Clone City

The Watchers was the term used to refer to Joypolis’ police force. It was apt since most of their work involved observation through closed-circuit television or eavesdropping with recording devices. The Security Department justified the presence of so many hidden eyes and ears by pointing out that it was grossly undermanned. What Q’zar did not realize, although at times he suspected it, was that this chronic shortage of personnel was not caused by a lack of funds or the alleged priority of other projects, but policy. There were a number of influential people, among whom Darvin was one, who had no wish to see a large security force – they had a tendency to become small armies and grow impatient with the slow decision-making processes of government. In short, Darvin had no wish to see Q’zar, or anyone else, at the head of a modern Praetorian Guard.

Q’zar sat in a long, windowless room listening to one of his officers give an account of a video recording of Ord’s movements.

‘Of course we don’t know what happened after he crossed the perimeter, but we can see him walking in a straight line right up to the forest. Once he enters, we lose sight of him.’ Stopping the recording, the Watchman said, ‘Given the time he was away, we can assume he went deep into the forest.’

‘Um,’ was all Q’zar said.

‘What should we do, Domo?’ Domo was a term used by lower ranks to their superiors.

‘Do?’

‘I’m concerned. The clone might have picked up some disease. And even…’

Q’zar could sense anxiety in his quavering voice. Although he could easily have dispelled his fears, he allowed him to continue more for sport than any other reason.

‘…contaminate others. We know the Outside is polluted. Everyone who came from there died of radioactive sickness. Children were deformed from birth…’

‘Yes,’ said Q’zar baldly. ’It’s true. But that was a long time ago. And the forest, bar that grey area we know nothing about, seems to be renewing itself. The number of birds has also increased recently. That may be significant. Look for patterns, do you understand? Patterns.

‘Now, I don’t want you to stop this soon-to-be-junked clone from going to the Outside.’ Q’zar raised a hand to silence the protest that was forming in the Watchman’s eyes. ‘I know we can’t follow him, but we may learn something about the Outside without exposing ourselves to danger. Observe his behaviour when he gets back. Did he look ill? If so, have him report for a medical. If not, we’ll assume he’s all right. Have a new sensor installed in his room so we can read the coordinates on his locator. That way we’ll know exactly where he went. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Domo,’ replied the Watcher, his eyes shining with admiration.

‘And not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?’ Q’zar looked piercingly at each Watcher in turn.

‘Yes, Domo!’ the three shouted in unison.

Warton’s eyes narrowed as soon as Q’zar left the room. Zuriko will pay a packet for this, he thought. A clone venturing to the Outside without permission! Returning with the risk of disease! Sanctioned by none other than Q’zar himself! He rubbed his hands together as he wondered which sex friend he would choose as payment. But, he warned himself, be careful. On this occasion, unlike previous ones, only three of them had been present. If he was caught, the old man, as he liked to call Q’zar, would come down on him like a ton of bricks. He would need to cover his ass. It would have to be planned. Zuriko would think of something, he thought.

‘Wonder what’s got the old man so rattled?’ he asked nonchalantly.

‘It’s the Outside,’ replied Chu, the lieutenant who had been explaining Ord’s movements. ‘He hates it and everything to do with it.’

‘What, even more than we do?’ said Warton.

‘If you enjoyed the lifestyle of a noble, you’d be exactly the same,’ replied the third Watchman, a man called Hersh. ‘The Outside is the opposite of everything they admire – art, culture, beauty.’

‘Well, we’d better keep this one under wraps,’ Warton retorted. As he moved off to his desk, he was thinking a fat lot Hersh knows about the life of nobles. All they care about is money so they can buy art, culture, beauty and whatever else they want.

Ironically, the speed at which Warton had risen through the ranks of Watchers had not dispelled his discontent. Quite the opposite, it had fuelled it. He thought it sprang from boredom or something that was so deep he could never hope to fathom it. He blamed it on living in such a confined city. Sometimes, he wished something would come from the Outside. Might liven things up, he thought as he reached down, pulled open a drawer and took out a tube of Helpups. Flipping the top open, he tipped one out. After admiring its minty whiteness, he popped it into his mouth. Sucking on it, he smiled when he recalled the commercial: Helpups are unputdownable!

Leaning back till his chair rested against the wall, he stared up at the ceiling. Yes, he thought, this chip’s worth bargaining over. As a horizon of intrigue opened before his mind’s eye, he realized how much he enjoyed scheming. It gave spice to his life. Even the betrayal of Q’zar’s trust was fun, he thought. But beware, he told himself. He knew he was getting more and more enmeshed in Zuriko’s web of deceit. She was far more dangerous than Q’zar. He was predictable. She was not. Cunning bitch, he thought as his chair came banging down to face the paperwork on his desk.

After Q’zar left the room, he took an elevator to the Watchtower. Stepping out onto its observatory platform, he gazed out over the forest. Yes, he thought, it is renewing itself. Should they dare send a patrol out?

Looking south, he saw the grey area that started as a thin strip before broadening and running for the entire length of what appeared to be a valley. For some reason, the trees there remained grey throughout the year. He believed it was a blighted area that had not recovered from the precipitation of chemical poisons. To the north and east were mountain ranges. Some were volcanic and occasionally erupted.

The thought of the Outside made him feel uneasy. He began to walk slowly around the parapet with his hands clasped behind him. After the first wave of travellers, only savages and mutants had ever come out of the forest. But that was long ago and no one had come in his or his father’s lifetime. No, he concluded, there are no barbarians at the gate. But within the gates…

He stopped, gripped the rail and peered down at the city. As he surveyed Joypolis, he felt an immense pride. Yet a nagging doubt niggled at him. The greatest threat to security so far, he thought, has always come from internal disputes among the Directorate. He recalled Gorvik’s demands for reforms of the Clone Laws. And, now, Sovran was moving toward endorsing his position because she seemed to think free cloning would lead to the demise of the laws that separated clone from citizen. Gorvik had not made his position clear on that issue. But even so, he thought, they’re playing with fire. He thought of Darvin’s weak leadership. All he ever thought about was Zuriko. He was her lap dog, divulging official secrets. He shook his head in disbelief at the power she and her sex stars wielded. How they exploited their sex for power and how so many men, especially the weak but also the strong made weak, succumbed. Media’s to blame he thought. Makes idols of them. But his lips curled with even greater contempt when he thought of Valchek. He suspected he’d had sex with a clone. The babbling of a deconstructing clone was not sufficient evidence, but Q’zar was unable to rid himself of the suspicion. The law was clear: no sexual relations between clone and citizen. This applied to nobles as well as citizens. The splendour of Joypolis dulled momentarily as he weighed the possibility that beneath its glittering façade lay a rotten core.

This, he concluded, is the price we pay for peace. He felt more and more that the events he was witnessing pointed to one thing and one thing alone: decadence. Taking a last look at the Greylands, he thought it is well that there is nothing Out there. Because if there were, Joypolis would crumble at the slightest threat. We have no defence. None. We must learn more about the Outside – even if it is from a worthless clone. Without information, we are helpless. This last word made him spin on his heels and exit the Watchtower.