Clone, page 11
‘Are you feeling all right?’
He felt Cheryl’s hand alight on his arm and he tried to nod in affirmation while all the time one part of him was crying ‘Hang on!’ and the other begging ‘Let go!’
‘1/ he gasped ‘I—I—I…And then it happened. A blinding white soundless explosion behind his eyeballs and a wild rushing gale that battered his eardrums and then, as swiftly as it had come, faded away to a whisper in the remote distance, leaving his aching head a-swirl with a crazy kaleidoscope of jumbled images.
He blinked his eyes. Between his feet the trail of spilled coffee gleamed like an ebony snake. On his forearm lay Cheryl’s fingertips pink as anemones. His lost identity streamed back into his consciousness like sand in a twisted hourglass. ‘Alvin Forster,’ he whispered. ‘I am Alvin Forster, an eidetic freak. And there are four of me’ no
NINETEEN
It was no part of Pinkerton’s job to assess the security value of the information he dug up, but he had been working for MOSS long enough to recognize the difference between gold and pyrites. As he slouched back in the monitor-station loafer and overheard Professor Poynter describing to Norbert how Alvin and his brothers had come into existence he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had at last made the strike which every security agent dreamt about. Corruption in high places was the MOSS equivalent of a 24 carat virgin seam. In an excess of sudden panic he rechecked that the recorder was functioning correctly, then, having satisfied himself that it was, he cleared his first ever ‘Red A’ priority channel to headquarters and began piping this precious bane straight through to K.G.3.
— Ever since that day, Norbert, I have been tortured with self-doubt. What was it in me that compelled me to destroy this miracle at the very moment it had been vouchsafed to me? Can you tell me that?
— I daresay ma’am that a miracle could well be a very unnerving experience. When one is alarmed one does not
• always act in the most sensible way.
— Then you are prepared to take my word that it did happen?
— Certainly I am.
— But why, Norbert?
— Well, ma’am, in my experience things are only rarely what they seem to be. Do not forget that I knew young Alvin well. I perceived in him the fountain head of something wholly pure, some force for good that he himself was unaware of. Alvin moved through a world that lay all about him but was visible to him alone. In his presence I could not but feel a better ape and realize that the Kingdom of God was at hand.
— Ah, Norbert, if only I had been blessed with a little of your simple faith when my hand seized upon that canister of A-12, the world might be a different and a better place today.
— Who can say, ma’am? Is God’s path ever a straight line? Perhaps if I’d brought Alvin to you yesterday, you’d still have looked on him as an experiment.
— Yes, that’s true. It took the nightmare to make me realize what I had created. That, and you too, my dear friend.
— God has chosen us both, ma’am, just as he has chosen Alvin.
— But to what end, Norbert?
— Ah, there, ma’am, I must confess you have the advantage of me.
— Let me tell you what I think. You are the first person in the world I have dared to say this to, but I have come to believe that there is a latent power residing in those four clones which may yet transform the world. What this power is I cannot guess, but it is up to us to see that it does not fall into the wrong hands. I tremble to think what MOSS or Minisoc might do with it! We have no time to lose, Norbert! Alvin must be found I
— And then ma’am?
— You and I will reunite the four of them, Norbert!
— Very well, ma’am.
— Why it’s 01.55 already! Surely Cheryl should have returned by now? I can’t believe that she is still out on that same call. I shall contact that unpleasant man again.
Meanwhile in the intestinal labyrinth of K.G.3 the magnetized silicate threads were busily spooling up a cocoon of guilt to hatch the larva of Miriam Poynter’s destiny. By 0200 hours she had already confessed enough crimes to have consigned any ordinary citizen to the abbatoirs twenty times over. But the licence which her high office allowed her meant that each sentence she uttered had to be semasiologically analysed and then checked against a special M.O.P. security index. This process was so laborious and so potentially corruptive that the work had to be parcelled out among a regiment of technicians, none of whom was permitted to examine any sequence of more than three phrases. Consequently a full K.G.3 analysis sometimes took so long to complete that by the time guilt had been incontrovertibly established the incriminating material had already been declassified. No less a person than Sir Gordon Loveridge had, all unknown to himself, twice come within a whisker of indictment only to glide away to safety on the toboggan of an international scientific congress from which his classified indiscretions were trumpeted to the world and hence automatically declassified. Indeed it had been remarked with some justification that the mills of MOSS ground so fine that the particles they eventually produced were often invisible to the human eye.
In Professor Poynter’s case what had been immediately apparent to Pinkerton was by no means so obvious to the subtle scrutineers of K.G.3. Better than any they knew that, in the realms of science, nothing was ever quite what it seemed to be. ’These cases are never simple,’ they murmured. ’This time there must be no mistake. A false accusation of High Treason could ruin us all. We must watch and wait.’
TWENTY
Cheryl’s fears that her father might react unfavourably to a demand for ransom from the U.A.B. were certainly justified. He was summoned from the forum of his exclusive West End Dream Club where he was taking a central role in ’The Rape of the Sabine Women’, given a perfunctory squirt from a dehallucinant atomizer, and informed that there was an urgent call for him on the videophone in the Senior Members’ zoned sanctum. Without bothering to remove his centurion’s helmet, Sir Harold Langridge M.P. (for he was, in truth, no less) strode, sword in hand, up the carpeted gangway and rattling and wrathful, demanded to know what the hell it was all about.
‘I really couldn’t s-say, sir,’ panted the bewigged flunkey who had brought him the message. ‘Lady Langridge only s-stressed that it was extremely urgent.’
’The mean bitch!’ fumed Sir Harold. ‘She knew I’d drawn Centurion for the first time in six months! You could at least have stalled her off for another five minutes.’
‘I tried to, sir. Indeed I did. B-but you know her Ladyship.’ Sir Harold grunted, thrust open the door of the sanctum and marched up to the screen. ‘Well, Miranda?’ he barked. ‘What is it? And you’d better make it good!’
The woman who stared at him out of the screen looked like a slightly older model of her own enchanting daughter. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Harry,’ she said. ‘Cherry’s been kidnapped.’ ‘Kidnapped!’
She nodded. ‘We’ve just had a demand for a hundred thousand pounds from the U.A.B.’
’The devil we have!’ roared Sir Harold, wrenching savagely at his plaited leather chinstrap. ‘No bloody monkey’s getting a hundred thousand out of me! Tell the bastards they can keep her! And good luck to ’em!’
’They say if we don’t pay up they’ll send us her ears by special delivery tomorrow lunchtime.’
Sir Harold snorted. ’Ears! Dammit, Miri, she can get herself a brand new pair for a thousand each! It’s blackmail, that’s all it is! Blackmail!’
‘Yes, dear. I know.’
‘Why didn’t you get on to Reggie at Security? Hell, we pay far too much bloody tax as it is!’
‘I’ve already spoken to him, dear. He advises us to pay up.’ ’The devil he does! It’s not his hundred thou!’
‘He says there’s really not much hope of our seeing Cherry again if we don’t.’
’The stupid little tramp!’ howled the outraged father. ‘How the hell did they get hold of her anyway?’
‘It was in the Park, I believe.’
’The Park! Was she stoned out of her tiny mind! By God, Miri, I’ll get every cent of this back out of her wages if I have to squeeze her from now to Doomsday!’
’Then you will pay?’
‘Why the hell should I? Aren’t Samaritans insured against occupational risks?’
‘I’m not sure if this comes under “Line of Duty”, dear. Do you want me to find out?’
‘You bet I do! And Miri—’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘You tell the U.A.B. from me that I’ll have their guts for garters if it’s the last thing I do!’
Tes, dear. Oh, there is one other thing.’
‘Well?’
’They’re insisting on maximum publicity,’
The devil they are! We’ll see about that,’
‘I gather they’ve already been in touch with I.V.S/
Sir Harold saw his wife glance down at the floor. ‘Go on,’ he growled menacingly.
’They’re suggesting we could auction off the So-Vi rights to the negotiations for the handover and split the proceeds fifty-fifty,’
A gleam of pure acquisitive admiration kindled in Sir Harold’s eye. ‘By God, Miri, you’ve got to hand it to those chimps for nerve!’
Lady Langridge glanced up again. ’They seem to think we could hold out for at least two hundred thousand,’
Sir Harold’s eyeballs flickered round like computer spools. ‘Phew!’ he whistled. ’Two hundred thou, eh? Cool, Miri! Bloody cool!’
Lady Langridge coughed. ’They actually suggested that this was Cherry’s own idea.’
For the first time Sir Harold’s face broke into a slow, wide grin. ’Of course/’ he cried. ’That’s it! No bloody monkey could be that sharp! I always said my little girl was wasting herself in Samaritans! Why in five years she could own half the bloody City!’
Lady Langridge permitted herself the ghost of a smile. ’They said that you would be allowed a free hand to do the financial negotiating.’
’That’s my poppet all right!’ crowed Sir Harold. ‘She knows her daddy! By God, she does! How’m I supposed to contact these junglies?’
’They’ll be phoning through again in an hour. Do you want it relayed?’
Sir Harold unclipped his helmet and dragged it off. ‘I’ll come home,’ he said. ‘I’m off the boil now anyway. Be with you in twenty minutes, Miri. You get hold of Willy Probe right away and tell him to alert C.B.S. and the E.B.C. I want a four-cornered, security-sealed link-up with them and the I.V.S. Two hundred? By God, Mrs. Langridge, I’m beginning to think that if we play our cards right we’ll more than double that!’
TWENTY-ONE
Cheryl was woken from a profound sleep by the sound of the cell door being opened. One of the young uniformed apes who had earlier regarded her as ‘perks’ in the species struggle was standing in the doorway. ‘You’re to come with me, Miss,’ he said. ‘Captain’s orders.’
’Oh go and eat bananas,’ growled Cheryl. ‘And that goes for him too!’
‘Your father wants to speak to you on the videophone, Miss.’
‘So what?’
Alvin who was lying on another mattress in the corner of the cell woke up and demanded to know what was going on.
‘I’ve had a summons from Captain Marvel,’ Cheryl informed him. ‘It seems my ever-loving pappy’s on the line.’
’Oh,’ said Alvin. ’That’s nice.’
Cheryl did not seem convinced. ’Except that I’ve already made it plain to our pocket Trotsky that I’m not going to do his dirty work for him. Go on, you,’ she growled at the ape, ‘clear off, and let me get some sleep!’
The chimp unshouldered his laser and pointed it at her rather unsteadily.
‘And don’t try any more of the strong-arm stuff, buster,’ she said icily. ‘If you lay another finger on me your stupid hide won’t be fit for dish rags and you know it.’
The laser wavered indecisively and then swivelled round till it was pointing at Alvin. ‘So he gets it,’ said the ape.
There was a long tense moment while Cheryl debated whether her aura of immunity could be extended to include Alvin and decided it couldn’t. ‘All right,’ she muttered, “I’ll come. But don’t think you’ve had the last word, lover-boy.’
She swung her legs off the bed and slid them into her boots.
‘Shall I come with you, Cheryl?’ said Alvin.
‘You stay, pinkie,’ grunted the ape.
Cheryl pressed the static seals on the backs of her calves and stood up. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t feel safer if I was blindfolded?’ she enquired sweetly.
‘Captain didn’t say anything about that,’ muttered the ape. ‘Come on.’
The cell door clanged shut behind them and the sound of their echoing footsteps died away in the distance. Alvin stood up and tested the door but it was bolted fast. Then he lay down on Cheryl’s bed, switched on an eidetic mental street guide to London and tried to work out where they were. Presumably somewhere within walking distance of Marble Arch. He rummaged around in his incredible memory until he had found an old print map which marked underground car parks. The only suitable one seemed to be Green Park. He then went back and began combing retrospectively among the vaults and passages he had been led through, bringing them up one by one before his mind’s eye and scrutinizing them minutely for some possible clue. Within a minute he had found what he was looking for—a faded red arrow on a concrete span girder and a scarcely legible inscription ’exit half moon st.’ A quick flick back to the street guide and he had pinpointed to within a hundred yards his exact location. It was as though the last jigsaw fragment of his identity had slotted neatly into place. He knew who he was; he knew where he was. All that now remained was to discover what he was!
He thatched his hands behind his head and gazed up at the rust-stained concrete of the cell-roof. Having selected an area about three feet by four he simply recreated within it the video- screen on which, three years before, he had watched Professor Poynter’s stereoscopic image telling him that he was unique. He followed it through from beginning to end and pondered upon it. Had she been telling the truth? Presumably only up to a point, which was certainly one of the reasons they’d wanted to get their own back on her. ’They’? He! That was what the old duck hadn’t realized. It wasn’t just a case of 4 times 1, but of 1 to the power of 4! Or maybe even 4 to the power of 4! One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so, but turn your mirrors inwards on themselves and who can count the images then?
So what had happened? He closed his eyes and opened them again upon Desmond and Colin and Bruce, who were but Alvin and Alvin and Alvin. Four to the power of four. But four what? ‘Clones’ she had called them. ‘I am we,’ he murmured, ‘we are I.’ Could it be that Professor Poynter was their mother? Had they banished her because she had betrayed them? Well, of course they’d given her a fright, but surely she’d asked for it. Present a kid with a pair of seven league boots and what do you expect him to do? Polish them? But maybe she had done the right thing after all. The right thing for the wrong reasons. Psychological restructuring and three years in limbo had made a lot of difference. And if he was different, so were they all. There wasn’t much likelihood of them making the same mistake again. But if only she’d waited a moment before she’d squirted that can of gas at them. It would only have needed a moment. Just long enough to tell her…or maybe to show her…yes, to show her…And, lying there in the gloom remembering it, Alvin’s lips curled into the same sublime grin that had once graced the clones’ moony features as they lay unconscious on the floor in the Ministry of Procreation.
That was how Cheryl found him when she returned, escorted by a different guard, half an hour later. She walked over to the bed and looked down at him. ‘Alvin Forster,’ she said, ‘I hate to tell you this, but that’s my bed you’re sleeping on.’
Alvin’s eyes blinked open. ’Oh hello,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
Cheryl sat down and began pulling off her boots. ‘I’ve been too clever by half,’ she grunted. ‘It looks as though we may be stuck here for at least a week.’
‘A week! But I thought…/
‘So did I,’ said Cheryl. ‘But I overlooked one thing. Daddy’s infallible nose for business.’
‘He won’t pay?’
’Oh, he’ll pay all right, but now he’s insisting on 60% of the world So-Vi rights.’
‘So-Vi rights?’
Cheryl gnawed her lip. ‘I suppose I should have told you this before, Alvin. I put the idea up to the Captain at our first interview. I thought they’d be able to make a sort of sob feature out of it. You know the kind of thing. “M.P.’s lovely young Samaritan daughter held hostage by urban guerrilla apes.” It seemed a good way of recouping the ransom.’
‘Hey, Cheryl, you know that’s really clever!’
‘Urn,’ grunted Cheryl, ‘what I forgot was that it takes time to build these things up. The So-Vi boys reckon on a week for maximum impact. Believe it or not, darling Daddykins was ready to give ’em a fortnight! He says it’ll take him that long to get really haggard.’
‘And did the Captain agree?’
‘Him,’’ Cheryl snorted bitterly. ‘He just can’t wait to get his paws on all that lovely loot. Hell, he’s even been offering to make me the U.A.B. fund raiser! So much for the holy species struggle, eh? God, Alvin, this world makes me puke, really it does.’
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll think of something. Right now I just want to catch up on my beauty sleep.’
Alvin took the hint, sat up and relinquished the bed. ‘Hey, what happened to that guard?’ he said. ’The one who was going to lase me?’
’Oh, him,’ yawned Cheryl. ‘I fixed him all right. I swore to the Captain that he’d tried to rape me again. He’s had his laser confiscated and been given a week in the cookhouse. That’ll teach him to tangle with his superiors.’
