Critical Path

Stepping closer to both men and lowering her voice, she said in hushed tones, “He’s happy you two have agreed to help. He said he understood how difficult a decision it was for you considering what your people have gone through.”

The way she said it made Denver want to correct her to include her within that statement but realized she was as much croatoan as she was human in mind if not body. Charlie snorted with derision, but Denver remained quiet. He nodded to urge her to continue.

“He’s liaised with a number of our engineers.”

‘Our’ wasn’t lost on Denver—it was clear who this clone’s loyalties were with.

She continued, “Lord Hagellan wants to speak with you, go over the plan. He has new information for you and wants to meet you.” She pointedly looked at Denver. “In the spirit of peace and cooperation.”

Both Charlie and Denver laughed at that.

Bad enough she referred to the turtle-looking bastard as a lord, but hilarious to think he could get away with the bullshit of peace and cooperation.

“Where was that when he and his generals nearly wiped out our race?” Denver asked.

“I… erm…” Clone-Maria looked away.

“Son, leave it,” Charlie said. “She doesn’t know all about that.”

“When were you activated?” Denver asked.

It appeared that was a sore subject. Clone-Maria sat down on the bed and scowled. “That’s not really important right now. I’m here as an emissary to—”

“Lord Hagellan,” Charlie filled in. “We get it, girl. We’ll go. But I hope he doesn’t expect us to do cartwheels and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around the campfire. Let me make this clear—we are not his kind’s friends. Never were, never will be.”

“We’re closer than you think,” she said.

“And how would you know?” Denver said, keeping his tone respectful. He admired her for coming here and didn’t see any point in escalating an argument.

She tapped the side of her head. “We all have it in here—parcels of croatoan knowledge. We weren’t cloned just for working in the harvesters.”

“Oh?” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. “What else?”

“My group are, as I said, emissaries, but we hold within us the church edicts. We observe the rituals of the Elder Gods—the first croatoans to establish a home world and the revered Mother and Father.”

“Their idea of creation, eh?” Charlie said.

It appeared to Denver that this was at least something he could recognize as something they had in common: religion and belief in a supernatural origin story. From what Denver had read, it made absolutely no sense at all. All throughout the ice age he saw people of varied faiths praying, ritualizing, and praising God.

They all perished.

If there was a god, an Elder or not, it seemed his or her line was busy.

“No,” Clone-Maria said, standing up, “not their idea—the truth. Within every one of us we carry the DNA of those original mothers and fathers.”

“Us?” Denver shook his head. “You’re human, genetically and fundamentally. Your DNA is no different to ours. You’re not one of them. They use you like a tool to do their bidding—just like they used humans in their farm facilities. Just how much free will do you clones actually have?”

He thought about his Maria—did she also have this so-called knowledge in her mind just waiting to be ‘activated’? How much of Maria was the Maria he had come to know, and how much was some preprogrammed meat-puppet?

Clone-Maria ignored his questions. “Are you coming with me or not?” she said as she pushed her way between the two men. “I wouldn’t say no if I were you. Lord Hagellan is a fair leader but not one to cross.”

“A little too late for that,” Charlie said. “I kind of messed up his plans a bit.”

“I heard,” she said. “You’re quite the hero.”

Denver couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. Either way he didn’t like this clone one bit. Didn’t trust her. But then that wasn’t surprising since she considered herself one of them.

His curiosity won out over any resistance. “We going, then, Dad?” he asked.

“Yeah, son. Let’s go see what the old bastard is planning.”

From within her robes, Clone-Maria produced two carbon-copy outfits. She handed one to each of them. “We go out the back. Stay close and keep your hoods up. I’ll take you through the tunnel system so as not to be seen, but don’t remove your hoods until we’re in Lord Hagellan’s room—we can’t be too careful these days.”

“What do you mean?” Denver asked.

“Nothing major. Just a few… integration problems. We can talk on the way. Come on.”

With that, Clone-Maria opened a closet door and depressed a hidden button. A panel came loose to reveal a carved opening that led to a tunnel within the actual rock of the lake walls. A series of unlit candles in carved nooks led the way down the dark aperture. The clone stepped inside and encouraged them to follow.

Denver really wished he still had his rifle. All he had for a weapon was a shank he had made from an old spoon found in the kitchenette area. It wasn’t perfect, but at a push, it’d take out someone’s eye and buy him time.

“After you,” Charlie said, urging his son forward. “It’ll be all right.”