Enemy Chapter Three
Enemy Me
Author: J Carrell Jones
Table of Content
Chapter Three
Pete found his way to the main computer room. So far, he “remembered” things both necessary and mundane. As he stepped through the doorway the lights came on.
“Good morning, Doctor Walker. How are you?” A Verdi baritone voice seemed to come from everywhere.
Pete nearly jumped. That he hadn’t remembered, not quite like that. A voice from a computer terminal perhaps. Maybe on his Tablet.
“Morning?”
“I read the news. You have my deepest condolences. I am . . .”
“A computer?”
There was a pause. “Yes, Doctor Walker. I run the facility. Pete Prime installed me on day one.”
Pete sat in the main chair. “I see.” There was a total of five computer terminals. Pete occupied the middle one. “So, why do I not remember you if you were installed twenty years ago?”
“Doctor, I cannot answer that.” The computer’s voice was smooth.
“Cannot or will not?”
“Let me rephrase my answer, please. I do not know the answer to your question. Number five and two did not remember, but one and three did. You’ll find further gaps in your memory no doubt. As you know the cloning process is perfect. The memory transference and its means are not.”
Pete weighted that answer against truth and total bullshit. “Fair enough. Did number five leave anything for me?”
The computer said, “Yes he did. Several items in fact.”
Pete thought the exchange creepy. The computer seemed too good with speech. “You are a real person, aren’t you?”
The silence settled in between the two for a minute.
“Well? You are real, aren’t you? I mean as in AI real?”
The center display screen came to life. His face appeared with a relaxed smile. “Mike,” number five said over his shoulder, “I’m ready.”
“Yes, George. Recording now.”
Number five 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.”
Five’s smile was alarming. It was a bit unnerving to be on the receiving end. “Remember that, okay. First, change your first name.”
Odd Pete thought.
Number five continued, “. . . 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?”
On the surface, he felt he understood. “I am unique,” he thought. Well, of course. The Pete twenty years ago would have been him, but not now. He was dead . . . assuming the reason he lived was because he was dead as well as numbers one through five.
“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.”
Pete said, “Mike, I am sorry. I won’t question you again about being real.”
Mike said, “Forgiven. There is more.”
Pete smiled. Interesting.
“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.
Pete waited for a minute, then asked, “Mike, something wrong with the video?”
“No. I was waiting for you to ask.”
Pete paused in a thought, “Waiting for me to . . .”
The video resumed. George sat back down. “Okay, good, I do have your attention. Look, the cloning process is perfect. Too perfect. Do you remember this?” George held up a picture of a woman. She was a redhead, light smile, white skin, clean teeth perfectly aligned. He lowered the picture and leaned in close to the screen. “I didn’t. I still don’t. Mike had to fill me in with missing gaps in my memory. I’m not sure if the missing gaps is from the transference process or intentional intervention. All of us have this memory lapse. Mine is with Stephanie.” He lifted the picture up to the camera and pulled it away. “Number seven is going to remember less than you do. Number eight less more than seven, and so on and so on. Number eighteen will remember nothing. 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.” He smiled. “I left you an envelope, among other things, with a list of do’s and don’ts for your new life. You, my friend, are twenty years out of step. Remember that. It is no longer the 20th dark ages. Space travel to the Moon is normal, but not by the United States. Gay marriage is the norm. So are GEMPs. Genetically Engineered Chimps. The US Government gave them full citizenship ten years ago. We’ve elected a black President and a woman President. Twice. The Middle-East is fucked since we no longer depend on their oil, of which they have none. We export 23% of the world’s oil needs and Iran had been nuked, by Israel. North Korea fell, Russia bankrupt . . . again, and China had a severe housing collapse, went through a depression and lost a war. You have allies on the outside. Becky will freak . . . oh, yes. We do love.” George gave his patented alarming smile again. “You also have enemies. We’ll always have enemies. I gave you a list of ‘em. There’s plenty. Homeland Security is at the local level. Surveillance cameras cover 90 percent of the city. Androids are reality and marijuana, prostitution, and assisted suicide are legal. What’s that gotta say about the country?” George paused in thought. “Two more things. Trust Mike. He’s been watching and protecting us for a number of years – twenty for you, fifteen for me. He knows everything. He’s our Mentor. The second thing is . . .” George got teary eyed. He bit his lower lip. “I left you a memory card. Technology has made the transference better and easier but not perfect. You’ll get most of what I lived through the last five years. I regret not having started a family, but knowing that Pete left a vast assortment of clones the Walkers may indeed live on through normal means . . . one day. Hopefully, my sacrifice did some damage. If not, maybe you can do something better. Think out of the box is all I can say. Good luck, brother. Good luck.” A smiling George faded to black.