Clone City

Valchek leaned toward the mirror. How he had aged. He wished his skin was not so blotched and pockmarked. And his hair. How he wished it was thick and wavy. He took a comb and raked its wisps one way and then another until he found what he thought the best compromise. With a sigh, he got up and walked over to his wardrobe.

Sliding the door open, he thought everything’s a compromise at my age. He ran his hand along an array of outfits. Thinking of the ball and banquet, he paused to pull those that took his fancy out. It was a tradition that nobles and directors had to conceal their identity. This was something he loved. Donning a mask always gave him the most delicious pleasure. He wondered why. He supposed it was the chance to be someone else. It freed him from the stuffy conventions he had to adhere to day in and day out. And he loved dressing up as a woman.

He took out last year’s costume and pressed it against himself. He remembered how some citizens had mistaken him for Zuriko. But what he would never forget was how he had ordered a young clone to accompany him back to his apartment to help him alter his costume. He remembered the look of surprise on the clone’s face when, taking off his headdress, he saw he was not a woman but a man. He could see he wanted to leave, but he ordered him to stay. Overawed by his status, the boy waited while he changed. Standing naked in front of him, he put the fear of the Codes into him by threatening to have him junked if he dared disobey. He smoothed the place on the bed where he had held him down and recalled the excitement of ravishing him.

Snapping out of his reverie, he told himself to tread carefully. The thought of the shame he would bring upon his family made him shudder. It was an offence for both citizens and nobles. But a noble cavorting with a clone! He knew he could get any number of handsome boys he liked at the Adonis or The Bull’s Milk. But this was different. It was the power and domination that thrilled him. And, he added, affecting a regretful breath, the damnation he knew he had brought upon the clone.

Last year it all seemed so easy. Everything just fell into place. And no one, not even Q’zar, it seemed, suspected any wrong doing. That was the beauty of it, he thought. The clone began to deconstruct a month later, as he knew he would, because, like all the others, he had been coded for heterosexual behaviour. But what if the clone had uttered his name as he deconstructed? There had been nights when he had woken in a cold sweat at the thought. But as time passed and nothing happened, he believed he was in the clear.

This year he decided he would risk it again. Taking out another outfit, he held it against himself. He smiled. I shall win the gazes of all, he thought, and when the lights are dimmed, I shall seek out another sweet young thing to ravish upon the silk of my bed.

After he had chosen a costume, Valchek walked back to tidy up his study.

Recently, he had been researching the origin of several signs that could match the one that Ord had described in his C80. The most similar had been banned from use because it was the mark of the Andradist leader, Koron. Coincidence? Almost certainly. Even so, it was quite a discovery. He decided he would keep it to himself and only mention it if he needed to divert attention from himself. Yes, he thought, cocking his head to one side, I shall hold this information like a card in my hand and play it only if suspicion arises.