displayed across a large screen he’d dragged in with him. Sometimes he would stop and angrily adjust one before sliding it off screen. The blurred vision from the constantly snapping bulbs made it difficult for me to view these pictures and judge them for myself.
“Amelia,” David Michael said in a thick Indian accent. “Darling, you must pose like you did on the cover of Australian Vogue. Come now honey. Not so stiff. Loose, baby, loose!”
I was clueless until David Michael stormed over and put his hands on my chest, just above my breasts and shoved backward until I was leaning on my hands. I fought the urge to repeat my conditional response, category Inappropriate Touching. Amelia had forbid me to say anything other than the most generic things and nothing I’d learned at The Factory had prepared me for this kind of abstract thinking. My purpose was to figure out what she would do and do it.
“Baby, what happened to you? You’re stiff as a board. Try to loosen up a little. Pull that top down. Alright, this isn’t working. Let’s get out of those clothes.”
It is written that to be naked is often very liberating. William Blake says that, “Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.” For me nakedness was humiliating. I felt exposed and judged by David Michael. It was difficult to follow his directions and still hide parts of my body that seemed sacred, but for what reason I did not know. It was clear my inhuman nature was showing. Half of me was made of the extraterrestrial element Derapteur, that although organic was more a growth compound, picked up on some strange planet, but it separated me from them. It helped them see the difference between the clones and humans, although they still worked to establish bonds, it made it easier for them to sever that bond when and if the time came to. Darren would refer to touching down on the alien planet, Primo Vita, as the single most important event in the history of the world as it ultimately led to my creation.
David Michael left angry, storming from the house and criticizing that he had little what he needed for a decent cover. The interview took place over the Network, giving Amelia little time to lecture me. Amelia’s sweet voice filled the den as she explained how great it felt to be taking pictures again. Maybe it felt great for her, because she didn’t actually have to do it.
“Acting can wait,” she explained with a high cadence she reserved only for those she meant to impress. “I’m planning to travel. I want to visit Nimbi and watch the horse hybrids there and then I may go to Florence for a spell and then…well, who knows really? There is so much of this beautiful earth I’ve yet to travel.”
She paused and listened to the reporter’s response before continuing. I wondered if she minded my listening to her spew lie after lie, in the most natural way possible. Having never been allowed to watch her films, I ached ever more to see her on screen. Even now she was an amazing actress, able to convince her discerning critic that her reason for not wanting to be filmed during their interview was due to a relaxing bath she always took after having her picture taken.
“Yes, yes. It is quite fantastic to see what they’re creating there…
Yes, Darren has successfully spliced the DNA of a Hipparion…
Certainly, he’s always been proud of his work even though they’re soon to be abandoning the project…
Why? Oh well, Darren explains that it was simply an experiment to better understand evolution and that Hipparions have no place in the current world as they’re not at all fierce and a genetic inferior to modern horses…
Great idea! They should try something like that on men. They’ve gotten too smart for their own good…
Well, Darren is wonderful and he makes a fine husband. His work at The Factory is becoming more and more renowned, as you well know…
I’ll return to SkyView before planning for children, but I do think of them often. They’re important to us both, but I’m looking to renew my contract. I said, ‘Gene, I’m twenty two now. The world is a big place. I’ve yet to explore it. I need some time off.’ And he said, ‘Amelia, you’ve got it!”
…What rumors? Oh those tawdry sensationalists. They’ll make up anything. Absolutely, I deny them. Some say I’m pregnant, some say I’m in hiding. You saw the picture, right? It was a huge success and I drew in a Golden Globe nomination because of it…
Oh, I didn’t attend because I knew it would go to the marvelous Helen Teak. She deserved it…
Oh did they now? I’m so very excited to see it. Make sure to send me a copy, just as soon as you can. I’d love the originals and the touched versions if it’s not too much trouble.”
The photographs came minutes later and I walked in to find Amelia bent over them, inspecting each one. She’d lied about her age, making herself even younger than my cosmetic age. Lies are a curious thing. Amelia could tell lies all day long and feel fine in her skin, but lying made my skin crawl. Pretending to be Amelia for the afternoon had been taxing and mentally exhausting. It took a suspension of my mind, a place I’d never tapped into before and it only succeeded in making me tired.
“These pictures are shit, Twelve. You’re stiff in every one.”
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t look up to acknowledge my apology, but I was certain she’d heard me. She used her free hand to gesture me into a seat at the table. The table was a part of the Network, as nearly every bit of the house was and spread across it were hundreds of photographs, Ezines and news articles all showing Amelia in various poses, from different points throughout her illustrious career in both acting and modeling. She sat comparing.
The Network could be accessed at any time, from any room using voice or touch controls. Modern furniture had access points in their hard surfaces, allowing control over the property’s devices and access to information at any time, as long as Amelia had it running. With boundless, endless information that was consistently available and compatible with everything in the home, most people operated around the Network constantly, but not Amelia. She preferred to keep it shut down, whenever possible.
She tapped a single photograph, enlarging it and bringing it to the forefront so we could view it together. In silver letters across the top it read, Australian Vogue. Amelia starred out from the cover at us her blue eyes blinking, long lashed marvels. Underneath the words, “sensational,” and “out of this world,” described her, shone and stood out to me. The cover played on a loop. Amelia dipped, smiled and tilted her chin. The words popped, burned and sparkled.
The photographs of me were only the same in that the photographer had taken my movements and combined them to make me turn, jump and dazzle in the dress. Only I seemed flatter, less animated. I stared from Amelia’s likeness to my own and saw there was something less life-like about me. It only saddened me to see quite clearly that I’d failed her.
“Do you see the difference, Twelve?”
“I am too stiff.”
“Right, you’re too stiff. You need to look into the camera with eager eyes. You’re too much…like a robot. You remind me of the Long’s Droid. It smiles so awkwardly and scoops my pills and passes them to me. It looks plastic. You look forced, like the smile on that robot’s plastic mug.”
“Right. I am a clone, not an android.”
She laughed. Laughter was a positive human emotion. Laughter often meant happiness of some kind, although on rare occasions it could mask anger. I could never tell why Amelia was laughing. At dinner, Darren looked at the photographs for a long time, before commenting.
“I don’t think they’ll notice, darling.”
“Well, surely she’s going to need some lessons on how to move.”
“She’ll get it eventually,” he replied, and then quickly pulled up a message that flashed across the table top. “Amelia! They’ve just printed the story. The headline says, ‘Amelia Starr Not Pregnant and Wishes Husband Were a Horse!”
Darren read the article aloud, snickering at how different the interview was from what its title suggested. It was a cutting, snide article but both of them seemed satisfied with it, encouraged even. It was the first interview Amelia had given in months and she was sure it would do much to quell the rumors that had begun to float around about her.
It was Darren’s turn to cook and my turn to eat something I’d never tasted. He engaged us while he danced around pots, stirring and asking that we taste it to see how it’s coming along. My body was becoming more adjusted in the months since my creation and my stomach could handle some of the acids that were in the foods they enjoyed most.
“Your body isn’t ready for intricate spices,” he told me, as he layered foot onto my plate. “But, I’ve made you something that you should really enjoy. Don’t worry, it won’t make you sick. You’ll like it.”
The chicken was lightly coated in a assortment of fresh churned butter and coated in breadcrumbs. When it hit my palate, I nearly lurched.
“She doesn’t like it, Darren. How do you like that? The first woman to not be taken in by your skills in the kitchen. It’s okay Twelve, darling. Just take it slow.”
Amelia had opened a bottle of the red stuff and was beginning to feel its sentimental effects. She really enjoyed opening me up to new experiences. I guessed that was because she didn’t get out much, turned away her friends and in the last few months had spent all of her free moments helping me adjust to my new home. I mentally defined the word, “like,” as a verb. Like was to take pleasure in; find agreeable or congenial. To regard with favor; have a kindly or friendly feeling for.
Automated response number 98, “I am pleased with it.”
What was it to like something anyway? That was a human word. I had learned to use this word only to appease human company. There was really nothing to be liked or disliked. Everything was supposed to carry the same bland, normalcy as everything else. If I were to alter my reality then I would be inviting disaster into my life. My purpose was to serve in the most mundane tasks, as demanded by The Factory. Those tasks pleased me and led me to promise thirteen.
13. A promise for new experiences
a. New experiences can be positive, but also negative. This promise is only for new experiences. You shall have them when you’ve earned them.
This experience was of the positive variety. The food tasted rich and unlike the flavorless nutrient filled water rice compound I’d eaten some combination of every day since the beginning, even intravenously. It still filled a space on my plate, because I still required the loads of nutrients and growth hormones it contained, but the portion was smaller.
It was appropriate to thank my Superiors and they nodded back with vigor and encouragement. They watched me with big, beaming eyes and cast strange glances over the table at one another each time I bit and then swallowed. After dinner they disappeared into their bedroom while I cleaned up. I loaded our dishes, setting them on the counter to be dropped into the space below and cleaned. The leftovers were stored in a myriad of containers and placed in the Subzero refrigerator until later. I sanitized everything. Humans are vastly unconcerned with sanitation. This is why they need clones. Their clones protect them from dangerous pathogens that harbor and then multiply on surfaces.
“We have a surprise for you, Twelve.” Darren held a cake, smiling wide and Amelia took up the rear following him into the sterilized kitchen, contaminating it so I would have to clean it again later. Amelia held a wrapped package.
“We wanted to thank you,” Amelia said, as she rolled to the table and took my hand in her own. Darren lit a candle on the cake.
“We wanted to celebrate. The cake is organic and made without sugar, but you still can’t have a lot of it.”
“She gets it Darren.”
“Anything more than a bite or two,” he continued, “may complicate your health. Here sit down, Amelia. There you are, now blow out the candle.”
Darren constantly worried about my health, regularly checking my heart rate, my pulse, my blood pressure while Amelia looked on with sad eyes, now she sat behind him, stuck in her chair and scowling, ugliness plastered across her usually soft, glowing features.
“What’s wrong,” Darren asked, with sincerity.
She was near shouting and I quickly realized the error, but said nothing, wishing instead I could escape another argument. What had begun as a momentous moment, had settled into the same bitter arguing they continually engaged in.
“You called her Amelia. You called Twelve by my name.”
“No, I didn’t,” Darren answered, with as much confusion in his voice as was showing on his face. “Did I?”
“Well, unless you forgot I’m already sitting, you definitely did. Tell him, Twelve.”
They both turned toward me, imploring me with their eyes to choose a side. I thought about lying, to spare Darren the anger that was burning so intensely behind her beautiful eyes. Even thinking about lying caused a heavy, rock like feeling to develop in my chest and make its way up my throat. It was difficult to speak.
“Well,” Amelia demanded, impatiently.
“Darren, you did say ‘Amelia, sit down.’ This is why I am still standing. I did not think you were referring to me.”
Amelia did not wait for an apology, and surely one would have come. She flew back one of the chairs positioned under the table, letting it crash backward to the floor. She rolled under the table, bumping the edge of it with her wheelchair’s armrests and causing the Network to come alive and the table was flooded with images once again.
I blew out the candle just then, in an act of secret defiance, choosing to ignore her outburst. Darren clapped with an sudden exuberance and threw an arm loose around my shoulders, before setting about cutting me a slice. His touch once again caused goose pimples to form on my skin. Amelia starred through the glass doors in the lush backyard, choosing to lose herself in the rich vegetation, a moment later she was pouring herself a glass of the red stuff and the light was returning to her blue eyes.
The frosting was sugar and gluten free. It was made from sorghum flour and potato starch, but the orange zest was what gave it such delicious flavor. These were things never discussed during conditioning. If a cake could be a reward, I’d imagined it would come after years of devoted service. I immediately regretted shoveling the cake into my mouth so quickly, and not savoring it more. Once it was gone, they put it away and I missed the way it dissolved in my mouth, lighting up my taste buds like never before. Darren was worried that I may have had too much in a single day and asked that I sit down, before getting up to clean or do strenuous activity. I felt great, but I obliged and Amelia watched with interest as he sat me down and used his medical equipment to give me the customary once over.
“How’s your stomach,” he asked, with soft hands pressing gently onto my abdomen.
“Fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Good,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel any pain.”
Darren wasn’t at all like the scientists I’d met at The Factory. He had soft hands and was quite a bit younger, there weren’t yet the deep set wrinkles and graying hair of the men who had studied me. His hands were warm, even when they moved under my shirt, his fingertips pressing different areas on my spine, while his other hand pressed into my abdomen. “What about this?”
“No, that doesn’t hurt either.”
I thought about how different my experience at The Factory would have been if Darren had been my doctor. His bedside manner deserves an award for its sincerity. The halls of The Factory were brightly lit, sterile walkways and the doctors would pass by without so much as a nod, not meeting my eyes or acknowledging me as more than a fixture, not that I cared then, but now things were different. It felt as though I should care for some reason. Darren’s integrity made them seem like monsters, caring only about the eventual gain.
They programmed me by manipulating my loneliness and making me fear them. I already knew about the sleeping apparatus, but what else was invented? Would they really find me if I ran away? It was silly to think, because nothing could make me leave Darren and Amelia. Their home was not home to random groupings of digital images of male and female clones, holding various objects and reminding me of their purpose. A female clone, holding a Tomalson Swift Cobweb Remover in one image with the words, “Conditional Action: Clean, Hydrate, Clean, Hydrate, Rest.” We weren’t all programmed to do the same things, but those of us that were, found themselves in the same hallways, surrounded by the same posters. These daily reminders were just a fraction of the behavioral and mental modifications I was special enough to receive.
Amelia made little sound as she rolled quietly from the room. Darren seemed to not notice at all. He held my limp wrist in his hand and used his QDR to monitor and examine my pulse, before returning his hands to underneath my shirt in order to evaluate my heartbeat. I met his kind, brown eyes again and I was sure that every moment in The Factory was worth it. The conditioning was worth it, even if every day it lost more of its hold on me it was another thing I could thank the Star’s for. They were freeing me from something. They were liberating me from the lackluster, colorless life other clones lived. I was scared before, and tried to hide from it, but it was clear this scientist was sincere, with my best interests in mind. I could trust them.
“You sound great, healthy as an ox.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
“No,” I said, more seriously and meeting his eyes. “Really, thank you.”
Chapter 4
My training included a segment on body language and understanding human emotion, but nothing could have prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster that was Amelia Star. Her body language often suggested a complex, internalized anger that would betray itself by short, happy bursts of laughter. In the mornings she would grapple herself out of bed and into her chair using a system of pulleys. She would roll into the studio where I would be waiting for her, in the center of a tidy room.
Some mornings she would roll right passed me, refusing to acknowledge my presence. There were other mornings where she would sleep so late, I’d consider waking her up. Even still, there were the rare moments she would be awake before me, fully dressed and ready to start work in the garden. These were my favorite days, but only recently they’d become more and more infrequent.
Darren was hardly around in the mornings, always gone before the sunrise and home late after the sunset. His body language was simpler to interpret. He was someone who lived each day moment to moment, applying the appropriate action or emotion to most circumstances. His reactions to things were reliable and could be predicted easily. He seemed able to let go of his resentments. He was relaxed, suggesting he’d dealt with his issues.
As Darren spent more and more time away from the home, Amelia seemed to grow in her concern and took to calling him multiple times a day. He only seemed to answer about a quarter of the time, which would cause her anger to spiral out of control. Amelia demanded empathy from me and Darren in a way that she would not say it, and instead it oozed from every cry for attention. She burned herself with unhealthy emotions and I wanted desperately to see Darren alone, to make him understand her pain. Surely he could do something to help, but I did not know if this was allowed and nothing in my training was clear. I did know she’d paid for my secrecy as my training was slated in it. I was kept in a ward with only a few other clones, away from the general population. Calling him may violate this secrecy, and therefore it could not happen.
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