Chapter 25
“It wasn’t an easy order to give, but I had to.
If Dr. Hollis went public about what we’re doing, it could destroy everything.
Enemy nations finding out we’re working on a vaccine for their deadliest biological weapons could cause them to deploy them immediately.
My decision was between one life and potentially millions.
Dr. Hollis’s husband was a collateral casualty.
” - Excerpt from an email sent by Soren Whitman to Dr. Randall McClain
Marcus
Did Ingrid slip me a hallucinogen at lunch? I’m flipping through logical explanations for what’s happening in my mental Rolodex, and that’s all I can come up with.
He sticks his hand out for a handshake and I shake his—my?—hand mechanically.
It takes all my self-control to keep my expression neutral. I’m screaming internally about what the fuck is happening.
“You’re doing cloning experiments,” I say flatly, horrified. “With DNA from the Original Twenty-Six.”
“Some of them, yes.” Ingrid is upbeat, like she’s discussing the first sunny day after a week of storms. “You were one of our first templates.”
He’s not a mirror reflection of me. I’ve got several days of stubble on my face, and he’s clean-shaven. His hair is cut shorter. His biceps aren’t as big as mine.
But he’s close enough that I’m shaken up. This guy has my DNA. It’s like me in an alternate universe. These scientists made a copy of me, without my consent.
“Incredible.” I force a phony smile. “What an honor.”
“Will 6A6 get to meet him?” 6A5 asks Ingrid.
A flicker of annoyance flashes over her face. I’ve never wanted a shot of whiskey so badly in my life. There’s not just one. 6A6 must be another clone of me.
How fucking many are there?
“That’s not your concern,” Ingrid says.
“Of course, Commander.” 6A5 smiles at me blandly.
I’ve recovered from the shock. Now I need to find out as much as I can about this mindfuck, and feigning interest is the way to do it.
“Why 6A5?” I ask Ingrid.
She nods at the clone. “That will be all, 6A5. You can return to whatever you were doing.”
The corners of his mouth dip down with disappointment as he turns and walks away, looking back at me over his shoulder.
Once he’s out of earshot, Ingrid says, “Each of the Original Twenty-Six was assigned a number. Yours is six. The A is for accelerated. The five means he was our fifth accelerated clone with your DNA.”
An irrational urge to burn this whole fucking island down flares through me. But I grin, looking impressed.
“You answered my next question, which was how he is already my age when the DNA is only six years old.”
“Accelerated and decelerated aging is the primary focus. We’re close to refining it, and when we’ve done that, we’ll scale.”
Scale. She talks about it so clinically, but I know goddamn well what she’s planning.
She’s going to mass-produce cloned versions of the Original Twenty-Six who can be adult soldiers when they should still be in diapers.
The aromium experiments on my island pale in comparison to what this could become.
“How old is he?” I ask. “6A5?”
She considers. “6A5 is between three and four years old.”
“But he seems ... like me.”
She smiles, pleased. “We call them Reps, which is short for Replications. We immerse the Reps in learning fourteen hours a day and they get seventy-five minutes of physical conditioning a day. When they sleep, they’re connected to subliminal learning through headsets.”
Created in a lab or not, those are human beings. Ingrid talking about them like property makes me sick. But I’m here to learn everything I can. Retribution isn’t an option. Yet.
“So why decelerate aging?” I look at the children and young adults walking around the track and clustered into groups of friends through fresh eyes, realizing they’re all clones.
Which ones are Ellison? Dr. McClain? Dr. P?
“To create tomorrow’s leaders,” Ingrid says, her tone indicating she thinks she’s superior in thinking to me. “Humans who age seven times slower than us can be invested in with training and resources. They can lead our nation for many generations.”
“Of course.”
I’ve got the full picture now, and it’s a grim one. They plan to use decelerated aging to make military leaders who can live four hundred years, and accelerated aging to make expendable grunts.
I hate it here. Fuck their air-conditioned rooms and fancy food. I want to go back to my island, where there’s only one version of me.
Ingrid looks at the screen of her communication device. “I only have a little more time to spare. Before Tyrone takes you to our tattooist, would you like to meet 6D17? One of your decelerated clones?”
Seventeen. And I can’t punch the shit out of anyone right now.
“I’d love that. I’m curious, though, why seventeen? Are there more decelerated clones?”
She purses her lips. “Slowing aging has proven more challenging to our team.”
What the fuck does that mean? Are the first sixteen dead? I don’t want to ask too many questions, so I just nod.
“We went through a lot of that on my island, too. Keep at it. Persistence pays off.”
“Well said, Commander. Let’s head into the nursery.”
I can’t stop staring at the massive New America flag inked onto my forearm. It’s a reminder of many things, none of which are good.
The flag I knew growing up is no more. It’s been replaced by a flag that represents authoritarianism, patriarchy, and destruction.
I did nothing to stop any of it. The regime this flag belongs to forced Briar into a marriage where she was sexually assaulted repeatedly, and then they branded her hands with black X marks to tell the world she defied them.
Her tattoos are nothing to be ashamed of. They show she refused to be used. And even though I had to get the fresh ink on my left forearm, I don’t like what it shows. Even if it is a lie.
“It looks great on you,” Tyrone says for the third time in the past hour.
“Thanks.”
He made small talk with the tattooist, Moses. It saved me from having to do it, but left me with nothing to do but watch in silent horror as Whitman’s flag was permanently drawn on my skin.
That was on the heels of meeting a version of myself who looks like a baby, but is actually much older. 6D17 has dark hair and was just ... off. He was listless and seemed unaware of his surroundings.
At least now I can get the fuck out of here. Tyrone is driving me back to my sub at the dry docks.
“I want to show you our statue of the president,” Tyrone says, turning down a narrow lane.
I’d love to piss all over that statue, but instead I smile and say, “Great.”
The lane turns into a narrow alleyway between two buildings, and Tyrone makes a sudden, sharp turn into an opening in one of the buildings. When I look at him, he has a finger over his lips, telling me to stay quiet.
We’re in an empty room with a concrete floor. There are floor cabinets lining the large space, some with toolboxes on the counters. New tires of all sizes line shelves and there are several vehicle lifts. It must be a vehicle maintenance area.
He puts the vehicle in park and a woman approaches us, passing him something and then leaving quickly. It looks metal and it’s about the size of an ink pen. Tyrone looks at his watch and pushes a button on top of the pen thing.
“This is a jammer,” he says softly. “We have about three minutes. Olin contacted me when you were on the way here. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to break my cover until now. I’m ILF. Olin said I can trust you. Can I?”
I nod, floored. Tyrone played the role of Whitman disciple so convincingly that I never doubted him.
“We have people undercover on all the islands but one,” Tyrone says. “Olin has never contacted any of us, but he asked me to keep you safe. You didn’t really need me, though. What questions can I answer for you?”
It’s already been thirty seconds, and I have dozens of questions. I spit out the first one that comes to mind.
“How many islands are there?”
“There were originally nine. One island was contaminated, so it’s quarantined now.”
“Is the ILF winning the fight?”
He pinches his brows together. “From what I know, it’s more of a draw. We get a win, they get a win. But we deliberately keep intelligence only within certain cells. The fewer of us who know everything, the better.”
“I need to get people off my island. There are a lot of us.”
“How many people are on your island in total?”
“Ballpark, like four hundred. And more than a hundred to evacuate.”
“You’re on Island Seven. We hardly know anything about that one, just that there was a rebellion and the New America leadership is letting it play out to see what happens.”
My lips part with surprise. “They know?”
“They want to see if the experimental subjects can take over on their own before they send anyone in. What else can you tell me quickly?”
“Uh ... there are children. A lot of them. Aromium makes people want to fuck, and then they have children whose aromium is inherent and can never be turned off. It makes it more powerful.”
“What else does aromium do?”
“It makes people a lot stronger and faster. Increases irritability in lots of people. Makes them need less food and sleep.”
He looks from side to side, making sure we’re still alone.
“Island Four is all ILF. I don’t know if they’ll give you one, but they have bigger boats Whitman’s people don’t know about.
The leader is Cress. I can program your sub to go there instead of your island.
It’ll take you a while to get there. When you do, tell Cress Evander sent you. ”
I’ll do whatever it takes to get one of those boats. I can get my people off the island and they can start over somewhere new.
Briar and I are going to New America, but everyone else could go somewhere Whitman doesn’t control. Canada, maybe.
“What’s the scope of the cloning experiments?” I ask. “Is Whitman mass-producing soldiers?”
“No, that’s not what it’s about. They’ve brought some of the top commanders here to get organs from the clones. They’re hoping the decelerated aging research can help all of them live longer.”
He glances down at his watch. “Twenty seconds. When I push this button, this conversation is done and I’m back to my cover.”
I still have so many questions. I should be focusing on the big picture. Asking about the other islands. Seeing if he knows where Whitman is. But all I can think about is 6A5.
“How many clones of me are there?”
Tyrone furrows his brow. “I don’t know. At least three A clones.
Seventeen is the only one still alive on the D side.
” He stares at his watch face as he says, “I’ll give you extra water for your trip when we get to the docks.
Don’t say anything about it. And your tattoo is only semipermanent. Moses is ILF, too.”
He presses the device button and then sets it on the ground beside the vehicle. I’m reeling as he puts the vehicle in drive and exits the building.
“Hey, at least you’ll have a flag to fly now,” he says lightly. “Not every island gets a statue.”
I follow along. “Yeah, I guess a statue that nice wouldn’t fit in on my island. It’s pretty untamed. I’d put our people up against anyone’s, though. There was a little rebellion and we squashed it.”
Tyrone’s lips quirk in a knowing smile. “I’m sure if you keep up the great work, you’ll end up on an island like this one soon.”
“I’ll serve New America wherever the president needs me.”
The door to the dry dock building is opening, and as soon as it’s high enough, he pulls the vehicle into it. When he parks, we walk to the sub in silence. The door opens upward and he sets the bag he’s carrying inside it. Then he steps into it and pushes some buttons on the dash.
As soon as he’s back on the dock, he says, “Safe travels back to your island, Commander. It was our honor to host you.”
I do a jerk-off motion as I say, “Peace, order, and prosperity.”
He fights a grin. “Peace, order, and prosperity.”
I get into the sub and buckle myself in, glad to be leaving Island Three behind.