Monday’s fading sunset left the sky a deep blue and there existed
that momentary gasp of air, that fleeting pause between the last of Manhattan’s
office dwellers vacating the city and the emergence of the first eager beavers of New
York’s nightlife.
Times Square was still busy, but mostly with
ambling tourists coming home to their 5th Avenue hotels after a day’s sightseeing.
Bob, SpongeBubba and the freshly birthed girl clone – yet to be called
‘Becks’: they were still debating whether to consider her a new personality
entirely, that was still up for discussion – were left to watch over the SuperChief and
the archway. The rest of them headed across to Manhattan, one last time in TimesSquare. They found a Mexican-themed place that looked out across the
winking lights and animated billboards, the news ticker around the Hershey store, the
stop-start intersections and sluggish convoys of yellow cabs, gaggles of goggle-eyed
tourists, and the last city suit walking home with a gym bag slung over one
shoulder.
It was quiet in the restaurant. They ordered
from the waitress quickly and then were left alone to the privacy of their faux dark
wood and red-velvet-cushioned booth to talk.
‘So …’ Maddy clasped her
hands like a host desperate to get her party started. ‘Here we are,
then.’
‘Aye,’ said Liam, ‘the
first proper chance I’ve had to sit down, rest and eat in ages.’
Maddy nodded. It seemed an eternity ago that
they’d been cornered by guards in Caligula’s palace. Since then they’d
been running, hiding, scavenging. She realized she hadn’t eaten properly in days,
the best part of a week in fact. That went some way towards explaining her ordering the
triple bean and beef mega-burrito.
‘You’re running,’ said
Foster. ‘I can understand that … but have any of you thought where
to?’
‘No.’ Maddy tucked hair behind
her ear. ‘Not yet.’
‘Well now, to be sure, we want to know
who sent those support units after us.’ Liam looked at Sal for support.She nodded. Clearly the most pressing question hovering between them
all.
Maddy shook her head. ‘Somebody from
the future. Obviously. I don’t know.’
‘Did you say the male units looked
just like our Bob?’ asked Foster.
‘Yup. Like his evil twin or
something.’
‘These are military clones
you’re talking about,’ said Rashim.
She nodded. ‘Military use,
yeah.’
‘Then if they looked
exactly
like your Bob, they’d be from the same or a similar birth batch. The cloning
process develops genetic-copy errors if you reproduce from the same DNA indefinitely. So
the batches have relatively small print runs. Twenty maybe thirty units per base DNA
pattern.’ Rashim stroked the fine tip of his nose. ‘I recall that the
military contractors producing clone units back in the 2050s were constantly having to
start over with new candidate genomes to engineer.’
Liam chuckled. The others looked at him and
his face quickly straightened. ‘
Back in the 2050s?
’ He grinned.
‘I mean, doesn’t that sound odd? That’s the future for all of us, so
it is. The
far
future for me!’ He shrugged; no one seemed particularly
tickled by that. ‘Just sounded a bit funny, that’s all.’
‘When does your clone unit come
from?’ said Rashim. ‘Do you know his precise inception date?’
‘Bob?’ Maddy struggled to
remember. ‘Uh, I think it’s the 2050s …’
‘2054, if I recall correctly,’
said Foster.
‘Then your enemy, whoever sent those
killer units, must come from the same time.’ Rashim folded his arms.
‘That’s an assumption, of course.’
Liam shuffled uncomfortably. ‘But
who’s our enemy? Who’ve we gone and annoyed?’
‘What?’ Maddy laughed.
‘Who’s our enemy? You mean apart from some secretive association of Templar
Knights? A government-backed top-secret project called Exodus, that group