World War Page 6

  "My name is Rodolfo Sweats. My friends call me Rollie. I hope you will call me Rollie."

  Rollie watched the clone think about his name and practice saying it to make sure the pronunciation was correct.

  "Have you decided on what your name will be?"

  "Yes, sir, I mean, Rollie. You can call me Easton."

  Rollie was very confused. He expected Tom, Thomas or Randolph but who the hell was Easton? Did the clone pull this out of thin air or was it some connection to his past?

  "Why Easton?"

  "I don't know, Rollie. It popped into my head yesterday and seemed like a nice name. I may change my name in the future, but for now, I'll be Easton with no surname."

  "Okay. Until further notice, you'll be Easton, with no surname." Both men laughed at their sophomoric conversation about names. The next hour was spent watching the news and talking about nothing of importance.

  "I have to go to a meeting, so, I'll see you tomorrow. Take in a much as you can about the world outside and if you remember anything from your past, write it down. Okay?"

  "I will. By the way Rollie, you never answered my question about being a slave."

  Rollie had forgotten about it. His immediate reaction was to ask Easton why he would ask such a question but then realized this was a waste of time. It was perfectly natural for Easton to think of anyone with darker skin and nappy hair as a slave or a freed slave.

  "No, I'm not a slave. I am mixed race. That's why my skin is darker than yours and my hair is tight and curly. There hasn't been a slave in my family for several hundred years. Have you learned about the slaves freed after the American Civil War?"

  "Not yet. When did that happen?"

  American history wasn't Rollie's strong suit, so he had to think about the war's correct place in time.

  "I believe it was in the mid-nineteenth century. By the next time we get together you can tell me about the Civil War and what consequence it had on American and world history."

  Rollie left the lab and headed to his office for the meeting with the mental health doctor. On the way, he thought about the name Jefferson had chosen and the few words they’d exchanged about slavery. The more he thought about the name Easton, the more it seemed familiar for some reason. It certainly wasn't the first time he’d ever heard the name. He might have read about someone named Easton when he researched the Jefferson family tree and history.

  He wasn't very knowledgeable or interested in slavery but thought it was a good subject for the two of them to discuss. Talking about something which was an integral part of Easton's life in colonial America might help resurrect a sizable part of his memory. There was also the chance this subject would answer conclusively if Easton was Rollie's great grandfather.

  When Rollie got to his office, Raul and Ingrid were engrossed in a meaningless conversation. He often wondered if these two were seeing each other. They certainly enjoyed flirting. It usually left Ingrid giggling like a schoolgirl and Raul smiling to himself about tantalizing thoughts. Rollie had stopped kidding the two of them long ago about being interested in each other. He could never get a response beyond "Oh, that's ridiculous. We're just friends."

  "Rollie, have you got a minute? I need to tell you something."

  "Sure, Raul. Come on in. Besides, it's time you let my assistant get some work done."

  Ingrid and Raul rolled their eyes at each other as Rollie walked into his office.

  "Where have you been for the past hour or two?"

  "I was in the lab talking with the clone."

  "How's he doing? I've been meaning to get down to see him, but I've been tied up."

  "Yeah, I can see that." Before Raul could defend his dalliance with Ingrid, Rollie went on recapping his visit with the clone.

  "The clone is doing quite well. He's drinking too much but it doesn't seem to interfere with his training and education. By the end of this week, he should have a good understanding of what has happened in the past several hundred years and what to expect when he leaves this building. The company physician has given him a clean bill of health and the mental health doctor is coming here with his report in about a half hour."

  "Do you still think you know who he is?"

  "I was more convinced two days ago, now, I'm not so sure. As soon as I figure it out, I'll tell you."

  "Good. I can't wait to hear who you think he is. I can't even come up with a good guess."

  Raul paused for a minute while he walked over and got a drink of water.

  "Anyhow, I didn't come up here to discuss who the clone might be. I wanted to remind you about Slice coming and make sure you've done something with the World Council host samples. Don't tell me where they are. Just make sure they’re well hidden. Okay?"

  "I've already taken care of that, Raul. Believe me, they are well hidden. I followed the strategy of a famous guy from the past who said if you want to hide a rose put it with other flowers. Or, it might have been, hide the rose in a rose garden. Or, it might have been… Ah, shit, you get the point."

  "I'd ask you who the famous person was, but I know damn well you're making this up."

  "I'm not making it up. I definitely read it somewhere."

  "Okay, fine. Just remember, Rollie, Slice isn't going to be screwing around. You won't be able to manipulate and mislead this guy like you did with Klaus. You better have a good cover story ready for this guy."

  "I know. I've been racking my brain trying to come up with a believable explanation for what happened to his host samples."

  Rollie leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. His mind wandered; he wasn't thinking about the dilemma he faced with Slice any longer.

  "Raul, do you ever feel like your entire world is caving in on you? And there's not a damn thing you can do about it?"

  "Raul just left, Mr. Sweats. But to answer your question, it's quite normal to feel like you described. If you would like to talk about why you feel this way, I've got the next hour blocked out for our meeting. I'm sure we'll have enough time to talk about whatever you’d like."

  Rollie almost catapulted out of his chair as he brought it back to an upright position.

  "Doctor Levin, I didn't know you were here. I thought Raul…"

  "No reason to explain, Mr. Sweats. I know exactly what happened. Don't worry about it. There's no reason to be embarrassed."

  For the next thirty minutes, Rollie and Dr. Levin discussed Easton's psychological profile. The doctor did a superb job of explaining in layman's terms how Easton responded and scored on each test and interview. He pointed out Easton's strengths, weaknesses, likes, and dislikes. He explained enough so Rollie knew the clone's intelligence quotient, motor skills, and behavior profile. In summary, Easton had a few minor hang-ups like most people, but overall, he was in fine mental health.

  "You seem somewhat disappointed with the subject's psychological evaluation."

  Levin's question was open-ended, allowing Rollie to respond in any way. It was meant to bait Rollie into sharing his thoughts, beliefs, and fears about the clone and himself. Rollie didn't have the time or the desire to explain all his concerns, and he sure as hell wasn't going to elaborate on the flaw in Maxine's personality which might be present in Easton.

  "No, no… I'm very pleased with your report." Rollie knew the doctor didn't believe him but the denial was good enough to bring their conversation to an end.

  "Doctor, I have only one question for you. If you had to summarize the subject's mental state in twenty words or less, what would you say?"

  Levin didn't have to pause and think about how to answer Rollie's question. It was as though he’d expected the question and had a canned answer prepared.

  "The subject is a man of action. If you think of him as an old gas engine with eight cylinders, this guy is using only four of the cylinders. Sorry, that's more than twenty words."

  "That's very interesting. Thank you for dropping by this afternoon. You've been very helpful."

  "Is there anything el
se you would like to discuss?"

  The doctor's attempt to explore Rollie's problems was getting irritating. "No, that's all I have, doctor. If I think of anything, I'll let you know. Thanks, again."

  6

  WHAT HAPPENED TO MY UNIT?

  Two nights later an elderly gentleman dressed in doctors’ whites walked into Saint Peter's Hospital. Hanging from around his neck and dangling from his smock were the pieces of equipment used by legitimate doctors. In his right hand, he carried a halo folder which hospitals used to track a patient's treatment and prognosis. This folder was a fake prop. It had an empty center made to hide a variety of electrical and electronic parts and implements. Sound abatement foam was used to make sure the autodriver, wire stripper, and insta-connect taps made no noise as he walked.

  He maneuvered through the hospital corridors smiling and acknowledging the hospital staff. For a moment, he considered going into the hospital cafeteria to grab a bite to eat but decided his mission was too important to delay it any longer. He delighted in his ability to mislead the hospital staff into believing he was part of their ranks. They were nothing more than lemmings who believed anything if you looked like one of them and had a pleasant smile and personality.

  The smile on his face and jovial mood were a masquerade for how he really felt about this facility. The fact that it was named after a religious has-been from over two thousand years before was bad enough. But he boiled on the inside thinking about how St. Peter's catered to the wealthy in and around the Zurich Free Zone. If he had his way, he would make this facility a ‘People's Hospital’, open to anyone regardless of position, wealth or status.

  The mere fact that the wealthy could buy better medical treatment than the poor drove him crazy with rage. A rage which began to burn as a child growing up in extreme poverty. Begging in the streets for handouts and sleeping in garbage dumps for safety was enough to fester his hatred for the wealthy. There was no such thing as medical care for his kind. It was either survive or die. His childhood prepared him well for the ‘Equal Need, Equal Provide’ society promised by the World Council.

  It was only in the four Free Zones that such discrimination and intolerance existed. Everywhere else in the world, People Hospitals were used by everyone, free of charge. It didn't matter that the mortality rates, efficiency, and cleanliness of People Hospitals were substandard compared to Zone hospitals. The only thing which mattered to Slice was that all citizens were treated the same. Everyone got the same marginal treatment from underpaid and under-trained doctors and nurses. If there were a few flaws in the socialistic medical system, so be it. The Zone medical facilities weren't perfect, either. He believed that the socialistic system would eventually win out and deliver excellent care for all citizens.

  Slice found Klaus's room in the burn treatment wing of the hospital. He walked in without a skeptical stare or question asked by the nurses on duty. Slice estimated the average age of the staff to be in their thirties. Those who weren't playing grab-ass with each other were either playing halo reality games or communicating with friends and lovers around the world. They were much too busy having fun to assist or question an old fuddy-duddy doctor walking the halls. From Slice's point of view, here was another example of why Free Zones with their for-profit institutions were out of control. They needed to be put under the firm leadership of the appropriate division of the World Council.

  There was one advantage to having Klaus in a Zone hospital versus a People's Hospital. Klaus was a well-known celebrity and wealthy enough to rate a private room. People’s Hospitals didn’t offer such lavish accommodations. A private room would allow Slice to carry out his mission without witnesses or interruption from the hospital staff.

  Slice walked over to the motionless DACS suit and peered into the eye holes. Staring back at him from within were two half-opened eyes which grew to full size when Klaus recognized his visitor. If it wasn't for Klaus's name embossed on the DACS suit, those eyes could have belonged to anyone.

  "Mr. Ekstrom, how nice to see you again." Slice laughed at his own witty remark about being able to identify a normal, complete human within the DACS suit. " I know you must be in a lot of pain, but there are a couple of things I must know. And you’re the only person who can help me. Do you understand?"

  Slice thought he heard a whisper of a grunt, which he took to be a confirmation from Ekstrom.

  "Good, good. Klaus, you haven't heard yet, but the clone Mr. Sweats and his band of renegade scientists made the other day wasn't correct. The host samples I sent to you for cloning were for a woman. Sweats' clone was a man. Do you see the problem, Mr. Ekstrom?"

  Slice waited for some type of response, but nothing came.

  "Mr. Ekstrom, to summarize, I'm not happy with what came out of the CR47 the other day. In fact, I'm damn pissed that my directions weren't followed. Do you know who I blame for this screw-up?" Slice didn't wait for Klaus to respond. "I blame you, Mr. Ekstrom. You’re the damn CEO of Phoenvartis. You were given the World Council host samples and you failed to get them cloned." Slice paused so his accusations could sink into Klaus's brain.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Klaus thought to himself. ‘That goddamn Rollie Sweats has screwed me over again. If I ever get out of this straight jacket, I'll kill that son of a bitch.’

  "Mr. Ekstrom, where are my host samples? I need those samples. Where are they?"

  Klaus was in fear for what remained of his life. He didn't know why, considering he felt dead already, but it was probably the fear of the unknown. This man not only represented the World Council, he positively reeked of evil. Being in the same room with him made Klaus shiver in fear, considering the different types of torture Slice might inflict to get what he wanted.

  Klaus tried to speak, but nothing came out. Maybe there wasn't enough air in his lungs to make a sound, or perhaps his mind was too focused on the monster staring at him to remember how to talk. He did the only thing he could think of which was to raise his fingers as he’d done when answering the investigator's questions.

  Slice waited for a response, but the only activity from the DACS suit was Klaus moving his fingers. Slice took that to be nervousness, or some type of involuntary motor reaction resulting from his severe injuries.

  "I see you aren't going to be cooperative, Mr. Ekstrom. I'll have to help you be a better team player." Slice opened the halo folder and removed the tools. He jerry-rigged the DACS suit so the shell could be opened without causing an alarm to sound at the nurses' station. He also disabled the alarms on the three devices monitoring Klaus's vital signs.

  "Okay, that should be good. Now, let me see. How exactly does this thing open up?"

  As Slice tinkered with the DACS suit searching for the correct way to open it, Klaus was frantically moving his fingers up and down. Even though the suit maintained a temperature in the low seventies, beads of sweat broke out on Klaus's forehead and ran down into his eyes.

  "Ah, yes. Here we go. It opens like a Mellow Yellow container."

  The upper half of the DACS shell lifted open. The opiate-based, pain relief gas created a white plume when it mixed with the air in the room and then dissipated. The cooling and healing drugs being delivered to the victim's mangled body automatically shut off.

  "Good God almighty. You’re a mess, Mr. Ekstrom." Slice loved making light of a Creator he knew was both a fraud and a curse on humanity.

  "Would you looky here. Klaus, did you know your unit is gone? You have no weenie. There's only a catheter sticking in your crotch. Looks like you won't be having anymore kinky sex with women like that slut, Sophia."

  Klaus tried with all his might to lift himself and look for his penis. It was hopeless. The only things he could move were his fingers and sometimes he could roll his hand over and back. Was the devil Slice lying or telling the truth about his sex organ being gone? The doctors hadn't said anything, but then again, they hadn't told him much about his condition.

  The remaining molecules from the pain relief gas were
being absorbed into Klaus's body. Soon, the opiates would wear off and no longer mask the pain raging throughout his body. Only five more minutes before the pain began and then intensified to intolerable levels.

  "Klaus, do you realize how many skin-grafts you'll need? There's hardly any skin left on your body. On the bright side, there's a way to grow skin cells without grafting tissue from your ass to the front side of your body. That's probably where the term ‘pain-in-the-ass’ came from."

  Slice chuckled at his witty remark. He was enjoying himself and didn't mind using any devious leverage he could to get his host samples back.

  "Klaus, I wish you could see yourself. Wait, wait, there's a mirror over here. Let me get it so you can take a good look at yourself."

  Slice removed the hand-held mirror from the nurse's station and held it about twelve inches above Klaus's face.

  It took a few seconds for Klaus's eyes to adjust to the mirror's reflection. When his eyes focused, all he could see was a mass of red pulp. The only distinguishable facial feature were two eyes. Where his nose, eyelids, and lips used to be, were pieces of bloody, scabbed-over meat. Slice had to be pulling a prank. A person's face couldn't just disappear. To prove this was a sick joke by an evil person, Klaus mustered enough energy to stick his tongue out. He didn't expect to see his tongue in the reflection.

  "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God". There was his tongue, slowly sneaking out from between two pieces of meat. Slice wasn't lying. His face was a slab of meat with two eyes and an empty cavity where his nose used to be.

  Thoughts of killing himself or asking to be killed raced through his mind. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life looking like a freak. What would he do, where would he go? Who would want to be around him? There was no use trying to kid himself – he had nothing to live for.

  Slice could see the desperation in Klaus's eyes. He knew his life was worthless and Slice had him exactly where he wanted. It was time to add a little hope to this pathetic situation.