Clone City

O had pored over the documents he had taken from Valchek’s apartment late into the night. When voices outside his window pricked his consciousness, he realized he must have fallen asleep in his armchair. Some papers lay on his lap while others had slid off onto the floor. He winced at the crick in his neck, and, as he pulled himself up, more papers sailed down to join the rest.

One paper caught his attention. On it was the sign that Valchek must have been investigating. O knew it only too well. It was Koron’s seal. Of that there could be no doubt. Cranking himself up into a sitting position, he told himself it had nothing to do with Valchek’s murder. A mere coincidence. Why then, he asked himself, do I have this horrible feeling?

O pushed his arms down hard to propel himself upward. As he wobbled out of control toward the sink, he thought if the thing is not an animal, but a robot, then what? Koron? After all these years? Surely not! Steadying himself, he stared into the sink. Distracted by the kerfuffle outside, he went to close the window. As he struggled to shut it, he could see several neighbours arguing in the alley below. One of them was stabbing a finger at a tablet. O caught snatches: ‘course we’re not like them…’ and ‘why shouldn’t we be allowed to clone our own?’ and ‘have real people cloned like Gorvik says here...’

O shut the window and stepped back. Running a hand through his directionless mop of white hair, he murmured, ‘Oh Codes no, not now, not now. This is the last thing we need. Please Sovran, not the Clone Laws, not now of all times, please.’ His shoulders sagged as he tottered back to the sink and fished out a cup of unfinished black coffee. Grimacing, he sipped on it. ‘I’d better go see Q’zar,’ he thought, uttering a heartfelt yuck at the coffee’s foul taste. He pulled his coat on and left by a rickety staircase that led down to the alley in which his neighbours were still haranguing one another.

O lived in Joypolis’ poorest and most notorious district – the Maze. It was aptly named as visitors quickly became lost in its labyrinthine streets. O knew it like the back of his hand and was soon stepping out of one of its narrow lanes into the cleaner air of Dovan Square. As he crossed the square heading toward a public walkway, he paused to look up at the monument of his most famous forbear – Dovan V. He would have told his son, the same as my father told me, he thought. Of that, he was sure. He would never forget the dreaded tones in which his father spoke of Koron III: ‘A formidable enemy and an even deadlier friend,’ he had said when he explained why the Andradists had been driven out of the city and why this story had to be handed down from generation to generation to keep alive the danger that he believed Koron’s descendants could still pose if they survived and attempted to return.

O recalled how his father described Koron as an evil genius. At first, he had not been opposed to cloning. But this was because he wanted to conduct experiments on them to learn more about the human brain and develop the type of advanced micro-circuitry needed for humanoids. The ruling faction flatly refused to condone such research, describing it as inhuman. Dovan feared that if such machines were developed, they would not be used for the common good but to seize power from the state. He was right. When one of Koron’s scientists blew the whistle on his research, it became clear that they were using clones and were on the brink of an important breakthrough. Dovan knew that if they did not act quickly, they would be at the wrong end of a coup d’état.

Koron’s rage at his betrayal and banishment struck terror into all who witnessed it. The vengeance he swore he would wreak upon the city and the curses he invoked upon the heads of those who ordered them out on pain of death left no one unmarked. They did not attempt to return, but the discovery of an underground passage that looked as if it had been used to smuggle out valuable robot parts and computer systems made them wary. But as the years passed, the threat faded into the background and was all but forgotten.

Stepping onto a walkway, O could not fail to notice the buzz of excitement. Commuters who had never spoken to one another were now lifting their tablets and commenting on Sovran’s articles. One person was saying, ’Maybe this is the answer, if a clone can go Out there and come back, well, maybe we can expand.’ Then another, ‘We all thought it was dangerous, but if he came back and was alright…’

He snatched a printed copy of The Joypolitan as he passed a stack. His head began to reel on reading it. His first thought was that Q’zar must be fuming. The headline read: ‘Jewels in the City’. It continued with an appeal to readers to report anything unusual, but then went on to pose the question: ‘Who will care for the clones? Who will search their districts? Few citizens will bother to enter their districts. Of course, the clones will also be told to search and report anything unusual. But will they search as carefully? Of course not, they’ve not been conditioned for this. They can only do one job well. But that’s not the end of it. This is just one weakness of a segregated society. How much longer can we tolerate this situation?’

A further headline announced: ’Joypolitan says it’s time for change!’ This column was unequivocally about reforming the Clone Laws. Darvin as well as Q’zar must be calling for her blood, thought O. There was even a contribution from Gorvik headed: ‘Real Clones From Real People’, stating that machines could do their menial tasks and that only when they started cloning for intelligence could the city move forward in the way that the Founders advocated. Articles on resurrection cloning followed, including the right to have a genetic copy of a loved one who died prematurely. It was endless. The entire edition was given over to the issue of Joypolis’ future. There was a questionnaire for readers to fill in and submit regarding the type of society they wanted, whether to expand Outward and how best to set up a public debate.

O could feel the prickly energy coming off the crowd around him. Unable to bear it any longer, he stepped off at a junction and, on an impulse, stepped onto another walkway that was far less crowded. I need space, he thought, as he once more turned his attention to the articles and the controversy they had whipped up.

Surprised at reaching a terminal, he stepped off and walked down to the street. He was wondering why it was so quiet when it dawned on him that he must have taken the wrong walkway. He had gone in the opposite direction to the Tower and ended up on the outskirts. Shoving the paper into his pocket, he muttered ‘fool’ under his breath. He knew his head was often in the clouds, but this really was too much. He told himself to keep his mind on the Outside.

His head jerked at this slip of the tongue. He looked down the street. He could see it led to the perimeter. How odd, he thought, quietly repeating what he’d said: ‘Keep my mind on the Outside. Reality is what I meant to say, but here I am almost on the Outside!’ On an impulse, he began to walk toward the perimeter. He knew the security cameras were filming him, but he did not care.

He stopped when the road ended. How odd, he thought. I’ve never seen the end of a road before. Looking down at his scuffed shoes sticking over the edge, he felt a rush of light. What is it, he wondered, closing his eyes trying to steady himself. When he opened them, everything was vibrating. An aura trembled at the edge of each object and in the air, he saw curls twist and untwist like maggots. He felt he was swirling in a vortex.

Raising both hands to the sides of his head, he whispered and then shouted, ‘That’s it! That’s why! Inner-Outer! To the outer reality! The other side! One side defines the other! The lie needs the truth as the truth needs the lie! Eureka!’

He swung round several times, wondering if he should race back and tell them. But who would listen? Why, why didn’t I see it before? What a fool I’ve been! We must go to the Outside to find ourselves, to create ourselves, to grow out of our blinkered existence…’ Hearing something fall nearby, he scanned the ground around him. Seeing nothing, he was about to return to his thoughts when a movement at the perimeter caught his attention. He could see a man standing at the edge of the forest waving. O blinked. Was he imagining this?

As he watched, the man threw something. It fell a few paces from him. Still lost in what seemed to him the mountains of the mind muttering inner-outer, one entails the other, he went and picked it up. It was wrapped in paper. He recognized the paper – it was a ration chit of the sort clones used. He was on the point of stuffing it into his pocket when the man shouted, ‘Robots!’ O turned but he had gone.

With the word reverberating in his ears, O unravelled the paper and read what was scrawled on the back: 8 ROBOTS. He felt shock waves rock him from head to foot. He tore off up the street.

When he reached the walkway, he was completely out of breath and pulled himself up the stairs by the rail one at a time. His jowls shook with fear at the knowledge he now knew to be true: Koron was back.

Ord waited till O was out of sight. Good, he thought, now I can get what I came for – food. His stomach was empty and his nerves at breaking point. It had not been a good morning. On his way to scavenge the tips that bordered the perimeter, he had seen another robot – a whole troop of them. Hearing a dull mechanical noise, he hid himself and waited until the thud of metallic feet receded before parting the tall ferns. He saw them march into the same glade he had spent the night and meet the one he had seen the previous day. He counted eight. Ord watched them standing around a giant of their kind bleeping. He did not dare move. He had seen how they could kill from a distance. As he waited, he grew hungrier. When they finally pounded off in different directions, he headed for the tips.

On the way, he kept asking himself what are robots doing so close to Joypolis? He was mystified. When he reached the edge of the forest that faced the tips, he saw O. He did not expect to see anyone at the perimeter. He did not want to cross with someone watching. They would tell the Watchers and they would be waiting for him the next time he came. He hid behind a tree. But hunger forced his hand. He decided to throw something at the man. Tell him there were robots. See how he reacts. He certainly reacted. As soon as O turned tail and ran, Ord dashed across to the tip.

Climbing its lumpy slope, he ducked and weaved his way across the top, stopping to pick up things he thought useful. Every now and then, he stopped and craned his neck to make sure the coast was clear. It was, as he expected, deserted. But when he spotted an unmanned vehicle approaching, he almost jumped for joy. Yesterday’s leftovers, he thought, as he raced to position himself closer to where it would dump its load.

By the time O reached the Topround, it was past midday. Breathless and clutching his heart, he hobbled toward Darvin’s offices. As he approached, he was stopped by a Watchman who demanded to see his ID. O did not have it. He shoved O up against the wall and frisked him. Satisfied he was unarmed, he began questioning him.

‘Name?’

‘O,’ came the gasped reply. ‘Look, I’ve got to see Q’zar. It’s important.’

‘Oh what?’

‘I’ve just told you, for Code’s sake. I am O, Head of Belief, the sole living descendant of Dovan V. Now let me pass before I have you reported.’

The guard made a call. Without cutting the call, he looked back at O. ‘What’s the number of your residence,’ he asked.

O rattled off his old address. The guard repeated it. ‘He’s a short guy, wearing a long overcoat. Yeah, white hair, yep, that fits. Okay.’ Looking back at O, he said, ‘Somebody’ll be along in a minute.’

O threw his hands up and walked up and down, knowing he could do nothing. Finally, Hersh arrived and escorted him to Darvin’s offices where the secretary put a call through to Darvin. After a couple of minutes, Darvin stuck his head around a door. ‘Yes, that’s him. Come in, old boy.’

Hersh stepped back and the secretary stood up as O shot forward and Darvin closed the door behind him.

‘You really ought to carry some ID,’ began Darvin, as they walked to his office at the far end. ‘You couldn’t have come at a worse time. You’ve seen the news, I suppose. What a mess! Every malcontent clamouring to be heard! There’s a demonstration on the Midround! For free cloning! Can you believe it? And to top it all, Q’zar hasn’t found the murderer. It’s chaos!’

As they entered Darvin’s office, they were confronted with a furious argument.

‘Why is it, every time there’s something interesting to report, you forbid it!’ Sovran shouted, jabbing a finger at Q’zar.

‘You’ve created a panic! With the citizens clamouring for explanations, the clones are getting restless! What in the Name of the Codes did you think you were doing!’ Q’zar yelled back.

‘There is no panic. What you see on the Midround is real people wanting to face reality, wanting to take their lives into their own hands. People who are sick and tired of the lies that you and other nobles believe you have the right to spoon-feed them.’

‘How dare you!’ exclaimed Q’zar, his pinched features drawn tight enough to split.

O pushed himself between them.

‘Stop it, stop it, please,’ he cried, raising his hands above his head. ‘Look, look at this,’ he said, holding up a scrap of paper. Both Sovran and Q’zar stared at it as O told them what had happened at the perimeter.

Q’zar snatched the paper from O. He knew it must have been thrown by the clone who had escaped, though he said nothing.

Finally, O whispered, ‘Don’t you see?’ And then in an even deadlier whisper: ‘Koron is back!’ Pointing, he hissed, ‘His robots are out there.’

A picture began to form in Q’zar’s mind. The murderer was a robot. They had not found it because it had left the city. If the clone’s message could be believed, there were eight. Valchek’s murder was merely a foretaste of what was to come, an act of terror intended to distract and destabilize. He flipped his telecom open.

‘Get me Warton,’ he demanded, walking toward the window away from the group of three who stood facing one other each lost in their own private thoughts. Puzzled at there being no reply, Q’zar put a call through to Security HQ and asked them to contact him. Then, almost beside himself, he barked, ‘What do you mean, you can’t? Try again.’

While he waited, Q’zar said to the others, ‘This changes everything. If this is true, we’re no longer looking for a murderer. We’re facing an attack on the city.’ He looked over his shoulder. Clouds were darkening the sky. He flipped his telecom open again, ‘Hersh? Listen carefully. I want all forces redeployed. Yes, all. It’s red alert. Just listen, will you? Yes, I repeat it is red alert. Now, you know the procedure. Good. Lower ranks to guard the perimeter at the road junctions; second line of defence at the ring formed by Founders Square linking Happiland Broadway to Dovan’s Place. That’s right. The last line of defence is at the base of the Tower. We’re facing an attack by eight robots. As soon as you contact Warton, put him through. Yes, I’ll be with you as soon as I can. And I want you to remain in the Tower. That’s right.’

He snapped his telecom shut and turned to Darvin. ‘We’ll use your offices as headquarters. Tell all directors and key personnel to come here and remain on the Topround. I’ll have my men disperse the demonstration on the Midround. I’ve declared red alert and that means a curfew.’ Then shooting daggers at Sovran, he yelled, ‘Media blackout, got it?’

Sovran was about to let rip when O said: ‘Look!’

The lights went out momentarily and then flickered back on as they turned toward the window where O stood pointing to a trail of light moving across the sky.

‘A comet?’ ventured O, as they all gave each other a look of mild surprise.