Enemy Chapter Fourteen

Enemy Me
Author: J Carrell Jones
Table of Content

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Chapter Fourteen

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Chapter 14

Becky said, “Are you sure you want to do this?’
Kent nodded. George had figured it out, but needed to slow the development of Transgenetics down. The drug was going to get FDA approval. It was going to become wildly popular. It was going to be a disaster. Humankind would fade away in less than a hundred years, or be heavily mutated with inbreeding, or worse. Kent suddenly got scared. The worst case scenario was not inbreeding. It was when humans had to artificially clone to produce kids. It would be a world of genetically manipulated test tube babies and artificial wombs.
“Which one first?” She asked.

• • • 
      

Pete Walker woke up with a start. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this place. Not this time. He reached up and felt the oxygen mask tightly over his mouth and nose. That was good, but he still wasn’t supposed to be here. He couldn’t. Damn! Another failure. And with that another chance at redemption. Maybe justice, too. All of which didn’t matter at the moment. He had died, now he was awake. Pete took a deep breath and tested his eyes. The filtered light had a green tint to it, so the stinging shock of using his eyes for the first time wasn’t so overly painful, just maybe annoying. Strands of long hair drifted in front of his eyes. Strange he thought. ‘My hair grew longer while asleep?’ He made a mental note to check the software and chamber. He hoped he was the first to waken. Any technical glitches he could correct. He took another deep breath and tested his hands. Each finger flexed. That was good, but they looked smaller than he remembered. Was it the effect of the stasis goo, or was there something seriously wrong with the cloning process? He looked up at a blinking display board over his head. It flashed “Purge in progress. Please standby.” He looked around and spotted the readout displays to his right. Little monitors flashed and displayed numbers and text. One display was counting down. Another was scrolling odd bits of information, like “You can do it!”, “This time for sure!”, “So close, yet so far!”, “It’s time to leave. Prepare.” That he thought odd. He looked over at the monitor that was displaying a countdown of sorts. Then he remembered. “Purge in progress.” He looked up and saw two metal rings. He grabbed them. Seconds later he felt the floor underneath his feet vanish. The green tinted fluid slipped away from his eyesight. He remembered the process now. He waited until the fluid completely drained. The system would cycle through several procedures. Purge was first, wash was second. Release was third. He counted to three and the floor came back. Seconds later the container he was in filled with some clear fluid – water he thought. It was warm and turbulent, like a washing machine. Minutes ticked by as the chamber filled, circulated, and drained several times. The little countdown display kept track and reminded him he was not the original. Intellectually he understood he was not the original. Waking up in a thick green goo fluid reinforced that, too. When the countdown display reached zero he was hit with a blast of hot air. It whirled around him rapidly. He was dry in seconds. He lowered himself far enough to feel the grid floor and tested his legs. Strong, firm, stable. He let go of the overhead rings and with his weight fully supported by his feet he unsnapped his harness. There was something he was supposed to remember. Then he looked up and saw faces staring back at him. ‘WTF,’ was his first thought. ‘How?’, was the second thought. Moments later the door disappeared and a hand offered to help him out. He was weak and gladly accepted the familiar looking hand. Once passed the chamber threshold he took off the mask.


Kent helped Pete out of the chamber. Even after waking the others it was still amazing and un-nerving in watching the entire process. It was even more startling to see himself as a woman – not once, but four times. This Pete was the last one he was going to wake up. The big guy was going to sleep forever – if he could help it. The thought of this massive brute awake and causing havoc was unthinkable. “Welcome to your day one, Pete.”
Pete looked around, blinked several times, looked down and noticed firm breasts, inhaled deeply, then fainted.
Kent caught her. The first female Pete laughed first, then fainted. That gave him time to catch her. The second female Pete smiled, felt her breast, reached between her legs, found nothing, fainted. The third female Pete cursed up a blue streak. She stayed angry for hours.

• • • 
      

Everyone in the auditorium sat in the large upholstered chairs. Kent walked up to the front and took a deep breath. This was George’s plan, but he agreed. George worked out the details. “I am truly sorry we are here.” He surveyed the many different faces. Some sad, some angry, some stoic. It was amazing the different range of emotions he saw. They were essentially the same person, and so they should, at least, show the same expression given all were in the same situation. That’s what he thought, but standing in front of all the different incarnations of Pete Walker showed otherwise. Each person seemed to truly be unique.
Prax had finished passing out the last sandwiches and adult beverage. Even the two physically looking teenagers had wine. Technically they were all newborns, but no one objected to the Sangria sitting in front of them.

“There are three options you have. Accept who you are, why you are here, and work with me. If we succeed we may all live normal lives. 
That’s option one. The other options are to be angry and stay angry. Hate everything and everyone. Make life suck for yourself. I would say you can either go back into the stasis chamber, drift until whenever, or have Mike fix your last meal.”

Silence.
The phrase ‘talking to oneself’ had special meaning here. He waited a moment. No one objected. “Right after I woke up, I discovered George – Pete five, had blown himself up in an attempt to slow down Forever Life and its soon to be released drug called Transgenetics. I wrestled for days wondering why he would do such a thing. He killed about 30 individuals and injured over a hundred. George had prerecorded information. He had physical items he collected during his six years living . . .” Kent heard several gasps. He was getting their attention. “I also have about a years’ worth of his memory.”
Someone raised a hand and said, “How long?”
“We’ve been in stasis for twenty some-odd years. The world is better and worse at the same time. Social classes are still divided but by greater numbers, the top 1% own about eight-five percent of the US wealth. The Dow hit 25,000 yesterday – and that is not even the record. We are strangers in a strange land. There’s been a brief nuclear war – Iran turned mostly to glass, Russia in financial ruin, China had a major depression. The US became independent from foreign oil 13 years ago and became a major exporter of natural gas and petro. Fifty percent of the country is powered by renewable energy.”
Another voice asked, “How old are you?”
“Seven days.”
“Who’s the female?”
“Our lighthouse in dark times.”
Everyone stood up and turned to Becky.
The motion startled her. Different faces intensely staring, but seemingly of the same mind and body – potential George like. She shivered. Kent said, “She’s been with us for six years. George trusted her one hundred percent. So do I. Absolutely, with no reservations.”
“How?” A male voice shouted out.
“Even before I transferred George’s memories I trusted her. I trust Mike and I trust Prax.” Actually, he mostly trusted Mike and Prax, but he wasn’t going to voice that. Not here inside the complex.
Everyone sat down. It was eerie.
The African version of Pete stood up. He looked around. “This is creeping me out, but Pete Prime had a plan. Sucks big time that we are here. I remember why I was created, and I feel a need to act on that reason. But something is wrong. It’s like we’ve gone off program?” He sat down.
Kent nodded. “I felt the same way, but George told . . .”
A female version stood up, “Excuse me, sorry. But ‘George’?”
Kent took a deep breath. “It was Kevin, Pete Four, who re-established the tradition of choosing a name. I am Kent. Pete One took the name Eugene, but Pete two and three did not take a name. Kevin said it took him years to come to grips that he was not Pete Prime. George, Pete Five, said it took him months. It took me a day. George said that we are individuals and therefore should live not in Pete’s shadow, but create our own path, he . . .”
The female, still standing, interrupted, “So, basically, I can walk out of here?”
All heads turned to her.
Kent nodded, “Yes, you can. I won’t stop you. Mike, would you stop her?”
Mike’s voice filled the room, “No, Kent. Pete Eight may leave anytime, though I suggest she wait until I can establish a plausible background accompanied by the necessary paperwork and identification. It would also be prudent for Pete Eight, or anyone else, to study the last twenty years of changes. The world is different enough to warrant a sensible sound judgment in getting to know it first.”
She sat down.
Kent counted to ten before continuing. “He said the sooner you pick a name the better.”
“Can we view this video?”
“Mike?”
“Yes, Kent?”
“Please play the first video I viewed.”
The room darkened.

The center display screen came to life. His face appeared with a relaxed smile. “Mike,” George said over his shoulder, “I’m ready.”
“Yes, Doctor Walker. Recording now.”
George cleared his voice. “Number six, sorry I couldn’t welcome you into the world personally. I should have started recording a daily log day one, but . . .” He shrugged. “You’ll discover things tend to get lost in translating and we Walkers tend to become self-absorbed.” His smile was still alarming. “Remember that, okay. First, change your first name. I am not Pete. Neither are you. We are our own individuals.” The image leaned forward. “Yes we share memories with Pete, but we are not him. The moment you opened your eyes you became your own person.” He leaned back. “Remember me as George. Keep the family name but lose the first. Seriously. It took me several months to understand that. Kevin, number four, told me to change my name. I fought it. Just fought it. Then one day I realized Pete and I had nothing substantive in common. I read romance, he read non-fiction. I like Pistachio ice cream. He was a vanilla man. You getting the picture yet?” Kent looked over his brethren. They all remained fixated on the main screen.
“About Mike. Don’t ask if he is a real person. Mike will give you the silent treatment for days. If you did ask apologize, now. Seriously.
Apologize. You’ll need his help.”
Kent remembered and smiled.
“Number six, I’d like to tell you to forget our quest. You know, live your own life. Start a family. Have two and one-half kids running around. . .” George suddenly looked ten years older. “Forrest Taylor has to be stopped. Brother six, Forrest has to be stopped.” He leaned back and looked sad. “I’ve been fighting this bastard for six years now. I’ve been able to uncover a lot as were the others: Kevin, Pete 3, Pete 2, and Eugene. Forrest’s plan is worse than anyone can imagine. Sick bastard.” Suddenly George stood up and walked away. “Mike, pause recording please. Thanks.” The image of a receding George froze in mid step.
Kent said, “Resume please, Mike. Thanks.”
The video resumed and George gave them a rundown on major milestones in US and World Politics and History. The room’s vibe shifted when George talked about number eighteen. “. . . He’ll have one thought. Destroy. If he wakes up, then Forrest succeeded and all of humankind, at least in nations where the wealthy can afford the drugs, he’ll have one preprogrammed thought. Soon after he wakes he’ll double in size. He’ll get no last message because he won’t understand. Mike will send him immediately to the surface. No help, no prep, nothing. Because it won’t matter. He’ll destroy. He’ll run the distance from here to the Taylor Building and destroy. Everything. Everything. He’s not number eighteen, he’s Omega.” George looked up at some part of the room. “Everything.” He rubbed his chin. “Enough of doomageddon . . .”
Becky watched with a heavy heart. This was a recording she had never seen. Her George, gone.
The lights turned on. The auditorium was silent for a moment.
Kent stood up. “Of course, you can go through any and all the other recordings. You may even take George’s memories, but I have to warn you. It contains emotions.” He looked toward Becky and smiled.
She blushed.
“And the emotions are very powerful, and very real.”
Everyone turned to Becky.
Her blush darkened and she looked down with teary eyes. She acted like she hadn’t noticed.
Kent said, “There’s another video I should show. Mike, please show the one were George reveals who Forrest is.”
“Of course, Kent.”
The monitor lit up with George sitting at the desk. His hair was messy and he had a five-day old beard. His eyes were bloodshot with hooded eyelids. “This is madness. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t slept well. Kevin, that’s the name number four chose, said that Forrest’s company Forever Life submitted an investigational New Drug application to CDER. Apparently, he was going to sabotage the application, but didn’t succeed. I woke up two weeks ago and binged on all the information about Forrest and Forever Life, Inc. This is crazy. Forrest is our Alpha! He was the first successful clone and we are working against him!” The screen went black for a few seconds. A new image appeared. “Forrest is out of his mind. He has to be. I see why, Pete Prime broke ties with him and made this place. Transgenetics can transform the entire world to something good. Think about it. A pill that acts as a transport and vector for radical morphologic change, but Forrest has a secret agenda. He wants to make the world shaped in his image.” The screen went black a few seconds, then George reappeared. “I’ve been alive for about six months now. This world is amazing! Cars that drive themselves? Androids? Of which I’m going to have to make one. Space travel? Vacations in Earth’s orbit. Opportunities? Endless.” The screen went black and the lights came on.
Kent said, “There are other videos I hadn’t seen yet. Mostly are of George making self-notes. He talks about what he discovered during one of those sleepless weeks.”
One of the Pete teenagers said, “What are you not telling us?”
Kent gave out a light laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
The other teenager coughed, “Hello, clone here. We all have the same thoughts.”
The others gave out a nervous laugh.
Kent nodded, “That part may surprise you?”
Someone else said, “Pardon?”
Kent took a deep breathe. “We are related to Pete, not his exact clone.”
Everyone, said, “Wait, what?” There was a pause then the entire auditorium erupted into laughter.
Kent relaxed. He nodded. “The only true way to go beyond the seven clone limit is to keep using original adult stem cells for the donor. Young cells. The cells cannot come from a donor in advanced age. Between 25 and 35 for females and 18 to 25 for males seems to be the best. So, there is a time limit. Clone young and often or clone old and done. That’s why Pete Prime used other genetic donors. That’s why we are here.”
One of the females stood up, “But, female?”
“Or a midget!” A voice said from one of the seats.
“Or Black?”
“Or Asian?”
Kent said, “Pete Prime had his reasons. He left no videos.”
Mike interjected, “Kent, please excuse my intrusion. Pete Prime did leave an audio message.”

“I apologize to those listening. I am sorry to have brought you into this world. I am dead. Maybe a few years, maybe a hundred now, but I am dead and have no way to make up for bringing you to life. But it was necessary. You see, the whole of humankind is in danger. Dichotomously you are here. My sacrifice to help the world and my selfishness for creating you. So, why did I create you? Clones Beta to Eta should be obvious. Revenge mostly, but to continue where I left off. In making Beta to Eta I gambled that I would have to try all the obvious means to stop Forrest, which you know to be Alpha. In the beginning, we created Forever Life and Transgenetics to help humankind. We both shared a dream that one day all cancer, illnesses, deformities, psychoses, any and everything that caused suffering in humankind could and would be a thing of the past. It really was a good dream, but Forrest, at some point changed. My fault maybe . . . no . . . my fault period. I brought him into the world thinking that we were of one mind – mine. How naïve. One cannot create life and hope to micromanage that life into an aligned belief . . .” He sighed. “Forrest became his own person and we had a difference of opinion. Maybe I was wrong in creating you, but . . .” There was a long pause. “Forgive me, please.” His voice cracked. “I just wanted to make the world a better place. Now I want to fix this, but I know I may not see the end and that hurts. So, please understand I’m not holding you to correct the problem I made. If you are listening to this I am gone, but this is your world now. You have no choice except, work to fix it, live with it, or take the easy way out by suicide. I certainly can’t pass judgment.” Another long pause. “One last thing. As you may or may not know, we are related. We are not identical. You have your own soul and dharma to live with. There’s no test known to humankind that would prove you to be clones. Think about that. No test, period.”
Mike said, “That is all. Pete Prime never made video recordings.”
Kent said, “Is Pete correct about no test could prove we are clones?”
“None.”
Kent nodded as did everyone in the room. They remained silent for a moment. Kent said, “Questions?”
Pete Midget stood on the chair. “I might be the most disadvantaged here. What is the world like for little people?”
Becky walked close to Kent. “I can answer that.” All heads turned toward her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’d find it surprisingly well and accommodating. The LPA is a very powerful organization and lobbying group. There are about 23 representatives in Congress and three in the Senate. Two governors and over 50 mayors are LPs. Buildings built after 2025 have door knobs lowered by six inches. ATMs have a secondary access keypad and screen. Elevator buttons lowered. Restaurant chairs and booths have built in steps and adjustable seats. Cars come standard with steering wheel brakes and accelerators. Google’s autonomous cars are very popular with the LP community.
“Excuse me? LP?”
Becky nodded. “Little People. The term Dwarf and Midget fell out of favor before 2010. Short-statured is commonly used, though sometimes in a derogatory way with the right fringe, but they’ll never change. They hate everyone not white, Christian, and who believe the Earth is greater than 6,000 years old.”
“Thank you.” Pete LP sat down.
Pete African stood up. “And blacks?”
Becky smiled, “Two black presidents. Two added to the Supreme Court. The third richest man in America is black. We’re talking billionaire. Hundreds into the billion. Public figures have been caught lying about having black ancestors. Very embarrassing. And a third of the richest most powerful fortune 500 companies have black CEOs.” She stepped closer to Kent. “And for women, the ERA passed.”
Kent said, “Mike?”
“Yes, Kent?”
“I vaguely remember a conference room. Do we still have one?”
“We do. Ms. Becky knows the way.”
Kent, embarrassed, said, “Sorry. The memories say you know the place better than George did, but my mind is still trying to grasp that fact. Sorry.” He looked down.
Becky grabbed his hand and smiled. “Follow me.”
He looked up teary eyed and grabbed her out stretched hand.
She led him out the door of the main auditorium, down one of several hallways, into a large room with a large table. Thirteen chairs. Large screen display monitors hung on three of the walls.
The others followed and took their seats. Groups started forming. The females sat together, the short-statured Pete sat next to the teenagers.

Kent stood at the head of the table. “Mike, could you please display, in tile format, an image of each Pete with space enough for a name?” All three monitors flashed on with snapshots of each clone blocked out across each screen in three rows.
LP Pete said, “I kind of want to get some thoughts out in the air. I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking some rather progressive, if not perverted thoughts.”
Several in the room coughed.
Kent nodded. “I, too, had been thinking that, but didn’t want to bring it up just yet.”
Strawberry blond Pete laughed nervously, “We are thinking alike.” She reached under her shirt and started playing with a breast. “Goddamn this feels good!”
Everyone laughed and the tension in the room evaporated.
Asian Pete exclaimed, “Bastard had an ego!” He grabbed himself, “Do all the guys have big dicks now?”
LP Pete stood up on the table, holding himself, and said out loud, “Ha! I’m tripod man!”
More laughter.
In all the years Mike observed the Petes he had never once turned off his cameras. Today was an exception. Five hours’ worth of exception.

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