Consigning Fate (28 page)

“She doesn’t know,” Frank said.

“Then we have a problem.” Hal said. “If she doesn’t know, she will know, and who knows what she will do.”

“Worse,” Robbie added. “If she doesn’t know and she then knows and finds out we know, but didn’t tell her what we know, then I didn’t wanna know what she’ll do. You know?”

Hal nodded. “I know.”

“Fuck.” Frank blurted out.

“What?” Hal asked. “Revelation?”

“No. Confusion. What the fuck are you guys saying?”

Elliott explained. “In a nutshell Frank. She has to know. Period. If she finds out that we knew about the clone. She is going to be pissed.”

“But how is she going to know?”

“How can she not?” Hal asked. “When, Big Brother, was the last time you knew Dean to line dance and sing Karaoke?”

“Last week.”

“What!” Hal blasted. “He did not.”

“Did, too,” Frank came back. “Maybe not line danced. But he talked about it. He definitely sang Karaoke. Faithfully, by Journey. Wait. Or was that me.” Frank paused. “That was me; I sang Faithfully, he sang Tiny Bubbles.”

“Oh, he did not,” Hal retorted.

“Did, too. Sang good too. Got a standing ovation.”

“You are so full of goddamn shit.” Hal shook his head. “He didn’t sing karaoke nor talk about line dancing, and you know it.”

“Ok. Whatever. But what does that have to do with anything?” Frank asked.

“He didn’t do it before, but he sure as hell is doing it now.”

No sooner did Hal say that, Robbie jumped noisily from his chair.

“Where are you going?” Hal asked.

“If the clone is going to line dance, sing karaoke and wear that tacky blue shirt. I don’t know about you guys. I’m not missing it.” Robbie flew from the apartment.

Robbie was out of the door a matter of seconds. And after a few glances at each other, Frank, Hal, and Elliott followed.

<><><><>

When did Dean become such a crowd pleaser, George wondered? He was genuinely impressed with his line dancing and even more so with Dean’s rendition of ‘The Twist’. He sang the song perfectly and proceeded to get everyone in the room twisting.

The only thing George would change was that shirt.

Turning back to the bar, he saw the smirk on Jason’s face.

“Watching Dean?” George asked.

“Yep.”

“He’s certainly not the Dean I remember,” George said.

“Me either.”

“Really?”

Ellen approached the bar. “Hey, guys. George you’re not dancing.”

“Watching tonight, Ellen. I will later.”

“Watching Dean,” Jason said. “So, tell me, is he drunk?”

“No. Not at all.” She shook her head. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “He’s such the social butterfly tonight.”

Ellen giggled. ‘Yeah he is. Isn’t it great?”

“Odd,” Jason said. “Don’t you think? Have you checked the drugs in the lab? Maybe he’s on something.”

“Good idea.” Ellen sipped her drink. “I will. He’s been stressed. I don’t think it’s that, though.”

George asked. “What do you think it is?”

Ellen exhaled. “Dean has had problems with his chip. It’s affected his personality, mostly negative. He’s been getting that healing agent to help his brain. I really think, the treatments are affecting him, too. Only to the positive. So I won’t complain.” She smiled “Excuse me.”

As she walked away, George looked at Jason. “The treatments. Healing agent? Is that possible?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, anything can affect behavior.”

“Do you think that’s it?”

“Nope. Not at all. He’s on drugs,” Jason stated.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s not gay.”

“What?” George laughed.

“No straight man or man not under the influence would wear that shirt. Drugs.”

George could only nod his agreement.

<><><><>

The chill in the air for the hour made the cemetery even creepier, Robbie tremble slightly.

He was a bundle of nerves as they entered the cemetery and the private mausoleum.

“You OK?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Fine.” Robbie cleared his throat.

“So, finish, talk to me while we do this.”

Robbie took a breath. “Think of the biggest nerd you know.”

“Me.” Dean said.

“No, not even you. Television, movies biggest nerd.”

“OK.”

“The clone make him look cool.”

Dean paused at the tomb. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Robbie shook his head. “Which makes matters worse.”

“Why is that?”

“Dean.” Robbie stopped moving. “He is not a killer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you just know. This guy is far too innocent and naive to be a killer.”

“Maybe it’s an act.”

Robbie closed his eyes and shook his head. “It's not an act. I’m telling you. If he was that smart to pull off the naïve act, then he would be smart enough to know that you, let alone any man in Beginnings wouldn’t wear that shirt.”

Dean groaned.

“He sings well.”

“So do I.” Dean said.

“No, you do not.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean chuckled. “Last...” He paused to laugh.

“What? Tell me.”

“Ok, I promised Frank I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Go on.”

“He was kind of down in the dumps, and it was about … four in the morning. He and I went to the Social Hall, had a drink or two, and turned on the karaoke system.” Dean laughed.

“You sang Tiny Bubbles.”

Dean looked up surprised. “How did you know?”

“Frank told us and no one believed him.”

“Well, it’s true. And …” Dean started at the concrete tomb. “If you’re ready.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“I have to know, Dean. We have to know.”

Dean set down his flashlight, as did Robbie and they both lifted the crowbars. Prying the lid from the seal wasn’t too difficult, but lifting it enough to move it was harder. Sliding it off was strenuous and tedious.

They grunted and groaned, sliding it carefully into a position that would make it somewhat easy to replace.

They both gasped at the sight of the coffin.

“You or me?” Dean asked.

Robbie lifted the flashlight. “You. Go.” He nodded.

Dean gave a look of assurance to Robbie and gripped the lid to the coffin. “Robbie. Before I do this. You have to brace yourself for several factors. The body may not look the same. You have decomposition … he wasn’t embalmed.”

“I know. I know. Let’s get this done with.”

Dean nodded. “Hold the light.” He undid the latches and grabbed the lid. After a brief hesitation, Dean lifted it.

Dean’s eyes closed.

A groan of painful defeat seeped from Robbie and the flashlight toppled from his hand into the open casket. He dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, God. What did I do?” Robbie buried his face in his hands. “What did I do, Dean?”

“Robbie you had every reason to think the way you did. Hell I did,” Dean said. He couldn’t look. One glance was all he needed to confirm that Joe was in there.

“Let’s just go. I have to look at a different angle.”

“We need to find who helped him and why. OK. I’ll help you in any way I can. After all, what else do I have to do?”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“I’ll close this up,” Dean said. “I’ll just need your help putting the lid back on the tomb.”

Robbie nodded.

Dean knew he had to get the flashlight. Holding the casket lid open with one hand, he reached inside. Grab it. Close it. Go. His fingers gripped the light, and as he pulled it from the coffin, the beam shot over Joe.

Dean paused.

“Robbie.” He whispered. “Robbie …”

“What?” Robbie said defeated.

“What’s the one thing your father always teased Frank about?” Dean asked, holding the flashlight on Joe.

“Being dumb?”

“No. What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think, Robbie. Joe joked, teased, and rubbed it in. What?”

“Dean,” Robbie nearly snapped. “What? Why’s this important.”

“Think, Robbie. I need you to say it. I need you to remember it. How old is Frank?”

Robbie grumbled. Just as he was about to spew out Frank’s age, he sputtered the answer Dean sought. “Gray hair. Frank has gray hair.”

“And your father.”

“About four strands. Why?”

“Come here,” Dean said.

“No, Dean.”

“Robbie, why are you here tonight? Your father’s prints were on that bomb. You wanted to see who was buried here. We opened this coffin; we looked at the face and body. But we didn’t look. Come here.”

Robbie slowly stood and walked over.

“Look.”

“I can’t.”

“Look!” Dean blasted. The beam of the light shone on the face. “I knew your father well. You knew your father well. If he had ten gray hairs, he was lucky. To the best of my knowledge, hair doesn’t turn gray in a month post mortem. Look.”

Robbie’s eyes widened when he saw where Dean indicated.

“Hold this.” Dean said of the lid.

Robbie did.

Dean brought the light closer, and moved the hair above the right temple. There was a distinctive path of gray. The same was said for the other said. “See.”

“My ... my father wasn’t gray when he died.”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“That’s gray hair.”

“Yep.”

“And it didn’t turn gray …”

“Impossible.” Dean said.

“Dean …” Robbie breathed heavily. “Dean … is this a clone.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I don’t know. I could find out with examination. But exam or not. I know one thing. I know for sure, this isn’t Joe.”

“Then if it’s not him.” Robbie looked at Dean, then to the body. “Who is it?”

“And a bigger question.”

Robbie swallowed, and spoke breathless. “Where is my father?”

March 30
th

If he was exhausted, Dean could only imagine how Robbie felt. They didn’t get back to Dean’s house until just before six AM. Robbie had to hurry to Beginnings. His shift was starting. He told Dean there were things he had to do, and he’d send the computer equipment requested, out with John Matoose when John made the afternoon visit.

That worked for Dean. As long as Robbie didn’t say what the equipment was for.

He didn’t think John would ask. After all, Dean had to find things to do while out there.

But Robbie was unable to return until later that evening. Too much to do, plus, he had to get some rest.

Dean was fine with that, that afforded him work time, and time to sleep.

But would he be able to sleep?

Art first, the discovery of the Joe double was hard to swallow. Even Dean doubted his initial finding of the gray hair, wondering if it were wishful thinking. But the more he looked, the more he realized there were differences.

To confirm or deny it was Joe, Dean had test to perform.

Only problem was, they couldn’t bring the body back. They couldn’t exhume it.

They spend hours taking photographs. Entire body photographs. Skin samples, hair samples. Cultures. Anything and everything Dean needed to make that determination.

There were things Dean noted mentally, then photographed close up.

But he wouldn’t even be able to look at the photos until Robbie brought out the second computer and line to download the pictures.

The body identity, or rather, dismissal of identity was a vital piece of the puzzle. One, Dean was pretty sure, he could confirm before the next day. But that was only one piece. After that was found, Robbie still had the whole picture to complete. And to Dean, it was abstract, and was not going to be an easy task.

<><><><>

It was weird to Roy sleeping in Dean’s bed. However, he couldn’t go back to the trailer, not if everyone thought he was Dean.

He had to stay at Dean’s place. The night was a blur. Ellen brought him back to the house, they giggled a lot.

She said that his roommate Richie wasn’t home. Roy wasn’t sure how he felt about having a roommate, or even who Richie was.

He’d find out.

He remembered the bed spinning when he laid down. He didn’t understand how Dean slept that way. Perhaps some people in Beginnings liked their bed spinning. He couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. He looked everywhere, finally he fell asleep.

The spinning bed caused a massive headache the next day. Making the headache worse were Dean’s selection of clothes.

How did he have so many black tee shirts? Boring.

In the back of the closet, Roy found an interesting green striped shirt and placed that on. It was appropriate for office work.

He showered and stepped out to the ‘sweet’ smell of body fragrance spray.

That had to be his roommate, because Roy couldn’t find any body fragrance in Dean’s things.

The whiff grew stronger and a blur of a small person shot by him.

“Morning, Dean.”

Before Roy could register what weather pattern to use, the person was on the stairs.

“Morning … Richie.” Roy snapped his finger. “Richie.”

“Yeah.” Richie stopped halfway up the stairs.

“Do you have any of the sweet smell stuff you’re wearing? It smells good. I want to smell good.”

“On my dresser,” Richie said and headed down the steps. “Coffee should be done.”

“Thanks.”

And he was gone.

Thinking, ‘Boy he moves fast’, Roy went into the other room, and found the bottle that he assumed was the smelly stuff. It was stronger smelling than what Richie had on, so Roy only dabbed a little.

Smells.

That was the difference.

Dean’s house had smells the trailer did not. Smells that were nice.

Like coffee.

Something else.

“Jess worked night last night,” Richie said. “Relieved me and gave me some of his Mexi Mix Eggs.” The microwave beeped and Richie opened the door. “There’s plenty if you want some.”

Roy sniffed. “Wow they smell good.”

“They are. I just wish I could enjoy a plate. I’m in a hurry.” Richie tossed a spoonful on a piece of bread and folded it. He took a bite, washed it down with coffee.

“Are you sure?” Roy asked. “I’d love some.”

“Have some. Can’t stay and eat with you, though.”

“That’s fine. I hope it helps this headache. The spinning made my head hurt.”

Richie laughed. “Did you drink a lot last night?”

“Of what?” Roy asked.

“Alcohol.”

“Oh, yes.” Roy nodded. “I drank Frank under the table.”

“No wonder you have a headache.” Richie shook his head. “That would do it. Since you don’t do it much, coffee and a big old glass of water works for me.”

“Thank you. I’ll try that.”

“See ya later.”

“Have a good day.”

Mid wave, Richie was gone.

“Boy, he moves fast.” The first thing Roy did was pour and drink a huge glass of water. It caused a knot in his stomach, which almost spawned vomiting. Roy stayed in control. He took a small plate of the colorful eggs and a cup of coffee to the dining area.

He sat at the table and reached for his cup. The second he brought it to his nose, he flashed back.

Coffee.

“Coffee,” General Spade set down a small paper bag. “You don’t know how fortunate you are to have this. Not everyone is issued coffee once a month.”

General Spade. For the longest time Roy thought the general was his Uncle. He remembered when the general was a major, accompanying another general during visits. Then Spade took over the project.

“I need this,” Roy said. “It keeps me moving for all the work you give me.”

“I know. That’s why you get top priority.”

Neither General Spade, nor any other military man was anything like in the history books or portrayed in Happy Days. He didn’t wear ribbons and pins. He had two stars on the lapel of his black uniform and that was it.

General Spade looked around. He laid another small bag down. “The wife made you a sweet bun.”

“Mrs. Spade is the best.” Roy smiled. He recalled the first time he saw Mrs. Spade. She came with the general and Roy was only twelve. She stood by the window looking in. When Roy made eye contact with her, she tilted her head and gave a Marion Cunningham, mom like smile. Roy walked to the observation window that day and stood closer than he had ever stood to anyone there. His fingers touched upon the glass and she reached for him.

Roy snapped out of that memory when he saw the general tapping his fingers on the bag.

Roy felt the bag. The softness of the sweet bun, and under, a hard feel. Roy nodded.

“I’ll leave you be. Can you get that done today?”

“Yes. Although the laser still does not seem to be cutting through the adult LEP skin.”

“Try.”

“I will.”

“You’ll see why.” General Spade said, and then a few seconds later he left Roy’s domain.

Roy had lived in the same loft style place for as long as he could remember. One giant area separated into living and lab space.

Always, there was an observation window.

Someone was always watching him.

He slid the sweet bun from the bag and then turned the bag over. Taped to the bottom was a tiny black flat cartridge. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the news player.

Such high tech. Roy was privileged to it, but that wasn’t the way of the world.

He had never been outside the walls of his room, ever. Artificial sun gave him color, but then again, artificial sun gave a lot of people color.

Only those truly privileged, rich, or in command had access to the high tech equipment. All equipment that Roy had invented in his lifetime.

The rest of the world … it saddened Roy.

He could see out his window what it was like.

Buildings of the past were partly destroyed. Tents were roofs as people lived like vagabonds in the streets. They begged for food, and waited anxiously for the food carts to come around.

What happened to the world?

The news cartridge told him, and the news cartridge was the reason for General Spade’s visit. Ulterior motive.

The LEPS, or as Beginnings called them, grown up killer babies, had exceeded the normal human population.

They not only were a civilization of their own, but humans from a faraway land commanded them.

The LEPS were devastating. The only way to get them were to use the invisible suits, because then the LEPS couldn’t+58/q see, smell, or sense the hunting soldiers.

But they were outnumbered because there was no simple way of killing them.

They were created to withstand the elements, and they did. Even the elements of war.

They were they only ones who progressed.

No one else had the initiative to bounce back after the war.

They started to after the plague, but then came the Great War, and that was it.

It took decades and Danny Hoi to build back technology. Even then, that was a struggle.

They had to beat the odds. Danny did his best to try to invent a means of fighting, but they couldn’t. The world just didn’t have it to bounce back. At least not everyone. The only way to remain alive was to pocket different areas of civilization. A lottery was the only way people moved into the pockets, unless they were farmed into this world. The rest of the population would try to fend for themselves with help of the government.

But even the protected pockets weren’t completely safe.

Most of the money the government had, went to technology. Building a population to protect and farm, another large chunk went to defense; the tiny bit remaining went to the people.

Roy wasn’t paid for anything he did.

He was fed, protected, and given anything he needed.

He had to be protected. He had to be sheltered. That was the plan. Roy would be fed information that they wanted him to have and only information pertinent to survival.

As he ejected the cartridge from the news player, he noticed something else on the bag.

“Happy Birthday, Roy.”

Roy smiled. It was his birthday. Funny. He was alive for thirty-nine years, but his embryo had been created over eighty years before that.

He remembered the birthdays of his youth.

Movies, old television series, old Hoi Vision shows, all courtesy of Danny Hoi.

He never got to speak to Danny. Not speak personally, they communicated via messaging. Roy was told it was because Danny knew Dean Hayes and didn’t want any influence, but he saw Danny Hoi often, through the observation window. He imagined Danny’s voice and how it sounded. Deep, and with authority.

Roy was Danny’s brainchild.

That was what General Spade had told him.

When a world void of scientists and brilliant doctors started being ravished by disease, Danny was the one who came up with the idea to bring back the mind of Dean Hayes.

He knew where the clone was hidden in the old world of Beginnings. It was Danny who created the artificial womb, he had information and education pumped in utero to Roy.

It was Danny who dictated that Roy would exceed Dean’s intelligence capabilities. Theorizing that if unscathed by the world, uncomplicated by life, a great mind would be a vat and develop as such.

It did.

Danny would give Roy things to invent, or take one step further than he did.

Danny Hoi invented up until the day he died. He lived a long life. Way past a hundred years old.

Despite the blood recharging transfusion that Roy created, Danny’s body simply wore out.

It was empty for a while after Danny.

It was that emptiness that stayed with Roy. It was also Danny Hoi that made him plot and plan for over half his life on what he could do.

He didn’t know the younger Danny Hoi that lived in Beginnings. He looked different, thinner. But he knew the mature Danny of the post world of the Great War.

The Great War was the turning point.

It had been said that had the Great War not had happened, or been handled differently, the world would have turned out differently.

How Roy wanted to live in a world like Happy Days or like Beginnings.

“If you could go back and change it would you?” Roy asked Danny during a messaging session. Roy was all but about Twenty-five. Danny was in the final years of his life.

“You mean time travel?” Danny responded.

“Yes. Like they had in Beginnings.”

“To determine the point would be difficult,” Danny said. “There are lots of points. I would if I could. If I could figure out where. The mind isn’t as quick now.”