Cloning for Congress. 15.6k US Congress w/Illegal clones. Adult. (standard:adventure, 15545 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 22 2020	Views/Reads: 1429/1021	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Although cloning humans is illegal in the US they left an exemption for themselves. NC212E3 (Nancy) is one. An error in the system lets her escape. Eventually, her revenge may bring down the US government.

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and able to feed themselves. They did have excellent medical attention 
but nobody cared about their comfort or mental needs. 

Although NC212E3 was still whole, many of her companions weren't. They
were missing limbs and internal organs. Every once in a while she would 
see one of them lead or carried down the passageway, only to return a 
few days or weeks later, missing another part. That was their function. 
If their patron needed an arm, it was taken from the clone. 

*** 

Deep in the hills of Virginia stood a secret government complex. It had
a code name of "Xena," and an extremely high security rating. Congress 
pulled strings to have the National Security Agency finance it with 
covert funding hidden in the budget of the Department of Education. The 
public was unaware of its existence. In the event of a national 
emergency it would help ensure the continuation of congress by keeping 
politicians healthy and whole. It was the place where NC212E3 was 
incarcerated, along with her companions. 

Although cloning humans was illegal, Congress gave themselves a secret
exemption, hidden in the fine print. It was one of the undocumented 
perks that came with their positions. And, of course, if you were a 
special friend or heavy campaign contributor you might also rate a 
clone or two. 

Deep in the underground reaches of "Xena" could be found a large Super
Computer. Part of its function was to keep track of its charges, their 
status and medication. One day a diode shorted out due to a rusty 
component. Condensation had formed above it and very slowly dripped 
moisture onto the contact. The resulting short circuit deleted a 
portion of some of the clones' records, including NC212E3's 
prescription for drugged meals. 

She and a handful of others began receiving non-drugged though
barely-palatable food directly from school cafeterias in the area. The 
lack of medication slowly had its effects on them. Those clones were 
becoming more coherent. NC212E3 could now reason and think. Although 
aware of the change, her attendants weren't exactly hired for their own 
intelligence, more for loyalty, and could only judge that higher-ups 
had done it on purpose. Not for them to question why. 

The administration didn't lock the cages very well, using only a simple
latch. That way, it was made easier for the keepers to move their 
charges in and out of the cages and extend shower hoses without needing 
to bother with keys. The latch was too complex for something like a 
chimpanzee to figure out but, for ever more intelligent NC212E3, proved 
to be easy enough. 

Since it hadn't been opened for years, her cage latch was crusty from
disuse but, with a little effort, would yield to her manipulations. 

At night there was only one attendant for the entire block of cages,
some two hundred individuals in that room alone. He sat at a desk 
halfway down the row. With nothing much to do, the attendant usually 
read, watched television, or slept his shift away. 

As she developed intelligence and reasoning ability, she and others like
her hid their new skills. Even the drugged could pass messages in their 
rude language down the rows. Eventually, they craved freedom. All that 
was needed was that proverbial spark. 

*** 

“Ma, Jerry stole my red ribbon,” Janet called to her mother. At the
time, Mary Edwards was busy at the long process of preparing supper for 
her family. They lived in a cabin in the wildest part of the state. The 
timber shack was far from the nearest highway, only accessible over 
miles of unpaved roads, some more like Indian trails. It was a 
dirt-poor living but all the family had ever known. 

Mary had mixed biscuits and was currently rolling dough preparatory to
baking them in an ancient wood-burning oven. A brown gravy roué made 
from meat drippings and flour was thickening in a large iron skillet at 
the back of the stove while a pot of boiling water waited for it to 
brown. The odor of baking chicken suffused the building. 

Mary had heard her daughter's plea but chose to ignore it unless the
kids became unruly. At the moment, she couldn't easily leave the stove 
to check on them. 

She was a widow with four kids to clothe and feed, alone. Her husband
had died in an industrial accident which gave her a small settlement -- 
barely enough to exist. She was lucky to have a little land and the old 
family home. 

As Mary began the process of stirring boiling water into the gravy
mixture, she saw that her oldest daughter, Susie, had finished setting 
the table. The gravy gave off a meaty odor as it thickened, with a 
cloud of steam rising above the skillet. 

“Get the other kids in, honey. Supper will be ready in a minute,” Mary
told Suzie then, after the girl left, returned to stirring gravy. 

By the time all the children were inside and sitting, the odor of
finished biscuits told Mary it was time to take them out. 

*** 

Along with increased cognitive ability came boredom. The undrugged
wanting out brought a tension to the cell-block, not noticed by the 
attendant but all too obvious to inmates. That tension brought 
impatience, which gradually led to courage. 

Late one night, one of the clones saw the attendant was asleep, a
magazine open on his lap. Courage and impatience finally won out. 
Quietly, she unlatched her kennel. Creeping slowly down the line, she 
opened other cages. Although many inmates were confused, crouching and 
watching, others slowly emerged into a bare institutional hallway, 
partially atrophied muscles flexing as they, in turn, opened more 
cages. 

The guard didn't have a chance. Perhaps sensing something, maybe hearing
small noises, he woke just before the companions reached him and was 
soon back to sleep with a concussion. 

With simple language and arm motions, NC212E3 took time to instruct the
more intelligent escapees to find others like them, open any cages they 
found, and sent them off on their mission. Most of the newly-freed 
captives, still drugged and stupid, simply wandered aimlessly around 
the large room. As the more intelligent opened doors and left to filter 
into adjoining pens to let more captives loose, the drugged clones 
followed in their wake.  As against an insistent tide, the few night 
workers on duty were no match for the senseless mob. 

NC212E3 and her fellow captives moved throughout the building, finding
other blocks of cages and opening even more doors. The complex was soon 
flooded with thousands of clones. Most of the more intelligent ones 
eventually headed for the outside fence. Others, not having any 
direction, simply milled around in curiosity. 

Some harbored a primitive hate for their captors and went looking for
attendants. Fear, dislike, curiosity and hate are instinctive, no 
matter levels of intelligence. NC212E3 herself took off for the fence. 
The remaining night attendants were beaten or forced to hide from their 
former charges. Since escape had never been contemplated, there was no 
alarm system in place to warn the gate guards. Being a secret project 
of the highest order, the buildings had no outside communication lines 
except for several telephones in the office building, locked up and 
empty for the night. 

*** 

Allied Security Guard Thomas Adams happened to be one of the first to
see the escaped clones. He was stationed at the little-used South Gate 
and had his attention concentrated on the outside. His mandate to guard 
against intruders, he'd never been inside the buildings themselves. 
When he heard a commotion behind him, he tried to ignore it. But when 
he heard gunshots he couldn't resist turning around to see what was 
happening. 

Thomas had never been told -- not having any need to know -- what the
facility was used for. He'd arrive for his shift, take over from a 
previous guard, and leave after being relieved eight hours later. 
Working for a private company, the interior behind his small guard 
shack was forbidden to him. The facility presumably had its own 
internal security. 

The guard was astounded to see a sprinkling of naked men, women, and
children on both grass and parking lot, some headed toward him with 
others wandering, at apparent random, around the area. Sporadic 
gunshots seemed to be coming from inside the buildings. 

Pressing the send button on his radio, he asked, “What the hell's going
on, sarge? I got people coming from the inside. They're naked. What 
should I do? I can't shoot naked unarmed women and kids and don't know 
if we should let them out. They look like some sort of crazies.” 

“Hold on a minute. I'll get back to you,” the sergeant told him. 

Sergeant Adams knew no more than the others, the buildings being
off-limits to him as well. All he could do was call a number. He 
supposed it was to some office inside the complex. He looked at his own 
office clock, noting the time was 11:14 pm, then opened a safe. There 
were a few more telephone numbers locked up inside. It took the 
sergeant another ten minutes of leafing through his Post Orders to 
ascertain that there were no instructions to cover a breakout. Then he 
called those emergency numbers. Getting no answers, he realized the 
decision was up to him, alone.. 

By that time, the first of the people were almost up to the gate. Also
extremely hesitant to shoot, he called his guards to instruct them to 
do all they could to keep the naked individuals inside but to avoid 
deadly force unless in self-defense. Then, he returned to try his 
telephone again. It was all he could think to do. To the sergeant, 
shooting unarmed people without authorization wasn't an option. His job 
of keeping unauthorized people out was well documented. Keeping them in 
was not. 

“Stop right there. You can't leave. Hold it!" Thomas tried to talk to
two naked youngsters, both gazing at him with apparent curiosity. 

While he spoke, they simply kept walking, smiling as they advanced.
Someone even pushed him aside, grinning at the perplexed guard. One 
very pretty girl walked past him to pull up a wooden bar holding the 
gate closed. It had never occurred to Thomas to secure it and, in any 
case, it was then too late. 

Thomas rushed over and grappled with the woman, bringing the bar back
down. Others, seeing what she had done, pushed past and raised it 
again, even as another crouched to cross under then turned to watch the 
altercation. 

Despite the guard, the gate was swung open. Some of the others, seeing
the open space, ambled over, curious. 

Thomas was pushed aside, his weapon useless. He couldn't bring himself
to shoot helpless people -- especially while they were smiling at him 
without threatening in any way. 

“Sarge, they're getting out. I can't stop them," he called on his radio.
There was no answer from the sergeant, who had his own similar 
problems. Thomas could only stand and watch as dozens of mostly 
mindless clones slowly exited the gate, grinning at him as they left. 
Surprisingly, one woman tried to eat the leaves from a nearby tree, 
spit them out and ambled back inside. 

Eventually, the sergeant reached an official returning home from a
party. Troops from a nearby military base were alerted and sent to 
help. It didn't take long to encircle the complex and round up all the 
clones they could find. The naked men, women, and kids didn't resist. 
It was like herding mindless cattle. 

The search went on all night and into the next day. It was complicated
in that they had to be careful. The clones were of very important 
people and heads would roll if any were damaged unnecessarily. Some 
were wounded or hurt themselves in the rough terrain but none 
seriously. 

By the end of the day, only a half-dozen were unaccounted for. All
except one of them were subsequently found when they wandered into 
civilization. They, of course, stood out and were reported to the 
authorities, who simply drove up and grabbed them. 

Despite all efforts for secrecy, news reached the press. When well-known
VIPs were seen, naked and mindless, wondering around the countryside 
and knocking on farmhouse doors, the news media became interested until 
ordered to drop their stories. 

*** 

Twelve-year-old Janet Edwards was, along with her siblings, combing the
mountainside for their errant milk cow, Beau. She found NC212E3, dirty 
and scratched, wandering barefoot through the brush. 

“What you doin' out here, lady?” 

“Water. You water?” 

“Come on. I gotta show Mama,” Janet said, not knowing what to do. 

The two of them returned to the cabin, picking up kids and cow on the
way. The boys made comments about her nakedness until Suzie, the 
oldest, ordered them to shut up. 

At the cabin, Mary was also shocked by NC212E3's appearance but, being a
mother of four, she set to making the woman comfortable and treated her 
injuries, only scratches and abrasions. 

Eventually hearing NC212E3's story, or as much as was understandable,
Mary hid the stranger in their basement and cautioned her children 
about telling anyone. She put off making any decisions until the woman 
was up and about again. 

A few days later, the forest became inundated with soldiers in uniforms,
military vehicles circling on roads, trails, and between trees. The 
family denied any contact, were believed and pretty much left alone 
after that except for the troops cadging water from their well. Two 
days later, the soldiers left the area. 

*** 

"What do you mean?" President Tony Anderson almost dropped his cigar.
"How can a mindless idiot escape your dragnet? Hell, it can barely 
stand by itself." 

"I don't know, sir. We're still searching," Troy Thompson, head of the
Justice Department, answered. "Why did they ever build that place in 
the hills of Virginia? If it had been located in a place like 
Colorado--" 

"But it wasn't. Nobody thought those mindless things could ever get out.
How did that happen, anyway? They're too stupid to plot a rebellion, 
what with all the drugs. Am I right?" 

"We're checking but don't have an answer. Not yet, anyway. I did find
out that the help was lax, not even padlocking the cages." 

"Christ. You'd better find it, Troy my boy. If the press gets hold of
that place, it ... whatever. We may all be out of a job." 

"It's perfectly legal, sir." 

"Legal but secret. Here we are, throwing scientists in jail for the same
damned thing. It's a criminal offense to clone humans. If the public 
ever found out their government has been doing it ... we'd be ruined." 
The President slammed a fist down on his desk. "And some of them are 
patently illegal, not covered by President Ubunto's edict.  Movie 
stars, rich contributors, foreign heads of state ... I could go on and 
on. Most of the rich and famous have at least one clone. It's a way to 
keep them in line. Virtual immortality is a strong selling point for 
compliance with our policies." 

"Don't worry, sir. It's been six days now. That clone has no way to feed
or clothe itself. It's too stupid to survive on its own. Hell, it's 
probably dead by now after crawling under a bush in the hills of 
Virginia to keep warm." 

"You better pray it is, Troy. You better pray your ass off on that
point." 

*** 

"Hi." Joey stood over NC212E3's cot in the basement of his home. Joey
was only six, the youngest of Mary's children. "You feel better?" 

"I ... yes. Think so. Food?" NC212E3 asked. 

"I'll tell Mama." Joey ran out of the room, then up a rickety ladder and
through a hole in the kitchen floor. The basement had not been designed 
to be hidden. The builder simply dug what he thought of as a root 
cellar to keep veggies and smoked meats cool and didn't bother with 
stairs or a door when a hatch and ladder would do. 

Since NC212E3's arrival, one of the family had sat by her cot, watching
the mostly sleeping visitor, bringing her water and emptying a 
chamber-pot when needed. That did help the visitor add to the few words 
in English she'd picked up in captivity. 

"Mama. Mama," Joey called to his mother, busily peeling potatoes for
lunch, "the lady wants something to eat. Can we both have a cookie?" 

Mary gave Joey three cookies. 

"Now, make sure you give her two of these, understand?" She held up two
fingers. "You only get one." She held up one finger. 

Joey grabbed them, nodded and ran back to the basement. 

"Here, lady. Here's yours." He broke one cookie in half, then gave it to
her. That seemed fair to him. He'd given her two pieces. He stood 
watching her eat while nibbling on his second cookie. 

NC212E3 lay on the cot under a torn but heavy comforter, wearing one of
Mary's nightgowns and imitating Joey by slowly eating her own cookie. 
The two sat in silence. 

Mary was in no hurry. Although she was anxious to find out about the
stranger, she wanted to wait until NC212E3 had recovered enough to 
explain. To Mary, the visitor seemed calm but kind of stupid. 

She didn't seem to recognize the simplest articles or have any concept
of how to get along with others. The stranger's speech was also odd. 
Although using a few complex words even Mary couldn't understand, she 
was missing many of the simplest. It was something like a parrot she'd 
owned as a kid. 

Even eating from a plate with a spoon or fork was beyond the stranger.
On their first meal together, the kids went wild with laughter as the 
woman ignored cutlery to dip her face down to the food. Since then, 
Mary fed her in private, teaching the woman how to eat civilly. 

The story the stranger managed to get out was confusing to Mary, not
making any sense at all. It was about being kept in a cage. And 
something about being a spare, like a spare tire or something? It was 
crazy talk. But she was damned if she'd give the stranger up to any 
damned soldiers. Especially damned Yankee soldiers. Mary hadn't had so 
much excitement in years and it felt good. 

*** 

It had been over a month, with NC212E3 filling out physically. She
wasn't obese but no longer as thin as at the camp. She had become 
familiar with most of the items in Mary's house and could even help 
with the cooking. 

After a couple of weeks, the soldiers stopped coming around. With four
active children roaming around the mountainside, they would be certain 
of being seen if they did. The searchers had moved closer to the secret 
installation itself, figuring the fugitive being long dead by then. 

NC212E3 turned out to be a normal-looking young lady. Mary further
disguised her by cutting and dying the stranger's hair. If asked, the 
children were told to say she was their mother's dumb sister and had 
lived with them for years. 

"But what can we call you?" Mary asked, thinking it over. "We can't say
you're my sister, NC212E3." 

"Why not? It's my name." 

"Because it's not what a person's supposed to be named, that's why." 

"Maybe Suzie?" 

"I have a Suzie already. I know. Your first letters are NC, Encie isn't
a name, maybe Nancy?" 

"Is Nancy a good name?" 

"Yes, a very good name. My dead sister was named Nancy." 

"Okay then, I'm Nancy." 

So NC212E3 became Nancy, Nancy Edwards after Mary's dead younger sister.
That gave her a ready-made birth certificate from the local courthouse. 


*** 

Nancy the clone lived with the Edwards' for several years. The children
taught her to read at a middle-school level and she even went to town 
with them occasionally. During that time, Nancy became more used to 
modern society. But the evil and inequality of the secret camp ate at 
her constantly. 

She read about old-time slavery and how the US was supposed to be free
and equal for everyone. Then she'd think back to her days at the camp. 
Although having no schooling, she wasn't stupid, realizing the 
difference between what was said and what was actually done. At first, 
she was happy and contented to help Mary and the children, but was 
never completely satisfied. Not really. 

Meanwhile, the government had given up the search, figuring NC212E3 must
be dead, lying in a hole or other hidden crevice and decaying. Even if 
the body were found later, it was naked with no way to trace it back to 
the Xena project. 

The news media quickly dropped the subject or made fun of it. Government
pressure influenced their reporting. After all, there was a lack of 
real evidence. National Security helped, along with the fact that 
several news moguls had been granted cloning status. It became only one 
more unproven conspiracy theory among many, if even that. There were no 
groups of citizens making up stories about being cloned by flying 
saucers. 

*** 

The two women, Mary and Nancy, were down at the creek, pounding and
washing clothing. Mary soaped dirty clothes and rubbed them on an 
old-fashioned corrugated scrubbing board. She frequently had to rinse 
burning hands in the stream. Homemade lye soap could burn your skin 
off, requiring frequent dipping of fingers. As Mary scrubbed an 
article, she'd toss it into the stream where Nancy would rinse soap 
off, occasionally pounding and rubbing missed spots on flat rocks shiny 
from previous washes. It was hot drudge-work but took most of every 
Friday. Two adults and four kids could get a lot of clothing dirty. 

Afterward, Nancy would drape the wet clothing over limbs stripped for
that purpose or ropes drawn between trees. Ropes cost money while limbs 
didn't. 

"I'm sorry but I have to go. It's Springtime now and I'm recovered. This
is the best time." 

"I understand. I'd like to get out of this way of living, myself. I've
rarely lived in a real house, with electricity and running water. It 
would be nice for a change." 

"It's not that. I like it here but I have to know. I have to know what
was going on there. Were they eating us? Why keep us in those small 
cages and taking parts off whenever they felt like it, as with a bunch 
of animals? How many times did I watch whole people being led out, only 
to come back weeks later, missing a leg or an arm? Or, even worse, 
being carried back in, unable to walk, with bandages over their chests. 


"Where did I come from, as a baby? Who are my parents? So damned many
questions, all eating on my mind." Raising her voice, "I have to know." 


Mary knew arguing was useless. "I can't give you much money. I don't
have it." 

"I'll pay you back but I need a little." 

"The kids will miss you." 

"Can't be helped. They'll get over it. I ... I feel like you're my
family." 

"You ARE part of this family, Nancy. Don't you ever forget it. When are
you going?" 

"I'll catch a ride on the school bus in the morning. They're used to
having me going along. The kids don't have to know I'm not coming back 
with them." 

"Probably better that way. Promise you'll come back sometime." 

"Of course I will." 

The two women dropped their laundry to sit, resting, under a tree. They
clung together, crying, tears dripping even as finished clothing did 
the same all around them. 

*** 

After getting off the school bus, Nancy walked toward town. She'd been
there before, a few times to shop, so the place wasn't completely alien 
to her. Before, though, she'd always been with Mary or at least one of 
the girls and stuck to the business district. 

This time alone, Nancy had never felt so lost as when walking down
strange sidewalks with people rushing past, lost in their own worlds. 
Even in captivity, there had been half-friends and co-captives around 
her. Now, she had nobody. 

She did have skills she hadn't had as an escapee. She could read and
write enough to get by, also speak much better. She'd blend in with a 
crowd, not making a fool of herself by not knowing how to behave in 
public. She knew how to order at fast-food places and shop at a grocery 
store. Those were enormous changes. 

Right then, she realized she had to hide her nervousness. It might give
her away. Although her escape had been several years in the past, Nancy 
didn't know who had been or might still be after her or why. But she 
did know she had to blend in with the others, which meant not acting 
suspicious. 

First, she needed a friend or helper of some sort. That and a place to
sleep and a way to get food. And she had little idea as to how to do 
any of those things. Mary, could only spare her $25. Nancy had been to 
town often enough to know that wasn't much. 

"Uh. Don't get me wrong, miss, but are you a business girl?" 

Nancy looked around. She'd been standing on a downtown corner, wondering
which way to go. She saw a man smiling at her from where he sat in an 
idling auto. 

"I ... I'm looking for a friend." 

"I'm looking for a friend, too. You want a ride?" 

He looked like a nice man and he was smiling. 

"I guess so. If you'll be my friend?" 

"Oh, yeah. You can count on it, girly. Get in. Hurry. I'm
double-parked." 

So she stepped into the vehicle, settling back on the seat. Once
sitting, she realized her feet hurt. Living in the mountains, she'd 
rarely worn shoes. And, in captivity, never. 

"You're really pretty. What's your name?" he asked, laying his right
hand on her leg. 

"Nancy." She felt uncomfortable but didn't know if such intimacy was
normal or not. So she left his hand alone, even though it began 
stroking her thigh. 

"My name's Dwayne. How much do you charge, Nancy?" 

"I don't understand. Where are we going?" 

"To my apartment. Don't worry, I'm not married and live alone. It's just
... well, sometimes I get horny and want someone around. It's not only 
the sex. If I'm paying someone to listen to me, it might as well be a 
working girl. You understand?" 

"No. I don't understand. Charge? What for? You want me to clean your
apartment? I can do that." 

"How much you charge? I don't have a lot of money." 

"Whatever you think it's worth. I really need money. I don't have much,
hardly none at all?" 

"All right by me." 

They were silent as he drove to the suburbs, an area Nancy had never
been to before. The houses surprised her, hundreds and hundreds of 
them, all close together and with few trees. All she'd seen before was 
Mary's old homestead and business buildings in town. 

She was nervous, realizing she still had so much to learn. And that hand
of his was roaming into territory she instinctively knew it shouldn't 
go. But she also feared making him angry. He'd promised to pay her and 
she really needed money. He said he wanted to find a working girl and 
she wasn't afraid of work. 

"Here we are. We'll have to go in the back way, so the manager doesn't
see. I don't want my neighbors to know I bring girls in here. It'll be 
dark when we leave. You can stay the rest of the day, can't you? I can 
pay. But I have to go to work tonight, at eight." 

Nancy, engrossed in the strange experience, nodded. 

When they went inside, climbing several sets of stairs, Dwayne stuck his
head out of the third landing fire door. He looked around before 
motioning her to follow, down the hall and into his apartment. 

"There's the bedroom," he said. "I have to call my sister about
something. You go in and get ready. I'll join you in a few minutes." He 
sat in a chair, back to her, and picked up a telephone. 

Nancy went into the other room. Seeing the bed unmade, she straightened
the covers then looked around to see what else needed doing. Since the 
floor was dirty, clothing thrown around and junk piled on every 
surface, she began cleaning the room the best she could, even going 
past him into the kitchen for a broom and empty plastic sacks. He was 
still on the phone. 

A little later, she looked over from brushing under the bed to see
Dwayne, naked and standing in the doorway. Nancy knew little about sex, 
only what she'd read in magazines, but was familiar with naked men. 
While caged, she'd seen many naked people, male and female, so his lack 
of clothing didn't bother her at all. Even the stiff penis, though a 
little unusual, was not unknown to her. She continued with her 
cleaning. 

"What's going on here?" he asked in an unsteady whisper, a perplexed
look on his face. 

"What you mean? Am I doing something wrong?" 

"You're not even undressed." 

"I know. You didn't tell me I should. And why should I?" 

"We can't have sex this way, with you dressed." 

"Okay. You didn't say you wanted THAT. Is it fun and how long does it
take? I never done it before." Unconcerned but curious, Nancy began 
undressing. She was new at it, but the magazines she'd read seemed to 
think it was okay. 

"You're kidding. Right?" 

"No. I don't think so. Not that I know of, anyway?" 

"Aren't you a prostitute? You said you were." 

She shook her head. "I never said that. Those are evil women, aren't
they? They rob and steal." 

Dwayne lost his hard-on. He sat on the bed and watched her remove her
panties. The man was confused. On one hand, she seemed willing. On the 
other ... well, if she wasn't a professional, why did she come with 
him? He wasn't that personable or handsome, to pick good-looking women 
off the street and screw them that easily? And, my god, he thought, she 
even made the bed instead of crawling into it. She was simply sending 
mixed signals, messing with his mind. 

"Now what?" She walked over to him. "What do we do next? I feel kind'a
funny, hot down here," she said, idly rubbing her crotch. "You'll have 
to tell me what to do. You won't hurt me, will you?" 

Dwayne grabbed her, pulling her onto the bed with himself and proceeded
to show her the next step and the next and the next. After Nancy felt 
she knew the following procedures, many being instinctive, she demanded 
as well as gave. The activities did prove highly enjoyable. Not yet 
sure of herself, she was afraid to be inventive. 

Later, he showed her a few unconventional routines. They even learned to
climax together, two sweating bodies clinging together under the 
bedding. Before they knew it, the alarm clock went off. Time for him to 
get ready for work. 

"I'll take you home on my way to work," he told her while shaving. 

"I don't have a home. Can I stay here tonight?" 

He gave it a few seconds of thought. It was taking a chance but he
decided. "Sure. I'll see you when I get back. Okay?" 

"Uh, huh. I don't have anywhere to go. Is it okay if I eat your food?" 

"Knock yourself out." 

"No. I don't want to do that,” she said, smiling, “only something to
eat. And thank you for the ... uh ... sex." 

"Yeah? Same ... to you. Eat all you want. See you later." He hurried out
the door. 

*** 

After Dwayne left for work, Nancy slept for a few hours. Waking, she
inspected his kitchen. It was much more modern than at Mary's home. He 
had electricity and running water. 

Although Nancy had learned to cook basic items at her last home, many of
the food items were new to her, such as meat in plastic packages. 
Finding frozen ice cream, she couldn't help herself, eating most of a 
half-gallon. Sliced bread was also a novelty for her. Mary Edwards had 
tried several times but couldn't grow a decent yeast culture, so all 
they had were baking powder biscuits. On their shopping trips, Mary 
only bought staples in bulk, not being able to afford luxuries. 

Then came the housecleaning. Nancy still thought Dwayne had picked her
up to clean his house, sex being only a sort of bonus. He'd let her 
stay but she still needed money and a real place to live. Also to find 
answers to her questions. Who was she and why had she been a captive 
for as long as she could remember? What crime could she have committed 
as a small child? She simply had to find out. 

She found many of the same ingredients she'd become used to and fixed a
meal for two. Disdaining items such as canned gravy and instant 
potatoes, she prepared them from scratch. The electric stove confused 
her at first but she soon learned how to use it. 

The only thing throwing her off was a package of frozen fried chicken.
Nancy managed to scrape the breading off before thawing it in warm 
water and frying it again, her own way. That was all done in free 
moments while cleaning. 

Dwayne was surprised when he walked in the door to a spotlessly clean
apartment. None of his various girlfriends and casual pickups had ever 
cleaned for him, much less cooked a meal. 

The exhausted woman had been watching television. Mary Edwards, with no
electricity, didn't have one but Nancy had seen them in stores during 
her few shopping trips. Some of the shows were confusing, especially 
interactions between characters. But Nancy was learning -- constantly 
learning. 

The television was left on while she was in the kitchen, eating. It was
unfortunate, as Nancy missed a news story which went like this: 

"Eighty-eight-year-old Nora Collins, the ever-popular congresswoman from
Kansas, is said to be in a hospital in Washington. Word is that she 
shattered her left leg in a mountain climbing incident. For security 
reasons, her location has been kept secret. Good luck, Nora. We pray 
for your recovery." 

*** 

"God damn it," Nora complained, "I can't use that new leg. Leave it on
the clone until it grows. It's too damned short. People will notice. 
Why the hell was MY clone the only one that didn't survive? Now, I only 
have two, one with no legs and another that's ten-years-old." 

"The only alternative is for you to limp for a few years, Ms. Collins,"
the doctor told her. "We can't repair all the nerves on this one. It'll 
function, after a fashion. You could use the new one and maybe special 
elevator shoes?" 

"Except that I'd still limp and sports would be out. How can I run with
one short leg? Or even play frickin' tennis?" 

"Most women your age can't do either. Consider yourself lucky you've
been able for all these years." 

"Damn it. We've got to find that frickin' clone. I need its leg." 

"Not much chance, Ms. Collins. No doubt it's dead or we would have found
it by now." 

"How long do I have to stay here, doctor? I have to vote on that new
civil rights bill in the House next week. Those damned Republicans keep 
picking away at the Bill of Rights." 

*** 

"I guess I should leave now, when you give me some money," Nancy called
into the living room while washing dishes. She considered a moment, 
ending with, "Unless you want more sex first?" 

"I have an idea. Why don't you stay with me for awhile? That will save
you from paying rent while looking for a job." 

"Well ... why not? But I still want a little money. There are things to
do and I'll need money for that." 

"What do you have to do? Maybe I can help. I'm a security guard sergeant
and work for the federal government. I know a few important people." 

"What's a security guard do?" 

"I stand at a gate, checking passes as people go in. If they don't have
a pass, they don't get inside." 

Dim memories of the guard at another gate flooded Nancy's mind. How the
guard tried to keep her from leaving but didn't try to hurt her. 

"Do you keep people in, too?" 

"People inside have been already checked and can leave at any time. But
I do know important people and talk to them every day. I might be able 
to help you. What do you need? Are you in police trouble?" 

Nancy shook her head. "I don't know. Five years ago, the army was
looking all over for me. I don't know if it was to help me or put me 
back." 

He perked up. "Put you back where? What did you do?" 

She went to the kitchen to think while opening two beers. Coming back,
Nancy gave him one, then sat down to gulp half of hers. She told him 
her story, about escaping the cage and running away through the woods. 
She didn't name Mary, though, simply saying she found shelter with a 
family. 

"Oh, my god. Then it is true. I didn't believe Tom." He held his head in
both hands, trying to think, to remember what his friend had said one 
night while on the town and in their cups. 

"Tom? Who's he?" 

"A friend I work with. He ... He told me the same kind'a story. We were
drunk and he said he was paid an extra $10,000 not to say anything. It 
was years ago and he was drunk when he let it slip. 

"At the time, he'd been a guard at a big building out in the woods. One
night, he said, hundreds of people, all naked, came out and left. Then 
he was transferred and the place shut down. I thought he made it up." 
Dwayne looked her over, carefully. "Tom said he recognized some famous 
people there, stumbling around like stray dogs. 

"You look kinda familiar but I can't place your face. Your brows are
kinda different, unique, as though I've seen them before." 

"A movie star, I hope," she tried to joke. 

"Maybe. Let's make love. If I call a name out, you tell me afterward.
Okay?" 

They hurried to the bedroom to experiment. 

Again, they missed the eleven o'clock news on television, which showed a
picture of Congresswoman Nora Collins in a Washington DC hospital. 
According to the report, she didn't know if her leg could be saved or 
not. Her rather unconventional eyebrows were prominent, though crinkled 
in photographed anxiety. Oh, how she missed her NC212E3, the animal 
with two good legs that belonged to her. 

*** 

"Damn it. Your people couldn't find their cocks if they had strings
attaching them to their wrists. What ever happened to thermal imaging 
and that red-lighting crap that's supposed to show things at night?" 
Nora complained. "And it'll take another five to ten years for my next 
clone to mature enough for a leg. Meanwhile, I'll be known as 'gimpy'." 


"It won't be that bad, ma'am," Peter Pazinski, head of the FBI, told
her. "Your older clone has most internal parts intact and the young one 
is healthy and complete. We're growing a new one, in the test tube 
right now. You'll be good to at least 150 years old." 

Fuming, she turned to another man standing across the room. "While I'm
in here, I want you to get Doctor Evens to do something about these 
wrinkles. He can't make me look thirty again but maybe take ten or 
twenty years off my face. A little more pain won't make much 
difference." 

"I'll see what I can do," the hospital administrator said. "If Evens
doesn't have time, Doctor Iqbal can do it." 

"You find a way to get him. I don't want no damned Pakistani screwing
around with MY face." 

"Consider it done, Ms. Collins." 

Within a couple of days, NC212E4 would be wheeled into an operating room
to have parts of her facial skin removed. It would grow back in time to 
be removed again later. Since she was only an animal, anesthetics were 
used to keep her still but prescribing pain killers afterward wasn't 
considered necessary. 

*** 

"I'll see if I can get hold of Tom, honey. Maybe he'll come over and you
can talk." 

Dwayne left for work, leaving her alone. After a little cleaning of the
kitchen and a closet, Nancy fixed herself a sandwich and sat down to 
watch TV. She turned on the news. Becoming confused by world events, 
she turned to another channel before news of poor Nora Collins came on, 
missing another movie clip of a face very similar but older than her 
own. 

The next afternoon, Nancy answered the door to see a stranger, an older
man with gray hair, smiling at her. 

"Is Dwayne home? You must be Nancy? I'm Tom. He told me about you." 

Once they were all sitting in the living room, beers opened in front of
them, Tom started by asking, "What's this about you escaping from some 
sort of prison?" 

"I ... I don't remember much. I was a captive in a small cell, one of
many. I found out how to open the door. Then ... Then I helped others 
to get out and we left. I was real woozy at the time and don't remember 
a whole lot except stumbling down a mountain." 

"Tell her what you told me, Tom." 

The other man looked around. "This is serious. You mind if I kinda, well
... look around?" 

Seeing his face, Dwayne nodded. "Help yourself. If it makes you feel
better." 

Tom took the next twenty-minutes searching the apartment. He seemed to
know what he was doing, looking carefully around the walls near the 
ceiling and feeling under tables and along baseboards for spying 
electronic bugs. Finished, he sat back down and drained his beer. 

"You got another of these, young lady?" 

While she was getting them more beer, Tom turned to Dwayne. "Damn it,
buddy. That's secret shit. I could end up in jail for whistleblowing." 

"I think she's one of those people. The ones who escaped." 

"Nobody said they escaped. They had every right to leave and go home.
Damn it." 

"Naked and drugged? No rides or even shoes?" 

Before he admitted anything, Tom listened to Nancy's story. It fit in
with his own experience. 

"I don't know what was going on in there," he told them. "My company was
under contract to provide outside security and gate guards ... and 
that's all. There were government men on duty inside the building and 
we weren't allowed inside under any circumstances ... under penalty of 
arrest. 

"That night, all I know is that naked people of both sexes and all ages
came wandering out through the doors. We didn't have any orders and I 
was afraid to even talk to them, afraid for my job. The sergeant told 
me to try to stop them but not to use force. That's what I did. 

"Now that I think of it, I might have seen Nancy. That she was the one
who first tried to open the gate. After I closed it again, others saw 
her and kept opening it. I could only stand there and watch them leave. 
Damned if I'd have shot any, even if ordered. When most had gone and 
the gate was clear, I closed and locked it. 

"Then the army came and took over. I was ordered to go home and that was
my last shift there. A call the next day sent me to a new assignment. 
Later, a man in a gray suit came to my home with a check, making me 
promise to keep it a secret. He said it was a National Security thing 
and that I'd go to prison if I ever told anyone, even my wife. 

"And that's all I know. Period." He took a large swig of beer, then
continued, haltingly, “I did notice one thing. They didn't seem to have 
bellybuttons.” 

Silently, Nancy raised her t-shirt, showing Tom a smooth tummy. 

"Do you remember any names or phone numbers?" Dwayne asked. "Anything
that would help us." 

"Us?" Nancy asked, excited. "You mean you believe me and will help?" 

Dwayne grabbed her hand, clasping it. "Of course, baby." 

"Count me out," Tom said. "I didn't sign on to fight no Feds." 

"At least you can tell us where the place is." Dwayne said. "We won't
say where we found out." 

Before leaving, Tom drew them a rough map of the secret installation. He
also told them all he knew of that place, which was quite a bit of the 
exterior. Even of a small unused gate in the woods behind the 
buildings. It led to a septic tank complex outside the compound and was 
covered by vines. He didn't even know if it was locked or not. As a 
gate guard, he'd never had to check it though the fence patrol said it 
was there. 

"On my next day off I'll look the place over," Dwayne told Nancy. "I can
take my cellphone and keep in touch." 

She shook her head. "No. I'm coming with you." 

"Someone there might recognize you. There could be posters hanging on
trees or something." 

"I can wear a wig and glasses." 

"It's still taking a big chance." 

"I'm going, and that's that." 

*** 

Thursday morning found them traversing narrow one and two-lane roads
through the mountains. Many of those were composed of a mountain along 
one side, the other dropping off for hundreds of feet with no guard 
rails. At times they struggled up or down twenty-degree slopes, his car 
threatening to slide off unleveled gravel roadbeds. Several times, he 
was forced to circle large rocks that had dropped onto the roadway, 
tires inches away from cliffs. The trip was made worse by large 
delivery trucks and beat-up pickups barreling around blind curves in 
the mountainside. 

"There," Nancy said. "We passed it. A dirt road with a 'keep out' sign."


Dwayne backed up, finding an almost hidden path at a forty-degree angle.
The entrance was almost covered by overhanging branches. His Ford 
huffed and puffed uphill for two-hundred feet before the road leveled 
off to twist around more hairpin curves. Every couple of hundred feet 
there was a wide spot to allow cars to pass each other. They, too, were 
overgrown. 

For a mile or two, they gradually made their way upward, fearing any
second to meet a vehicle coming the other way. 

"And you went this way barefoot? Jeez. It's a wonder you have any feet
left." 

"My friend's cabin is somewhere below us. I'm lost, though." 

They finally came to a clearing with several large buildings inside a
chain-link fence. Driving along the perimeter, Dwayne didn't see any 
signs saying what was inside. There were some saying to "Stay Out, 
Federal Government", though. 

There was only one car in a large parking lot, that one near a guard
shack. Some of the windows of the concrete glass and steel edifices 
were broken, making them seem abandoned. The grounds were overgrown 
with high grass and weeds. 

As they passed the guard shack, Nancy crouched down below window level.
A lone guard jumped to his feet, looked out and grinned at them, waving 
as they went by. The gate was open about a foot. 

"Let's try that back entrance," Dwayne said. "I don't think we have to
worry about security." 

"Don't stop yet, Dwayne. Circle around the entire thing. We might need
an escape route and should know what's up the road, if anything." 

Dwayne made a right turn onto a side road that followed the fence. They
passed all the way down the fence line without seeing any signs of 
occupancy. There were no vehicles inside the enclosure, though there 
was plenty of evidence of decay along with acres of tall grass. 

They followed the road past the installation for several miles before
finding a fork in the road, a small grocery and one-pump gas station at 
the intersection. It, too, had only one car parked alongside the wooden 
shack. 

"I can use a coke," Dwayne said, pulling up into a small dirt parking
lot in front of the shack. 

An old woman sat alone inside, watching television. Seeing them, she
rose, brushed her apron off and asked, "What cun I do fer you folks? 
You on'a way ta Smither's Acres? If'n you is, I knows everbody there." 
She laughed. "All tweny a us." 

"Where's that?" Nancy asked, curious. 

"Just a couple of cokes. That's all," Dwayne replied. 

"Down'a road, on'a left." She pulled the tops on two cans of soda. "Two
dallers." 

"What's that place we just passed?" Nancy asked, pointing back where
they'd come from." 

"Was, not is now. They moved out'a there four - five years ago. Some
kinda gov'ment thing's all I know. Had a lot'ta cars with doctor 
plates, though. Word is, they was makin' some sort'a army gas. At 
antheraxle stuff, mebbe. Closed now, though." 

"It didn't have a name?" Dwayne asked, rubbing dirt off the top of his
can. "We're looking for my brother. He's supposed to be working at a 
prison around here." 

"Mebbe Brownsville, bout twenty ... na, thirty miles at way." She
pointed along the right fork. 

"Damn. Excuse me, ma'am. Looks like we have to backup a ways. Bad road
up there." 

"If you says so, it is." 

"Any better ones around here?" Nancy asked. 

"Two-oh-five, down past Smither's Acres, 'bout ten miles. Goes ta a
turnpike." 

"I think it's better to go back the way we came, honey," Nancy said.
"Rougher but shorter." 

While finishing their drinks, they wandered around the store, checking
out the merchandise. Then, it was back to the car and returning to the 
installation. There wasn't any route going directly toward what must be 
the sewage plant, so they parked alongside the road and walked. A path 
was dimly visible, though overgrown. The other side of the fence was 
the same, with grass at least a foot high. 

"You recognize anything?" he asked as they reached a brick archway, a
small manual gate dimly seen through wild vines. On inspection, only an 
open padlock held it shut from the other side. It was a simple matter 
to reach through and take it off. The rusted gate itself was harder, 
taking Dwayne's full weight to push it open through a tough vine 
covering. 

"I must have been in the building in front. I can't remember much. I was
excited and still drugged. It was horrible. You can't know just how 
frightened and confused. I spent most of my life in a 6 by 5 foot cell. 
Nothing to see but the others, around me on ... on...." Memories made 
her stop and shiver, a cold chill suffusing her being. She would have 
dropped if Dwayne hadn't caught her. 

"You okay? I can do this. You can go back to the car or wait here." 

"No. No. I have to see. I really have to see ... for myself." 

*** 

The first building had been medical. Although stripped of most
equipment, it still contained dirty paper-covered examination tables. 
Also a few bottles on shelves and in cabinets. The rooms were mostly 
painted in gray or white. 

A glassed enclosed pathway led to another building. Through
floor-to-ceiling windows, they could see what must have been a shipping 
section with overhead lifts and loading docks. The silence was eerie. 
They heard nothing but their own hollow footsteps reverberating along 
the narrow surface. 

At the end of the passage, Dwayne held a door open for Nancy. She
hesitated until he put his arm around her and led her inside. 

"I'm scared," she whispered. 

He could feel her quivering. 

"Are you sure?" 

She nodded, though he could see her eyes watering. Nancy straightened
her back and, resolutely, strode forward. Dwayne had to rush to keep up 
with her as she stopped in every doorway, silently opening doors to 
empty mildew-smelling and silent rooms, one after the other. Each 
seemed to have a different atmosphere along with strange odors from 
deteriorating substances. Broken containers, cardboard, glass and 
wooden, littered each floor area. Whoever it was that left, did it in a 
hurry and neglected to clean up completely. 

"My God!" She stopped, peering inside one room. 

Dwayne saw it as a large open space sectioned off into squares along
both sides of two central corridors. Some partitions were torn down but 
enough stood to show what seemed to be a hundred small cells. Their 
bottom six feet were concrete blocks, with short iron bars above that 
level. Several large piles of doors lay stacked neatly on one side. For 
some reason, the dismantling had been stopped. There was a residual 
odor of sweat, urine, feces, fear and tears. 

"Hold me. God. Hold me. I gotta sit down. Not in there ... but sit down.
She looked around, eyes large as saucers as she held him tightly. "I 
thoug ... thought ... I could staaand it. I can't. My God, but I 
can't." 

Luckily, there was a stack of folding chairs nearby. Dwayne unfolded one
for her then dropped to his knees, holding Nancy while she cried and 
shook in pain and shock. 

She sat, quivering, head in hands for what must have been half an hour.
Raising her head, she wiped tears on his sleeve. "Let's get it over 
with." 

As they finished their tour of the building, he noticed she didn't step
into any more of the larger rooms. 

The sky outside was darkening as the two stumbled up to a landing on the
third floor of what must have been an office building. A quick but 
thorough search of a former executive office suite gave them a 
foot-square box of paperwork someone had left on the top shelf of a 
closet. 

"It's too dark to go through this," Dwayne said. "If you're okay, I'll
carry it back with us." Except for a sprinkling of old newspapers, 
sandwich wrappers and outright junk, it was the only thing they'd found 
that could be valuable. 

"Let's go," Nancy said. "I only wish I could blow this damned place up
behind us." 

By the time they returned to the car, it was fully dark. They cruised
past the guard shack, where another guard didn't bother to stand, only 
looking at them curiously as they drove by. 

*** 

"Look at this, sir." Troy Thompson of the Justice Department showed
three photos to President Anderson. "I think it's her." 

"It's only a photo of a dark-haired woman. For Christ's sake, Troy.
You're obsessed by that damned clone." 

"The eyebrows, sir. The same as Nora's. See? They could be sisters. That
clone is alive." 

"Well, if you think so get the FBI to check it out. You should be able
to pull that license number from your precious security film. You've 
got all that fancy shit to help." 

"You think I should call Nora? She could use that leg." 

"Better wait. She can be a banshee if we get her worked up then tell her
it's a false alarm." 

"Yeah. I can see it. That old bitch would be pissed." 

*** 

"I'll be glad when we get home," Nancy told Dwayne. They were entering
the city after her bad experience at the sight of the small cubicles 
where she'd spent most of her life. 

"Me, too. It must have been a horrible experience for you. I'll pick up
a bottle on the way home. We can both use it." 

After a stop at a drugstore for food and drink, they continued, eagerly
looking forward to the comfort of his apartment. 

That was when his cellphone rang. 

"Dwayne. This is Janice Zipper, your neighbor. You better be careful." 

"Why? What's going on?" 

"I dunno but there are people in the hall, knocking on your door. They
look like policemen of some kind. And a half-dozen strange cars are 
parked in the lot, people in suits milling around out there. Something 
is up. Have you been robbing banks or something?" 

"No reason that I know of. Thanks for calling, Janice. I appreciate it.
I better stay away until I figure it out." 

"Good luck. If they ask, I haven't seen you." 

"Thanks, again." He threw the phone onto the dashboard. "We're screwed,"
he told Nancy. 

"How did they find out it was us?" 

"They're the FBI, baby. They have ways." 

"What we going to do?" 

"We can't go home. That's for sure. Maybe a hotel or motel room?" 

"Wouldn't work. And they must know this car by now, since they're at
your home." 

"Damn. We have to get rid of it. Maybe my friends?" 

"Maybe." 

"Shit! My address book is on the end-table, by the phone." 

"Do you have any friends that aren't in that book?" 

"Probably not." 

"I know one place. But you won't like it," Nancy said, settling back in
her seat. 

*** 

Mary Edwards was surprised to hear, then see, a car coming down their
dirt driveway. Since it dead-ended against the mountainside with no 
room to turn around, even the school bus didn't come all the way to the 
house. Her children were forced to walk over a mile to meet the bus. 

When the car stopped in front, the kids ran out to greet whoever it was.
Mary dropped an axe she'd been using to cut wood for the cook stove, 
rubbed moisture off her hands and onto her trousers, then went over to 
see who it could be. 

"Nancy." 

"Mary." The two women hugged, then backed up to hold hands. "Mary. I --
we, need help. Someplace to stay for awhile." 

"Are you tired of the city already?" 

"That's not it. I ... I kinda got in trouble." 

"Bet it's about you getting into things you shouldn't have, like finding
your parents." 

"That's it. Can we stay in that attic room? Dwayne.... Oh, this is
Dwayne. He can fix those leaks. Can we? We got nowhere else." 

"Of course, honey. As long as you want. I can use more help here." 

"Hello, hi Mary. She's told me all about you. Oh and can I park over
against the hill, there, among the trees?" 

"It's muddy there, water dripping from the mountain. You might get stuck
and not get out." 

"That's all right. I doubt if I can use this car anymore, anyway." 

Mary backed up a pace. "You got police trouble? The car hot?" Her dead
ex-husband occasionally had such problems. 

"I guess you could say that," from Nancy. 

"Then I'd park it with those junk trucks back of the corn crib. Maybe
pile some crap or grease on it. That's what Harry used to do when they 
were too shiny." 

Dwayne almost asked who "Harry" was but caught himself. He was in no
position to be intimate. 

"Uh ... thanks. I'll do that." 

Later, after meeting the kids, Dwayne was physically and emotionally
exhausted and went up to a room on the unused third floor. Supposedly 
better than the attic, it didn't have leaks in the ceiling, though 
there was a two-foot-wide ragged hole in one outer wall. Those same 
walls were plastered with what must have been a dozen layers of old 
newspapers to keep the chill out in winter. 

He didn't really care, plopping down onto a bed sporting a lumpy feather
mattress, albeit with fairly-clean sheets. Within a minute, he was dead 
to the world. 

*** 

"We still can't verify it but I'll bet that was the clone." Troy slammed
down his coffee cup, splashing liquid over an otherwise clean desk. 
"Damned cold coffee. The bane of the executive world. It's too frickin' 
hot when you pour it, so you gotta let it cool. By the time you 
remember it, it's cold." He flicked a switch on his intercom. "Doris, 
bring me another cup'a, will ya?" 

Gregory Jeffers, Agent In Charge of the Covington Virginia FBI office,
grinned. "I'm pretty certain, myself, Troy. That same car stopped off 
at a station outside Smither's Acres, down the road from the old Xena 
site. They were asking directions to the turnpike. The clerk described 
NC212E3. She was wearing a wig but the clerk picked out a photo of a 
younger Nora." 

"You got the license number? Why the hell haven't you picked her and
that man up? It's been over a day now." 

"His name's Dwayne Weston Pesto...." 

"He certainly is." 

"Is what, boss?" 

"A frickin 'Pest-o.' Get it?" 

"Yeah. Ha-ha. Seriously, boss. They must have gotten wise, somehow, and
never showed up at his apartment. I've got the place covered but, so 
far, nothing. We have an All Points Bulletin out on them and the car. 

"We've questioned all their neighbors, gone through an appointment book
and refrigerator notes and are now checking those addresses. 

"All we can do is wait for a cop to stop the car or something to break."


"Did you check with the Xena people in Colorado?" Troy asked, taking a
sip of fresh coffee. "Damn. Too frickin' hot again." He sat it down 
carefully in a new coaster that Doris had dropped in place after wiping 
the desk with a paper towel. "What I mean is, did those two manage to 
get hold of any evidence left behind? I'll bet they photographed the 
place. Get someone to burn the frickin' place down or something. Pave 
it over and sell it cheap to Q-Mart." 

"We don't have the authority. That site belongs to the Department of the
Interior." Gregory nervously checked his briefcase, finding a letter 
with a DI letterhead. "Interior says they're certain all pertinent 
paperwork has been moved or destroyed. The place, they say, was gone 
over several times before certified as closed. It's now waiting for 
scheduled demolition within the next several years." 

"I don't give a shit who it belongs to. Drop a frickin' nuke on it if
you have to. I don't want some smart-ass investigative reporter to find 
it and match photographs. If nothing else, send a crew of convicts in 
to tear it up. As far as I know, convicts are still under the Justice 
Department? Frickin' politics." 

Gregory nodded. "And, boss. I think we should inform Nora. They haven't
a chance on getting away and Nora will really be pissed if she leaves 
that hospital and has to go back in a day or two later when we find her 
leg." 

"I suppose you're right. I don't want to face that bitch's wrath. She's
on our appropriation committee. As it is, she'll be angry that we 
haven't told her already." He frowned. "Tell her, though, that we're 
still not 100% certain." 

*** 

The next morning, Nancy and Dwayne went over the contents of the mystery
box. Gregory and the Department of the Interior were both wrong. The 
box contained Zeroxed and third or fourth sheet copies of many vital 
documents. 

He didn't know it but some bureaucrat had made illegal copies to cover
his ass in case the site had been found out twenty years after he 
retired. It's the sort of thing bureaucrats do, just in case. Easy to 
copy at the time but impossible to sneak out through the gate or even 
destroy during the rush to close up shop. Instead, he'd shoved them 
into a top corner of someone else's closet, covered the box with dirty 
rags and crossed his fingers. 

Among them were lists of clones, giving code numbers such as NC212E3's
along with dates and donors such as Congresswoman Nora Collins. It 
didn't tell when they were used or which parts were "harvested." Access 
to such information was not in his job description. 

Most of the information was dated years before the shutdown but the
papers did list the location of other such sites. Other papers didn't 
specify donors but listed the code numbers of illegal clones stored 
there. A bonus was a handful of correspondence back and forth to 
contemporary government officials, up to and including now-President 
Anderson when he was heading the FBI. They were under official 
letterheads and some of them were even signed. 

Used properly, it was enough to topple an administration, if not a
supposed democracy. 

To Nancy, the papers of most importance were a collection of thin but
highly-classified training manuals that told her own history. Not 
specifically hers but their origins in test tubes and function as spare 
parts for VIPs. 

While Dwayne was going through the rest of the box, her vision became
distorted, seeming to swim from close-in to infinity as she read and 
reread those specific missives. Her hands shook so badly she was forced 
to stop reading, finally alerting Dwayne as she passed out and fell 
senselessly to the dusty floor. 

*** 

"No! By God. It can't be. I never had parents. I was born in a test tube
in a laboratory, for ... I can't say it, spaarree parts. Does that mean 
I'm not a human but only a piece of experimental meat?" 

"Nancy, honey. Remember how we screwed last night? I can swear that
you're not a rubber sex toy. For one thing, you don't 'squeeech' and 
'sqaawwk' when I pound it in." 

"You sound like ... like you've had experience with those things?" 

"No comment." He laughed. "Come on. This time I'll try to get you to
'squeeech' and 'sqaawwk.'" 

After a nap, during which she moaned a lot but made no funny noises --
although the ancient bed did -- they lay there and tried to make plans. 
The box of papers was a great find. But, what should they do with it? 

"Definitely not human," Dwayne mumbled in her ear. "Superhuman. You must
be an android, not a clone." 

"Shut up. What are we going to do now? Sooner or later, they're going to
find us here." 

"It's an off-chance, but do you remember about a reporter blowing the
whistle on three congressmen for diddling little boys in public 
restrooms?" 

"Uh, uh," she said. "I don't read or watch that stuff?" 

"Well, I could try to get him, the reporter, to help us. Part of the
story was that he was later fired for doing it. He was told not to but 
did it anyway. He seems honest enough and works here in town now. It 
was quite a demotion from his job in LA." 

"How can we ask him? The police are looking for us. Don't forget that.
And there are security cameras everywhere." 

"Simple. I'll mail him some of our stuff, along with a number for one of
those cheap throwaway cellphones. It's taking a chance but, like you 
say, they'll eventually find us no matter what we do." 

*** 

Thomas Riley had been relegated to doing obituaries for a local
newspaper. Since being fired in Los Angeles, he'd been blackballed in 
the industry and was lucky to get even that job. It did, however, get 
him out of the office and into the street, interviewing friends and 
relatives of the deceased. 

"Hey, Riley," the office gofer called out for all to hear, "you got
yerself a package, man." 

That, in itself, was unusual. Obituaries were, at most, a half-day
affair. He'd learn someone had died. If a relative nobody, a few phone 
calls would give him material. If a VIP, he'd hoof it out for 
interviews, taking a cheap camera with him to take his own photos. 
Nobody, but nobody, ever mailed him anything. That would imply they 
knew the deceased was due to die, days ahead of time. 

After a brief perusal of the contents, he felt he needed a drink and
left the building to find one. 

At the appointed day and time, he called the enclosed phone number.
Maybe, just maybe, he thought, he could get back on top. 

*** 

Dwayne stood in an alley down the street from the agreed-on location,
ready to run at the first sign of trouble. He almost did as a police 
car cruised slowly by a half-hour before the appointed time. At two 
minutes till, he ambled around the area, looking in shop windows, ears 
tuned for the ringing of the phone in his pocket, eyes roving for any 
hidden police presence. Nancy sat in a fast-food outlet, nearby, ready 
to call if she spotted any sign of a setup. 

When it rang twice and quit, he knew he was committed. Heart pounding,
sweat forming on his brow, he took a last look before angling to a 
phone booth across the street, where a stranger stood. 

He used his knuckles on the glass booth. "Hello," he stammered, "Riley?"


Riley was torn between answering or not. He was also half-afraid of any
confrontation with a man wanted by federal authorities.  Sighing, he 
nodded. "Dwayne?" 

“Correct. I'm the person you want,” Dwayne said. 

"Yeah. What's this shit? Where you get it?" 

"From the source. I ... I even have an escaped clone staying with me." 

"Staying where?" 

"You interested or not, Riley? I'm taking one hell of a chance even
talking to you." 

"Not any more than I am. You better be on the fucking level." 

*** 

"Bicycles? Frickin' bicycles. I'd rather walk." 

"I haven't got a car. Well, I do but don't dare use it." 

"I have the money. We can rent one. Man, I don't even remember how to
ride one of these things." 

"Fine. You do that. I'll wait in this alley for you. Every cop in the
country's looking for me." 

Riley used his cellphone to call for a rental car to be delivered. He
didn't want Dwayne out of his sight. Once he had it and signed the 
papers, Dwayne came out of the shadows with the bikes and they loaded 
them into the back seat. He was curious as Nancy, not saying anything, 
came over and crawled in beside Dwayne. After that, it didn't take long 
to get to Mary's. 

*** 

"My God, kids. This is earthshaking. And you really don't have a
bellybutton. How else could you be born but in a lab?" They were all 
upstairs at Mary's house, Thomas looking at the papers. "See. Here's 
the name of the owner of my news syndicate. So much for getting any 
stories published through that bastard. I wondered how he survived that 
ski accident two years ago. He certainly wouldn't let this be published 
in any of his newspapers. I recognize other names in the news 
business." 

He put down the papers and sat back on the bed. "It doesn't look like we
can use this stuff." 

"Maybe we can put it on the Internet?" Dwayne suggested. "Millions would
read it, and overnight. And we could be anonymous." 

"No good," Thomas Riley said. "There's so much fake bullshit on there
now that few would believe these fuckers. Probably nobody in authority. 
They have to be presented in some sort of official manner, by someone 
people would trust." 

"Like you, you mean? We have you ... don't we?" Nancy asked. "And I can
show my stomach as proof." 

"The pictures and my name could be faked. I ... none of us three would
be around to prove anything. We'd be in one of those secret prisons in 
Lebanon or something, never to be seen again. And you, Nancy, would be 
minus a left leg. That congresswoman that looks like you has a problem 
with hers." 

That's the way it stood until breakfast the next morning. The entire
family, plus guests, were sitting around a massive oaken dining-room 
table. The meal consisted of eggs from Mary's hens, fried ham slices 
from one of her pigs, cereal and grits from grains grown by the kids, 
and freshly-baked biscuits. Since Riley and Dwayne were there, she even 
fixed a pot of hoarded coffee. 

"I think we're saved, guys," Riley said, mouth full of ham. "It's a good
thing you took home movies while you were at those three slave sites." 

"Movies? THREE sites?" Nancy said, sitting up straight, biscuit crumbs
and home-churned butter dripping from her chin. 

"We didn't take any movies," Dwayne answered. "I was going to but forgot
my camera." 

"Yes, you did," Thomas said. "You forgot to tell me, though." 

"Can I see the movies?" little Joey asked. "I like movies. Mama took me
to--" 

"Quiet, Joey," Mary ordered. She too was confused. 

"You know that and I know that but the world doesn't know it," Thomas
said. "I think a nice professionally directed film by a famous director 
would go a long way in proving your case." 

"You know one that would do it?" Mary asked. 

"Nope. You know it and I know it but they don--" 

"Cut it out. You said that already," Dwayne told him. "You have
something in mind. Don't you?" 

"I certainly do, guys. I think it's time we committed some real crimes."


"Like what?" Nancy asked. 

"Like kidnapping, for one. That and a batch of real big lies to
Congress." 

Mary shushed the kids out of the room while Thomas Riley, the infamous
investigative reporter, laid out his plan. 

*** 

Congresswoman Nora Collins took pride in driving herself to work and
around town. Besides, she loved her 1976 Rolls and the way people 
stared as she cruised by. 

That morning started as usual by her leaving her mansion at six, set on
taking her usual route through DC on the way to work. As usual, she had 
to wait a few moments as the guard on the front gate at the mansion 
opened it for her. Driving down a long winding lane to the street, she 
came upon a small tree lying across the driveway. 

Nora was forced to stop. While her eyes were off the road, searching her
purse for a cellphone, she heard a tapping on the driver's side window. 
Looking up, she saw a pistol aimed at her face, a mean-looking man 
holding it. 

"Open the door." 

She shook her head. The car was armored with bullet-resistant glass.
"Fuck off." 

He pulled out a red cylinder, looking like a coke can. When he showed it
to her, label forward, she saw it read, among other things, "US Army, 
grenade, thermite." 

"I don't think you want to be inside when I roll this under your car,"
he said through the glass. "Turn it off and get out." 

Nora knew what "thermite" meant. Who didn't? What she didn't know was
that a red cylinder meant it was a dud, used in training. 

She wasted no time in extracting her old butt from the car. She was led
at gunpoint, stumbling on her new artificial leg, a few feet to where 
another auto was hidden. Her old bones were forced into its trunk. 

With the only light coming from around turn-signal receptacles, she
couldn't memorize directions or tell time. All she could do was try to 
get comfortable and keep from rolling around on the turns. 

When let out, she found herself in an underground garage, then led to a
door in the large enclosed space. Inside, Nora finally recognized 
someone she knew. It was that damned reporter who'd interviewed her a 
few years before ... Thomas Riley. 

"This is one hell of a way to force an interview," Nora bitched. "I'll
see you in prison, you bastard. Kidnapping is a felony. You should know 
that. Kidnapping a congresswoman is unforgivable." 

He did look embarrassed. "Sorry, Nora, but this was the only way. This
is one interview you'd never have agreed to." 

"And what's so earthshaking that you'd risk life in prison? I'll have
you know that I haven't broken any laws. So, you're shit out of luck 
when it comes to blackmail. Let me go right now and I'll see they're 
lenient with you." Her eyes were sweeping the room. 

"If you're searching for the camera, Nora, look over at the wall behind
the desk. It's in that hole about five-feet from the floor. The 
cameraman prefers not to be seen. I can't blame him, can you?" 

"Hey, you! You on that camera. We'll find you, you know? Last chance.
Get your ass out of here and call the cops for me. That's an order." 

"Simmer down, Nora. Yelling won't do you any good. Compose yourself.
I'll give you a few minutes." He motioned to a box on the desk. 
"Here're some cosmetics, if you want to get yourself looking beautiful 
for the camera. If not, I don't give a shit." 

"I won't give you the satisfaction ... and to hell with face powder." 

Thomas turned his chair toward the camera, obvious by a shiny two-inch
lens peeking through the wall. He carefully positioned himself a few 
inches to the side to include both of them in the film. After brushing 
back a stray strand of hair, he smiled then nodded to the cameraman to 
start the shoot. 

"This is Thomas C. Riley, formerly of Atlas Communications, the owner of
local Channel Thirteen serving Covington, Virginia." He gave a wide 
grin. "I say formerly because after making this film I know I'll be out 
of a job. I may even be in prison. But this is a story that must be 
told. 

"Before we proceed, we'll see a few short film-clips of the interior of
several secret government installations. If any children are watching, 
I strongly suggest they leave the room. 

“This will no doubt be the most disgusting footage you will ever see. It
is uncut, exactly as filmed by cellphone cameras and showing cloned 
human beings in the most abject captivity imaginable. These films make 
Auschwitz seem like a playpen. And they were taken in these United 
States. 

"As you know, human cloning is illegal here and in most civilized
countries -- and for good reason. However, our Congress felt free to 
exempt themselves from that restriction. They hid that exemption in a 
2006 bill to rebuild and modernize schoolhouses. 

"As you watch this movie, be aware that the purpose of these people and
yes, they are fully human though born in test tubes, is as spare parts 
for congressmen such as Nora Collins, here, and other important people. 
Also patently illegal, even by that horrible exemption, many are clones 
of rich and famous people from around the world. 

"While watching this evil in progress, you'll see people you recognize.
They will be from every stage of government and include famous 
Hollywood actors, CEOs of corporations and heads of state.  Some may be 
familiar as your own bosses. You will watch them nude and groveling for 
slop from a trough. 

"Under other circumstances it might be humorous but remember ... this IS
reality. At any time, they may be wheeled into an operating room to 
have a leg or kidney harvested for the use of a wealthy donor. These 
PEOPLE have no rights under our Constitution." 

He turned back to Nora, who sat silently, face gaining a chalk-like cast
as she realized what his speech meant. 

"You can't. We ... the US government ... gone. No." 

"Oh but we can and will. It's not put together yet, Ms. Collins. My
little speech may need find-tuning and trimming before being inserted 
at the beginning of the movies we dub in. I wanted to try it out in 
front of you. What better way to see its effect and get your response 
on camera? 

“You look sorta green, there, Nora. 

"I'm going to show you something and you're going to make a decision, a
decision on how this interview proceeds. You can, and it isn't of my 
own choosing, stand out as either a villain or a savior. If it were up 
to only me, I'd happily bury you along with the rest. 

"Nancy. You can come in now." 

A door in the wall behind the desk opened and Nancy entered. On seeing
her, Nora shook like a leaf in a strong wind, having to cling to the 
sides of her chair to stay erect. She could be heard stifling a scream. 


"This is Nancy, known to you as NC212E3. I believe you've been looking
for her? Well, here she is, in person. Aren't you going to say hello to 
your daughter?" 

With makeup on to make her seem older, Nancy looked exactly like Nora. 

"Sorry, Ms. Collins but I think I'll keep my leg -- if you don't mind."
Nancy gave her an evil grin, finishing with a smile. "If I can pull it 
out of your ass." 

"I'm sorry,” the congresswoman began, “but it's a moral issue. Cloning
myself is NOT illegal. You may look like me but you're not really a 
person. You don't have a father or a mother, not even a bellybutton. 
You're a ... a thing, not a per--" 

That was when Nancy jerked her out of the chair, turned her around and
kicked as hard as she could. 

"Auggggh," Nora cried, hands on her rear as she staggered into a wall. 

"It didn't go in that time. Maybe I need pointed shoes ... and more
practice?" 

"That could be arranged," Thomas replied, laughing. "Would you like a
few minutes alone with her?" 

"NO? Don't you dare. You'll never get away with this." 

"Enough, girls. Remember, Nora, this is being filmed." 

"You ... you...." The congresswoman stopped, visibly forcing herself to
calm down. She even managed a smile. "Just what do you expect of me, 
Mr. Riley?" 

"Fine. That's better. Nancy. Maybe you should leave while I talk to
Nora. Please?" 

Obviously worked up, Nancy glared at her ... would it be sister or
mother? Not being able to stand it in there one more moment without 
killing her donor, she turned and left the room. 

"What I want you to do, Nora, is go back to your nice soft seat in the
House and blow the whistle." 

"Why should I?" 

"Two reasons. One. We've talked it over and don't give a shit whether
you go to jail, get lynched by the public, or come out smelling like a 
rose. It's all the same to us. But we would prefer giving the US 
Government a chance at survival. 

"When we finish and release this movie, it will shake up the world,
maybe sending the US down like the Roman Empire or Hitler's Germany. If 
you blow the whistle, the country may still fail but has a better 
chance. 

"That would also make you and a few of your cronies into heroes, maybe
giving you a shot at the Presidency. 

"Secondly. I want you to be aware of what you're facing. We've given it
a lot of thought. Parts of this film WILL be distributed to many 
places, using the Internet, telephone, mail and by messenger. Thanks to 
the Internet, the films and paperwork have already been stored at 
numerous sites around the world. By the time you reach a telephone, 
this interview would have joined them. If even one of our storage sites 
is raided, the others will distribute what they have. It might not be 
put together professionally yet but should be sufficiently believable. 

"We've collected signed papers of the entire cloning conspiracy. I've
had people inside several of the installations, taking photos and 
movies, even acquired real footage of the clones while in captivity," 
he lied. "All of that proof has been duplicated and I do mean 
worldwide. You'd never find them all in time. 

"Also, when the movie HAS been finished, it WILL be distributed. That
is, unless we see you and other people in government have taken 
responsibility and stopped the entire process. 

"Finally, you must not only release the clones but give them human
status and compensation. That will include taking them off drugs and 
helping them to regain human intelligence. 

"If you can accomplish all that, you'll deserve the Presidency." 

"That'll ruin us. It will take years," Nora objected. 

"No it won't. If you drop everything else, including endless meetings on
the subject and other political bullshit, it won't take long at all. 
And remember something else. You're on a race with the movie. If it 
finishes first, you're shit out of luck. And that may take only a month 
or six, depending on the difficulty." 

"I can't." 

A sympathetic look on his face, he shook his head. "Tough shit." 

"How do I know you're not lying? You haven't shown me any proof. Those
sites have the best security available." 

Thomas opened a desk drawer, bringing out a thick stack of papers. He
began reading, giving addresses of the secret sites, also information 
on personnel. It had all been in the box of information that Nancy and 
Dwayne had found, but Nora didn't know that. Nor did she know they were 
lying about the film clips. But it was enough to convince her. 

"That's enough. Stop it. You've got me. I'll see what I can do." 

Thomas handed her the papers. "You do that. And you better hurry. No
political bullshit, remember? I'll expect to be reading full 
confessions within days, not weeks or months." 

Dwayne came in. Putting the Congresswoman in the car trunk, he drove
Nora back to her driveway and let her out. 

*** 

Nora Collins was in a quandary. Either way, she was screwed. But, if she
didn't go along with that damned reporter, she was a dead duck for 
certain. That filmed interview itself would hang her. The way she had 
acted, NC212E3 and her exploding.... At least, if she changed sides, 
she had a small chance of coming out of it intact. 

If there were time, the FBI or Secret Service could infiltrate, maybe,
or do something. But there wasn't time. According to the reporter, if 
anyone even came close, the cat would be out of the bag. If she took 
too long in changing sides, the finished movie would come out -- 
utterly destroying her. 

"Betty," she told her secretary, "please fix me up with a conference
call, full security code PP1203, with ... let's see ... Harry, Steve at 
the White House, Jeff, and Andy Adams. Yes, Adams." She sat back in her 
chair, the weight of the world on her scrawny shoulders, preparing 
herself to be a traitor to her party and President. 

*** 

The next Monday, the shit hit the fan. Various papers Thomas had given
her hit both television screens and newsstands. Two of the three news 
services reluctantly took it. The one holdout was because its owner 
needed his clone for a new kidney. He hoped to hold off long enough for 
the operation. He didn't make it. 

About a fifth of the House and many in the Senate rode the wave along
with Nora. Alerted a day or two ahead of time, they'd spread rumors 
that something big was going down, something that they'd, personally, 
been investigating. Those individuals were amazed that all the others 
had been secretly doing their own investigations about the clones -- 
the impression being that Nora had only been the first to expose that 
evil program, beating them all by mere days. 

Some of the others quickly gave up their seats for medical or other
reasons, while a few disappeared. Of course, the ones that ran away -- 
not being there to defend themselves -- took most of the blame for 
putting that evil law through. The President was unavailable for 
comment due to health reasons. Former presidents had seemed to 
disappear. 

Sadly, many other countries, busy with their own problems, didn't much
care. After all, such escapades were expected of the United States. 

One TV network hastily faked photos of happy clones, as well as film
clips of nice, comfortable cells and clones eating a turkey dinner with 
all the trimmings. My, how nice those poor people were being treated -- 
even though they couldn't seem to butter their own bread because no 
table knives were in evidence. 

"We, in Congress, have realized our errors. To err is human, to forgive
is divine. Some of our compatriots are guilty of being human, the rest 
of us of being too trusting of our fellows," Nora actually cried as she 
gave her speech. 

"President Tony Anderson has officially resigned, as of this morning.
After leaving the hospital in Saudi Arabia suggested by his friends in 
the Royal Family, he is expected to retire to his home in Nevada to 
relax after a long and distinctive career." 

Of course, there were no photos, no film clips and no other proof except
for what Nancy and Dwayne found -- also no movie had been planned. But 
Nora didn't know that. 

The End.


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