

SHELL GAMES

By John Cosper

Copyright 2013 by John Cosper

All rights reserved

www.johncosper.com

Cover design by Cristy Elaine

DEDICATION

To Addie the Vampire Slayer
PROLOGUE

The accident happened shortly after mid-day. It would never have taken place had the man simply taken lunch in the office cafeteria, but with a new baby at home, the new father couldn't help racing home for a few precious moments with his little one. He made the drive safely in fifteen minutes and parked his sleek new European sky-car on the street in front of the white manor house with the blue shutters. The painters had parked their truck at the foot of his driveway, but he didn't mind the short walk across the grass. He stopped to pick up the newspaper lying on the front lawn before walking up to the front porch when, just at that moment, the rope snapped.

The two painters dangled helplessly overhead tethered to the roof by their safety harnesses. They could only watch as, twenty feet below, the platform crashed down on the head of the man who had hired them to repaint his house.

A panicked wife, watching from inside the living room, hit the emergency button on her phone and called for an ambulance as one of the painters, a former paramedic, administered CPR. He was alive, barely, when the life-flight ambulance arrived and loaded him into the back of their sky-car. The painter gave consolation to the frightened wife assuring her he'd be okay. In truth, the former army medic knew the man would be dead within a few hours.

En route to the hospital, the man's name and ID went into a computer. A list of suspected injuries and maladies was then posted to his name: punctured lung, broken ribs, fractured skull, and a severely lacerated kidney. Triggered by the man's name and ID number, the hospital's central computer system fired off a priority alert to the central computers of Better Day Laboratories. That message triggered five more messages to various departments within Better Day's computer network. Within ten minutes, another sky-car lifted off from an unmarked warehouse fifty miles from the victim's house.

The man was on the operating table within minutes of his arrival. Life support systems kept him stable, but it was only a matter of time before his internal organs began shutting down. The doctors sweated out the minutes preparing the patient as they waited for the flight to arrive. They would not be waiting long.

By the time the Better Day vehicle had arrived, the man only had minutes to live. The package was rushed down from the landing pad and straight into the operating room where two Better Day trained specialists went to work on saving the victim's life. The procedure, the third of its kind in the entire world, was flawlessly timed to the second. Like dozens of other procedures supported by Better Day, it went precisely as planned. Doctors were now left to wait and monitor the patient.

Two long days went by. Just after dinner on the second day, the man's eyes fluttered. The nurse checking his vitals missed it, but his wife did not. She was at her husband's side in a heartbeat. "Honey? Baby, can you hear me?"

The eyes opened responding to her impassioned plea. "Melia," he said softly.

The wife smiled. "She's fine. She's with my mom down in the cafeteria. Oh, baby, I thought I had lost you."

She took his hand. He gave her a light squeeze. "I won't leave you," he said.

The nurse called the doctor, who rushed back to the hospital to check out the patient. Organs were functional. Tissues were healing. The patient would be sore for a number of weeks, but he would make a full recovery. The transplant was a success, and it saved his life.

A week later, the man would leave the hospital, his baby girl in his arms and not a single visible scar on his body. His wife would drive him home. It would be hard going for a while. The man was hooked to several monitors sending constant feedback to a data center at Better Day. All precautions to ensure the transplant did not fail, but the worst looked to be over. The new father had survived, a miraculous ending to a near-tragic story, and one family would go on living a happy, normal life.

By contrast, nothing had ever been normal for Eva. Confined to living in a crowded dormitory where she was rarely afforded a chance to step outside. Eva, like many of her dorm mates, had often wondered if there were more to life than the humdrum work they did on a daily basis: washing laundry, preparing food, cleaning up after meals, and getting physical exercise.

Then came the day she met Jay. She never would have spoken to him had he not approached her. Pretty as she was, she lacked any trace of self-confidence. None of the staff members, most of them males, paid her any attention at all. But Jay made it his mission to seek her out to make her laugh to make her happy.

Sadly, Eva never had a word for the feeling that the magnetic power Jay had over her. No one had ever taught her the word "love," but thanks to Jay, no one needed to bother. She knew the two of them had something special, something extraordinary, even if she lacked the vocabulary to express it.

Likewise, Eva didn't need words like sorrow and emptiness to express her feelings after Jay was removed from her life. He was gone without even a goodbye. Two of their fellow residents asked him to follow them from the cafeteria. The residents returned, but Jay never did.

Eva waited through dinner for him to return before giving up. She went a few days, always looking but never asking, before it became too much to bear. She went to the residents who had escorted him out of her life, but they swore they knew nothing other than the fact that Jay had gone to see Dr. Lanning. So desperate was she to find her lover, Eva went to see the doctor herself.

"Where is he?"

"Where is whom, Eva?" said the doctor.

"Jay," she said.

The doctor looked at her blankly. "Jay is gone."

"Where did he go?"

"He was transferred," said the doctor.

"What does that mean?" The woman had never heard that term either.

"It means he has left us," said the doctor. "Is there anything else?"

"Did you make him leave?" asked Eva.

"Does it matter?" said the doctor. "I told you, he is gone."

"He wouldn't have left without telling me," she insisted holding her stomach tight as it twisted in knots.

"Eva, are you feeling well?" said the doctor.

She shook her head. "It hurts. It has ever since he left me."

"Perhaps a few nights in sick bay will help you feel better."

"I will feel better," she said, "When I find Jay!"

"I am so sorry," said the doctor. "But there is nothing you or I can do. Jay is gone. If you want to go to sick bay--"

"No." Eva stood defiantly and left. Once the office door had closed, the doctor placed a call.

"Residential, this is Burke."

"Burke, it's Dr. Lanning. We have a shell by the name of Eva. Is she on hold?"

The doctor could hear Burke typing on the other end. "Negative. Eva is a Mark 7 female."

"She's a Mark 7?" The doctor felt a pang in his gut. "Get her things ready. I want her put in for a transfer."

"Is there something the matter?"

"Code 24," The doctor said. "Nothing that can't be solved by moving her."

"Then we will move her."

"First available opportunity," said Dr. Lanning. "And while you're at it, flash her specs out to all branches."

"Is that allowed?"

"In these circumstances, yes," said the doctor. "I want her put to use immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Dr. Lanning hung up the phone shaking his head. He could blame this on staff, but he was not the kind of man to pass the buck. He had personally observed Eva and Jay's behavior. He was just as responsible for allowing the situation to evolve as anyone. But no matter. Eva would be gone soon, and the shells under Lanning's care and provision would go on waiting until the day they were needed to save a life.

How easy it was to forget who was human and who was not! As perfect as the shells were for growing organic material, they were highly unstable. Human contact with them was all but forbidden, and while the shells themselves made for good workers, he did not trust them.

So long as inventories rotated, so long as the interpersonal bonds were kept on the surface, they would continue making money for Better Day. At the end of the day that's all that mattered to Lanning and his employer.
CHAPTER ONE

The six foot tall brute might have modified his behavior had he known a watchful pair of eyes had marked him as potential trouble the moment he walked into the club. He might have chosen not to drink quite as much, and he might have chosen a more simple prey to hunt rather than going for a woman who was obviously with someone else. It would have spared him a bit of embarrassment, not to mention some serious pain, if the college boy had known he was being watched, especially if he knew what kind of man was watching him.

Like most guys matching his description, buzzed haircut, tight T-shirt over possibly artificially enhanced muscles, cut off shorts, and flip-flops, he came in loudly and went right to work inebriating himself with drink after drink. He wasn't the leader of his group; those guys were always a little more level-headed. But he was the one the others would tell stories on the rest of the week. "You will not believe what he did this time!"

The woman was not even the flashiest in the club that night. She was still in work clothes, a little drab, but even so, her features were simply stunning. She sat at a high top with a man, and their body language made it very clear they were in a relationship. He was less formal in appearance than his date. He probably got off work a bit earlier, but the two of them only had eyes for one another. The pair was out of place in a bar known for hook-ups. They would have fit in better and had a better night had they chosen some place more intimate.

It was just after eleven when the boyfriend excused himself for a restroom break. That's when the brute made his move bringing a beer to a woman who anyone could see was not drinking beer. He made himself comfy in the vacant seat across from the girl, who smiled politely and handled the encounter with grace. The watchful bouncer couldn't hear what was being said, but it wasn't hard to guess.

"I'm sorry, I'm with someone."

"You are now."

"Thank you, but I'm not interested."

"I didn't ask if you were."

A glance to the bar: the buddies were enjoying the show. No sign that any of them would do the right thing and end this. Look toward the restroom: the boyfriend is out headed back for disaster. Back to the table: the uninvited suitor was clearly getting agitated.

Earl didn't spring into action; he never did. He began a slow walk toward the table with his eyes focused like a laser on his target. The boyfriend arrived first. The brute was on his feet in a flash ready to do some violence. Panic flashed on the faces of boyfriend and girlfriend. Fingers twitched on each of the brute's hands. He recoiled to strike.

He never even saw the table; his head went straight through driven by the powerful force of the bouncer he never saw coming. He felt an unseen force pulling him back in the air keeping his powerful right arm pinned to the small of his back. He could feel the muscles and bones straining. If he wasn't so drunk, he'd be howling.

A voice in his ear, deep and menacing, said, "It's time for you to go."

The thug managed a smile as he saw his faithful pals step up to help, but the smile faded with the enthusiasm of his friends, who suddenly saw something in the bouncer that kept them at bay.

The troublemaker spun easily toward the door, the bouncer still locked on his arm like a vise, forcing him quickly toward the outside world. He felt himself speeding up as he approached the door, and he struggled to keep his feet on the ground. By the time he reached the open air, he was airborne. He smashed down in the street hard on his prone, right shoulder. He felt that one and screamed.

The man turned to face his attacker standing tall in the front of the club watching the man's companions stream out like frightened children. Having accounted for everyone, he gave one final look through cold, dark eyes to the troublemaker that said more than words ever could: Don't come back here. Ever.

He turned and walked inside.

The club owner gave an appreciative nod to his enforcer as he made his way to the bar. The owner poured a Gin and Coke and set it in front of his employee.

"That was fast, Mack," said the owner.

"All in a day's work, Pep," said the bouncer. He downed his drink with authority and turned to resume his watch. As he crossed the room, the girlfriend gave him an appreciative smile for his help. He nodded slightly, then turned his attention to another mark that had him worried, this one girl with serious self-destructive tendencies. At another time in his life, his impulse would have been to help her. Now, his only interest was in ejecting her from the room before she ruined a good time for those around her.

Earl Mackin knew a thing or two about self-destructive tendencies. It's what had landed him here corralling drunks in a mid-level club, rather than out there where he used to be, as his friends called it, "Doing what's right."

Three AM came quickly and quietly. The majority of the crowd was long gone including the boyfriend and girlfriend. Earl ushered out the few remaining patrons without incident; most were regular enough to know Earl Mackin was not a man to be toyed with. After snapping the lock, Earl strolled over to the bar for his customary night cap and waited for the boss to count out his tip for the night.

"Bit of a busy one, huh?" said Pep.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," said Earl.

Pep grinned. "I remember nights this place looked like a scene from a wild west movie." He slid a wad of large bills over to his bouncer. "Haven't seen nights like that in years thanks to you."

Earl said nothing drowning his lips with his beer. Pep pulled a scrap of paper out of his shirt pocket and slid it over to Earl.

"Had a young fella asking about you earlier," said Pep. "Left his name and number. Said he had a business proposition."

Earl looked at the paper inquisitively then flicked it away with one finger. Pep scooped it up and tossed it.

"Far be it from me to press the matter," said Pep. "Don't know what I'd do without you. Though I have always wondered."

Earl finished his drink and looked up. "What's that?"

"What line of business creates a man like you?"

"I could tell you," said Earl using the line he always did.

"But then I'd have to kill you."

Earl clapped Pep on the shoulder. "I'd hate to lose you too, pal."

He gave his boss a shake (Pep was always a bit frightened by just how tight Earl's grip could be) and headed out into the night. It was only five blocks from the club to Earl's apartment, and even on the worst weather nights, he preferred to walk. It was a harsh city, but a man of his size and reputation had very little to fear.

It was that confidence that left him open to attack, such as the one that came without warning out of the shadows. The first shot was from a metal ball bat, and the first blow was hard enough to drop an ordinary man. The only effect it had on Earl was to soften him up for the second blow that came the moment his head was turned. This one caught him across the forehead and succeeded in dropping him on his back.

His broken arm dangling at his side. The ruffian Earl had tossed out of the bar stepped over him with the ball bat in his good arm. "Hey, pal! Remember me?" He slammed the bat down on Earl's rib cage. "Payback sucks, don't it?"

The four friends leapt out with a shout and joined the attack. Earl covered himself with his arms allowing the five attackers to go to work while he bided his time. With so many arms flailing in close proximity to one another, Earl knew no one could get in a really good shot. He let their adrenaline-fueled rampage go on another minute before he made his move.

Both legs came off the ground, wrapped around the troublemaker's right leg, and snapped it with a sickening crack. The screams of their friend caused the other four to pause--a foolish mistake. Earl smashed two of their heads together, nose to nose, with blood spewing out broken nostrils and eye sockets as they fell limp to the ground. One boy made a run for it, but Earl caught the fourth by the pants leg before he could try. Earl sat up and chopped the leg with his free hand fracturing but not splintering the femur. He let the boy fall and cry turning his attention back to the one who started it all.

Earl lifted the boy off the ground. He was sobbing and crying. Earl could smell beer on his breath. He was drunk, but not so drunk to know his life was in serious danger.

"Please, don't kill me!" he whimpered.

Earl held the kid up inches from his face staring into eyes that were too terrified to look back. "You're going to be on crutches for a year," said Earl. "You're going to limp the rest of your life. If I ever see your face again, I swear, you'll lose use of both your legs forever. You got me?"

The boy nodded whimpering. Earl tossed him at his friends, who collapsed under the boy's weight. They struggled to their feet together and hobbled down the street keeping wary eyes on the man they all hoped to never see again.

Satisfied the coast was clear, Earl reached up to assess his own injuries. His head was throbbing on all sides; he might actually have a concussion this time. There was some blood, too, on the hands and coming from around the hairline. He'd heal quickly. He always did. It was, after all, in his DNA.

Earl turned to continue his walk but stopped short. Another boy stood in the street staring in awe.

"That was impressive."

Earl was confused. His clothing was too neat and a little too nerdy to be another from the bar. How long had he been standing there? And what all did he see?

"Forgive me," said the boy. "I was just..." he paused. "Look, I'll be honest. I was following you myself when all this happened, and if I could have helped, I would, but, well, I can see you didn't exactly need it."

Earl scowled. "You're the one who left his number for me."

"I am," said the boy.

"I'll save you some time and trouble. Not interested."

Earl brushed past the kid and kept walking. The boy followed, as Earl expected, but Earl chose not to do anything about it. He only had to go one more block to shut this kid out of his apartment.

"How can you be so sure you're not interested?" said the boy. "You don't know what I'm offering."

"I don't want to know," said Earl. "That should be enough for you."

"I'm afraid not," said the boy. "I have explicit instructions not to return until you've heard me out."

Earl hopped up the steps to his building. "And you have my explicit permission to say we talked even though we didn't," said Earl.

He slipped his key in the lock. The door flew open. Earl spun inside. A foot caught the door before he could close it.

The boy stared intently at the bar bouncer.

"Mr. Rogan, we need to talk."

Earl looked up, eyes wide in anger and annoyance. Seeing the determination in the boy's face, he huffed angrily. He opened the door wider. "Get in."

CHAPTER TWO

The apartment was tiny, but neat, despite the evidence the current resident was not given to sobriety. There were dozens of half-drunk bottles of liquor on the counter, but there was a uniformity to them that not only hid the abuse but hinted at the military training in that resident's past.

The boy studied Earl as he fixed himself a drink. He was tall, well-built, and very lean. He had a strong face with handsome features that were not at all worn with age. The man did not look a day older than thirty, and yet the boy knew he was at least twenty years past that point.

Earl waved to the couch. "Grab a seat."

The boy sat. "I appreciate you letting me in, Mr. Rogan."

"My name is Earl Mackin," said the bouncer. "Let's get that straight."

"My name is Ray White," the kid said. "And I know who you are, Mr. Mackin. You changed your name several years ago, but you were once known as Max Rogan."

"I'm sorry," said Earl. "That guy is gone."

Ray gave up on the point. "I represent an organization that needs your help. Very similar to what you once did when you were... someone else."

"If you know who I was," said Earl, "you probably know I gave that up. And why."

"I do, sir," said Ray. "Well, they didn't give me all the details. They only said I would probably have to appeal to you on a higher level."

Earl rolled his eyes. "And what level is that?"

"Money, Mister Mackin," said Ray. "Cash."

Earl snorted. "Really? All of a sudden there's money in the underground railroad?"

"We're not just college kids working out of our parents' basements," said Ray with a smile. "We're legit. We have backers, big names, with big bank accounts. People who believe in a cause enough to put their money into action. They know who you are, and they want you bad enough to pay for it."

Earl looked deep into the kid's eyes. He was serious. "You're not with G2, are you?"

" Genesis 2?" Ray shook his head. "No, sir, I am not with Genesis 2. Your old pals went out of business shortly after you left them."

"Is that so?" Max poured another drink. It had been nearly a decade since he had heard from anyone with G2 since his self-imposed exile began. "Then who are you with?"

"I represent a group called Second Adam," said Ray. "We believe that clones are human beings, and that--"

"That we were all created in the image of God," said Earl.

"No, sir," said Ray. "Actually, we're not a religious organization, in spite of our name. Not that we don't welcome the help of people with religious convictions. We just don't base our work on a religious dogma as much as an ethical stand against human cloning."

Earl took a seat across from Ray feeling dangerously like he was falling back into something he gladly left behind. "While I respect your work and appreciate your ethical stance, I told you, that's not who I am."

"My employers won't take no for an answer," said Ray. "They know you're the best. And they want your help."

"Stealing clones?"

"I believe the term you and your former associates used was liberating," said Ray. "They're human beings first. And we need men who can get them from their pick up points to safety."

"So they can live in the shadows hidden from the rest of the world that fears them without reason." Earl shook his head. "That's no life."

"It's better than what they have," said Ray. "Waiting for their execution date."

Earl went to the kitchen and opened a beer. He offered one to Ray, who refused.

"Why do you need my help?"

"Because you're the best."

"You mean because it's getting too dangerous for a bunch of Scoobies."

The kid paused, flushed. "We were doing just fine until Better Day learned we were out there. Now they've hired people to stop us. Like you used to do."

"Two lifetimes ago," said Earl.

"We have safe places to take them," said Ray. "We need more help getting them from point A to B. We've already hired quite a few of your..." his voice trailed off. Earl looked up. "I'm sorry, do you prefer the term brothers?"

Earl grinned. "We came out of the same mold. Literally. What would you call us?"

Ray smiled awkwardly back. "But my superiors were insistent on getting you."

"Why me?" asked Earl.

"They believe you are the best."

Earl looked the kid over again. He could sense hero worship in his eyes. Someone had been filling his head with stories. But who?

"Who's your backer?"

"I can't say," said Ray.

The answer did not please Earl. "I've been double-crossed before. If I'm going to work for you--"

Ray pulled a wad of cash out of his coat. He began stacking bills--hundreds--on the counter. Forty bills into the stack, he paused.

"Is that enough to answer your questions?"

Earl shook his head. "Keep going."

Ray stacked another ten bills on the counter.

"Keep going."

Another ten, then another.

Earl looked up at the kid. "I know your boss has no problem with you leaving that whole stack or else he wouldn't have sent it with you."

Ray smiled. He set the remaining bills on the counter. Earl gave them a quick count: twenty grand in total.

"This it?"

"You will get the same amount every run you make," said Ray. "All up front."

Earl looked at the pile of cash and shook his head. He had sworn he was done. Not that it was a bad work. He himself was a product of the lab, a "super soldier" created and then used against his own kind. He was the one who threw the veil off Harwood BioTech revealing the horrors they performed to the whole world. It was a death blow to the corporation that had formed him and so many in test tubes. But no one could have predicted how much it would cost the people who fought so hard to bring Harwood BioTech down.

Earl lost more than most. He swore he would never go back. But with nothing to lose, and twenty thousand dollars on his kitchen counter, he saw things a lot differently.

"Well, Mr. Mackin? Can we count on you?"

Earl laughed. He was more than satisfied with the money, and the last thing he wanted to do today was go back to that miserable nightclub after the night he had. "When do we start?"

Ray handed Earl an envelope. "This is everything you need to get started. Time, date, and location for your drop, photos, and a credit card. For travel expenses only."

"Including meals?"

"We don't expect you to feed five extra mouths out of your pocket," said Ray. "Once you make the pick-up, it's completely up to you how you get your people from one to the other. We have full confidence in your abilities."

Earl read the information. It did not look like a hard drive, but jobs like this one never did on the surface.

"What if I need to contact you?" said Earl.

Ray handed him a phone. "My contact number is in there for emergencies."

Earl took the phone and looked at it. It was a bit thick, probably carrying an encryption chip in the back--along with a tracking device. "Good enough."

"Well, I'll leave you to your work," said Ray nervously. He made his way to the door and turned. "Good luck, Mr. Mackin."

"The name is Rogan," said Max.

Max shut the door and turned back to his apartment. There was nothing here he couldn't easily leave behind, so as he began to pack a bag, he took only the few clothes he would need for a week's trip.

He might be back by then. He might never come back. Either way suited Max fine. He was no more attached to the life of Earl Mackin than he had been any other life he had led in the last several years.

There was one thing he couldn't leave. Zipping his clothing bag and setting it by the front door, Max went to the hall closet. He pushed the coats aside and tapped the back wall opening the false panel at the rear of the closet. There in the wall, exactly where he left it, was the black case he kept for just such an emergency.

Max pulled the black case out and set it on the floor. He opened the case and did a quick check of the contents. Everything was in order. He hoped there would be no reason to use it, but he was grateful to know it would be there--just in case.
CHAPTER THREE

Harry sat in his usual lunch seat, the far left cushion of the blue couch in the first floor TV room. He ate his favorite lunch--a banana, a bowl of granola, and a glass of orange juice--on auto-pilot as his eyes and mind stayed transfixed on the television.

Everyone knew that noon was Harry's news hour, and no one was allowed to touch the TV in the first floor TV room until one o'clock. Harry was a rabid consumer of current events. By this point in his day he had already read five papers in three languages online, squeezing in a jog and some cycle time in the fitness room as well. After this, he'd be off for two hours of flight training in the airship--play time--but for right now, the guy was all business.

Harry had no way of knowing the news he watched was two days old. For security purposes, all television programming and other media coming in the compound was subject to review and editing. It wasn't to deny the residents any specific knowledge. Many of the shells living in the compound were highly educated, Harry included. But like a number of his fellow residents, Harry bore a striking resemblance to a real life person on the outside--someone wealthy, someone important. Hence it was necessary to keep the shells from seeing anyone on television, or in print, that might create confusion.

The time delay situation had recently led to some staff turnover. A handful of staff members, all aware of the time delayed nature of media coming into the compound, had taken advantage of the situation by placing bets with some of the resident shells who followed sports. Both staff had their jobs stripped from them, but not without a heavy severance package that included their illicit winnings. What went on inside the compound was, to some, even more heinous than illegal gambling. The company had no desire to see their work exposed, so they went to great lengths to keep their former employees quiet--with money or other methods.

It was Friday in the real world, but Harry was enjoying a very pleasant Wednesday when two orderlies came to see him in the middle of world news.

"Harry?" Ken was the older and taller of the two. His real name was Benji, but a female shell with a Barbie obsession had taken the liberty of re-naming him two years ago. To Benji/Ken's dismay, it stuck.

"Harry, Dr. Sherman wants to see you."

"Can it wait?" said Harry. "I'm in the middle of the news ."

"I understand," said Ken. "And so does Dr. Sherman. He would not have sent us so soon if it were not important."

"Very well." Harry stood up and took his place between the two men quietly. They led him out of the dorm and across campus toward the administration building.

"So what do you think will happen in North Korea?" said Harry.

"What's the latest?" asked Ken.

"Rumor has it Beijing's looking to annex them next," said Harry. "That'll be the third sovereign nation they've absorbed into the People's Republic this year."

"You don't think that's a bit risky for them?"

"Of course," said Harry. "But what can the UN do? China's got a permanent seat on the Security Council. If they want to land-grab, it's going to be tough for anyone to stop them."

"You know what I think?" said Ken.

"Do tell," said Harry.

"This is all a guess, of course. But I'm thinking we're gonna wake up one morning and the president of North Korea will be dead."

The other orderly shot Ken a warning glance. Ken hid a smirk; he knew exactly what the next forty-eight hours in Harry's world would bring. By morning, the North Korean president would be dead allowing Beijing to seize power and move ever closer to South Korea and Japan.

"So you buy into the death troopers theory?"

Ken shrugged. "I didn't at first," said Ken. "But it's beginning to make sense."

"It makes perfect sense," said Harry. "You hire a mercenary hit squad, they do the wet work, you have no blood on your hands, and you can step in and play savior."

Ken nodded. It was eerie how sharp this one's mind was. Ken felt some relief knowing that Harry would soon be "relieved" of his mind.

Ken opened the door to Dr. Sherman's office. Harry gave him and the other orderly a polite nod before entering the room. The orderlies closed the door and stepped back waiting for their next cue.

Dr. Sherman's office was a plush study in the tradition of Victorian libraries with books stacked to the ceiling on shelves that stretched twenty feet high. Two large windows overlooking the courtyard flanked the desk with a small table between them holding various awards and knick-knacks. A white marble fireplace sat nestled among the books in one of the side walls. A second door leading to a side office was inside the other.

"Harry," said Dr. Sherman. The spry, elderly gentleman walked around his desk with hand extended for a friendly shake. "So sorry to interrupt your news hour, but I have some urgent business."

"Of course," said Harry.

"Please, won't you sit down?"

Dr. Sherman directed Harry to a chair by the fireplace. He took the other turning fully to face Harry.

"Harry, it's time you had some answers. You have often asked me the question, "Why am I here?" And you've been eager to get out and seek your own fortune for years."

Harry nodded eagerly. "A man of my curiosity can't be contained forever. As much as I love it here at the school, I'm ready to further my education elsewhere."

"Have you given any thought to what you might become?"

"Of course," said Harry. "I want to study medicine."

"Really?"

Harry nodded. "The world has a lot of problems, and medically, we're faced with the greatest challenges we've ever known. I want to make a difference."

Dr. Sherman grinned. "What if I were to tell you that you could make the greatest difference in the world?"

"I would be very interested to know how," said Harry.

Dr. Sherman smiled. "Harry, I'm about to tell you how. But I have to warn you, this will not be easy to hear."

Harry nodded. He was intrigued, but the doctor's words had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Did you find something on my physical?" he asked.

"No, nothing like that," said the doctor. "You're the picture of health, and you can expect to live a long, long time."

"So what's the big news," said Harry.

Dr. Sherman stood up and walked to the fire place. "You are familiar with our benefactor, Better Day Laboratories?"

"Of course," said Harry. "Pioneers of human genetic research. Cloning organs, tissues, blood, and more on demand. They also offer gene mapping services to new parents who want to 'insure' their kids against future sickness."

"I'm impressed," said Dr. Sherman. "That program's not scheduled to roll out for another month."

"I got a hold of an advanced copy of the yearly report," said Harry. "I hope that's okay."

"It's quite all right, Harry." Dr. Sherman leaned his arm on the mantle. "Harry, Better Day has some advanced services not available to the general public."

"Luxury services?" asked Harry.

"That's one way to look at it," said Sherman. "Another would be to say the sort of services they render are not the kind the general public is ready to pursue...much less accept that it exists."

"Human shells," said Harry without batting an eye. "Full human clones created for the purpose of harvesting organs and tissues to be used as donor materials."

If Sherman was surprised, it didn't show on his face. "Human cloning is illegal. What led you to that conclusion?"

"You, just now, when you didn't deny it," said Harry. "It wasn't hard to deduce. The most advanced cloning technology came out of a company called Harwood BioTech. They made a killing secretly cloning humans for organ harvest, and when they were finally exposed, Better Day acquired what was left of the firm."

"True," said the doctor. "But why would Better Day risk everything by resuming the work of Harwood BioTech?"

"Money," said Harry. "Despite the advances in genetic research and the costs associated with raising and feeding full human shells, it's still the most cost-effective and scientifically viable way to make the products the public demands."

Sherman nodded. "You can guess what I have to tell you next."

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn't hard to guess.

The doctor sensed Harry's understanding in the lines of his face. "Please believe me when I say, sincerely, it would be a pity to waste an intellect such as yours on mere parts and pieces. I've enjoyed your company as much as any colleague on staff. More than most, in fact. That's why it gives me some measure of joy to tell you, you're not a common donor shell."

"But I am a shell," said Harry. "Right, doctor?"

"A very special shell created with a purpose uniquely your own."

"Enough of the tongue twisting, doctor," said Harry, his anger starting to boil over. "What am I?"

"The technical term is an Enhanced Replica," said Dr. Sherman. "Rather than being a stock shell, you were created from a unique set of DNA."

Harry glared at the doctor. "In simpler terms, I'm an exact duplicate of one of those folks who can afford your luxury services, am I right?"

"Exactly," said Dr. Sherman.

Harry's mind took the news to the next logical step. "And when the time is right, when that person is in need of a new body, this body becomes theirs."

"You're just like him," said Dr. Sherman.

"Just like who?" said Harry.

"The man you were made to be. He's a surgeon, you know. A very good one. So that dream you have of making a difference in the world through medicine? It's well within your grasp."

Harry squirmed in his chair feeling very uncomfortable. He finally stood up. Sensing Dr. Sherman was a bit nervous, his hand visibly shaking. Harry kept his distance. He didn't want to be hauled off before having a few more questions answered.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Harry. "Has something happened to my...what do I call him?"

"I wanted to prepare you," said the doctor. "Your benefactor, shall we say, is getting along in years. And he's been diagnosed with cancer. He has some treatment options before him, but he may decide to bypass all that."

"So sooner rather than later."

Dr. Sherman nodded. "Like I said, you've been a valuable companion. I wanted to give you time to prepare."

Harry took a deep breath before asking the scarier question. "What happens to me? To the person I am, have been, here?"

"You go on living," said Dr. Sherman. "You are him, and he is you."

"Will I remember any of this?"

Long pause. "I don't think so."

"Yes or no, doctor," said Harry.

"No. But that doesn't mean you cease to be. Like I said, you are he, and he is you."

The words rang hollow. He knew what the doctor wanted him to accept, and maybe others had bought it. But Harry knew this stranger that would soon invade his body would mean his death.

What would happen then? A void? An afterlife? How could he know?

"It's not today," said Dr. Sherman. "So don't let it spoil your day, all right?"

Harry said nothing. He didn't know whether to lash out or thank the doctor for the information he had just received. He simply stared back at the man he once thought of as a friend.

The doctor extended a friendly hand. Harry stared at it but did not take it. He watched the doctor withdraw his arm nervously.

I'm nothing but property to you, he thought to himself.

"If you have no more questions, you're free to go," said Dr. Sherman. "I know you won't want to miss your flight training."

Harry looked up. "My benefactor, you call him, is he a pilot?"

Dr. Sherman grinned. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"So all this training is about him?"

"It's very difficult for the untrained body to make new maneuvers," said Dr. Sherman. "Especially in a cockpit. When the transition comes, he'll be able to do everything he always did."

"Makes sense," said Harry.

"I'm glad you agree," said Dr. Sherman. Harry didn't agree, but he knew he was powerless to protest--not if he wanted to have a chance to survive this madness.

Dr. Sherman walked him to the door assuring him his door was open "any time" Harry might want to talk. Harry said nothing. He fell in step with Ken and his counterpart and began the long walk back to the dorm.

Harry looked around when they reached the courtyard. All these people, these friends and neighbors--they were nothing! They were shells made for a profit to be used and discarded when needed.

It made his blood boil. Clones or no, they were more than mere property. He was no one's property.

Twenty minutes later, as he lifted the training airship off the launch pad, Harry fantasized about turning the ship West and flying far away. The flight instructor had controls on his side and a kill switch to disable Harry's stick making escape impossible during normal training. But then, the airship had other uses besides flying lessons. As he did laps around the compound memorizing the surrounding terrain, Harry began to formulate a plan.
CHAPTER FOUR

Max was sure he was still dreaming when he woke up in the king-sized bed of his Jacksonville hotel room. It took a few minutes of yawning and stretching to convince him otherwise. This wasn't a dream; in fact, it felt more like he was waking up from a dream. He was back on the road doing what he was more or less made to do, only this time, the accommodations were much, much nicer.

He got up and started the coffee maker resisting the urge to raid the mini-bar. Max knew he would need all his faculties on the road ahead. After a quick shower and shave, Max poured some coffee and called the valet to bring the car around. He was packing his bag when he heard a knock at the door.

An attractive, dark-skinned woman in a front desk uniform was outside his door. "Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well."

"Like a log," said Max.

She handed him an overnight envelope. "This arrived for you this morning. We didn't want you to get away without it."

Max took the envelope, puzzled. "Thank you."

"Will there be anything else?" she said, a bit of a flirt in her voice.

"No thank you." Max shut the door, not meaning to be rude, but certainly not wanting to get side-tracked. He ripped open the envelope and reached inside finding five fake IDs and a letter.

Mr. Rogan:

Thank you again for joining us in our mission. Enclosed is a set of ID cards which may come in handy on your journey. Please distribute these accordingly and instruct your charges to call one another only by the names on the cards. They can reclaim their given names if they so choose when they return the cards to us at the end of their journey, but until then, this is for their safety.

We hope you had a restful evening, and please, continue to take full advantage of five-star accommodations if you so choose. Makes it easier to find you should we need to be in touch. Just don't go overboard with room service.

Rogan chuckled as he took out a lighter to destroy the note. He wasn't used to bean counters monitoring his expenses on the road. Then again, what could they really do to stop him? Cut him off? Someone wanted him on this job, and that someone wasn't likely to risk having him walk off by canceling his expense card. Not if they were smart. On his way down to the lobby, Max made a resolution. He would continue to enjoy lavish accommodations on this trip. What's more, he would not feel the least bit guilty about it.

Max went into the hotel's restaurant for a little not-so-free continental breakfast. Over coffee, oatmeal, and an omelet, he opened the envelope and got a look at his passengers. There were five, three ladies and two guys. The faces were all different. No surprise, given the furor the release of hundreds of look-alikes had caused after the collapse of Harwood BioTech--but they were all handsome, beautiful, perfect faces. They were also distinct from one another, which would make it easier to tell them apart. Not that Max was interested in getting to know them on a personal level.

As zero hour approached, memories began to play back in his head. It was Angela who haunted his thoughts the most. She was the one who initiated Max's turn against his former employer. She changed his life and his world. And then, as quickly as she came into it, she was taken out of his life.

Max shook it off. He didn't need the reminder or the distraction. He had more resources at his disposal thanks to the flat plastic in his wallet, but he still had to keep his wits about him. He was picking up stolen property in less than an hour. He had never lost a single man or woman in the past, and he was determined not to lose anyone today.

Max rented a six-seater luxury ground car for the trip. It wasn't the fastest way to get from point A to B, but past experience had shown him that slower was safer. And that was the whole point of this trip, right? He disconnected the GPS--a potential liability if his vehicle became known to the authorities--and pulled out the directions he had jotted down the night before.

Despite the first class arrangements that had been the norm from the outset of this new adventure, it was still a bit of a surprise when Max found himself parking in front of a luxury high-rise. The building sported a façade from the early 1900's, but the rest had been gutted to make way for a gleaming tower filled with offices and condominiums. Clearly, a good number of the Second Adam financiers were guilty-rich types trying to make a difference in the world.

Max slipped into the elevator behind a petite, attractive little brunette with a pony tail and dark brown eyes. Her face was familiar, though Max was certain he had never met her before. She pressed the number nine and asked Max what number he needed.

"Same as you," he told her.

The girl smiled. Max turned his eyes to the numbers over the door, but he couldn't help noting the girl checking him out in his peripheral vision. Not that he minded. Max hadn't had a relationship to speak of in years, but he always welcomed the attention his youthful looks brought him--especially from girls less than half his age!

The doors opened on a spacious hallway. Max let the girl go first. He kept waiting for her to peel off and walk in one of the many doors they passed, but the girl went straight to door number 921, the same door he had been told to find, and knocked.

It was then Max realized why she looked so familiar.

"You must be Lea."

The girl looked at him; Max saw her tense up as if she were afraid. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else."

Max pulled the ID cards from his pocket and flipped to the one with her face. "This isn't you?"

The girl banged on the door harder. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about!"

She thinks I'm here to re-capture her, Max thought. He tried to switch gears. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're darn right you're not!" she said defiantly. "My friends won't let you take me! I'm not going back there, ever!"

"I'm not here to take you back!" said Max. "I'm here to help you."

"You stay away from me!"

The door opened. A middle-aged woman looked out at the girl, who ducked under her arm and darted inside. The woman looked at Max and smiled. "Mr. Rogan! We've been expecting you."

Lea peeked over the woman's shoulder. "You know him?"

"Only by reputation," said the woman. "He's your escort. He's come to take you to your new home."

Lea gave Max a dirty look. "He's got a funny way of introducing himself!"

Max extended his hand to the hostess. "Max Rogan."

"My name's Carla," she said.

"I'm sorry if I scared anyone," he said, giving a glance to Lea. "I recognized you from your ID card, and I thought the name on the card was hers."

"It's a stock code name, Mr. Rogan," said Carla. "We can re-use the same cards from multiple clones. But as you might expect, the names on the cards won't match the names these people go by."

"That won't make things confusing," Max groaned.

Carla laughed. "Come in. I'll introduce you to your crew."

Max stepped inside. The apartment was dimly lit, decorated with a wide range of accents that hinted at the Far East. A mural depicting an ancient Chinese village stretched along one wall, and several red fans hung on other walls. A twisting bonsai tree sat on a coffee table.

Max saw the clones gathered in the living room. Two of the girls sat with the arms of the two boys stretched around them. They'd already coupled. It would give them added incentive to listen and obey having someone to protect. At least he hoped so.

Lea took a seat by herself separate from the others continuing to size up Rogan. If looks could kill, she would have dropped Max to the ground.

"This is Max Rogan," said Carla. "He's going to be your escort from here to your final destination."

The two couples nodded and said hello.

"Hello," said Max.

"As I told you last night," said Carla, "all of you will be given an ID card. It is to stay with you until you reach your destination. I realize all of you have names that you have grown accustomed to, but for the purposes of this trip, you are to adopt the name given on your ID card."

"You mean like code names," the blonde male said.

"Exactly," said Carla.

The blonde nodded his approval. "Cool."

Carla turned to Max. He pulled the cards out. The blonde boy was first. "Richard."

"Richard?" the boy answered as Max handed him his card. He flipped through to find the card for the girl beside him, a dark-skinned African American girl. "Tara."

Tara accepted her card checking out the image. "How come this looks like me?"

"Where you're going, you're going to meet a number of people who look just like you," said Carla. "All of you were created from stock embryos."

"Really?" said Richard. "How many variations are there?"

"We've recorded at least thirty," said Carla. "Each with its own unique properties. It's how Better Day is able to offer its diverse range of products." Max noted the disdain in Carla's voice as she spoke about the cloners. The clones were all equally disgusted, judging by the looks on their faces--and the tear in the red-headed girl's eye.

Max found her card next. "Rebecca."

The red-head accepted her card. "Can I go by Becky?"

Max fought his gut reaction to say no and forced himself to be nice. "Sure."

"Cool," she said. She turned to her boyfriend, also a red-head. "Hi, I'm Becky."

Max cracked a smile handing the next card to Becky's beau. "Becky, meet Chuckie."

The boy looked at his card. "It says Charles."

"And Becky and Chuckie is far more endearing than Becky and Charles."

"If you say so," said the boy.

He turned to the brunette. "I guess you know your name already."

"My name is Miranda," she said defiantly.

"Until I get rid of you, it's Lea," he said.

She snatched the card and tucked it away.

"Okay," said Max. "I run a tight ship but fair. We have a long journey ahead of us, and if you want to get there alive, you need to stick close and listen. Listen and respond the first time I tell you to do things, then we'll get along fine."

"Can we go on any roller coasters?" asked Becky.

"Good question," said Max. He was giving the same speech he had given on numerous occasions in the past, just like riding a bicycle. "No doubt in our journey we will pass a number of points of interest that one or more of you will want to see or experience. How much or how little sight-seeing we do depends on two things: my own discretion, and your willingness to do what I say. If I sense danger, you'll follow my lead without question and we'll move on. If I think we're safe, and if you all prove cooperative, we'll make a few stops and have a little fun."

Max had no intention of hitting any tourist stops along the way. He didn't like slowing down, not with hot cargo, and he had yet to find a group that was fully cooperative in following his orders. Nevertheless, the arrangement was agreeable to the clones, who nodded their assent and pledged their obedience.

"Good," said Max. "We've got a long first leg to drive today," said Max. "Everyone have breakfast?" Five nods. "Anyone need to use the restroom one last time?" All five raised their hands again.

"One at a time, kids," said Carla. The clones took their turns using the restroom, then each one grabbed a small duffel bag filled with clothes and toiletries. "A little something for each of them to get them started on life," Carla explained to Max.

"This is pretty personal for you, isn't it?" asked Max.

Carla nodded. "It is for all of us. I know a lot of the others don't believe in God, but I do. And I believe everyone is God's creation."

Max smiled then shook his head. He wasn't into religious matters any more, but far be it from him to tell this woman what he thought of her beliefs. She was doing what she felt was right. That was enough for him.

Carla took her time saying goodbyes giving each clone a hug and her best wishes. She saw them all to the elevator where she waved goodbye and returned to her apartment.

"We should come back and visit her someday," said Becky.

"You can't," said Max, flatly.

"Why not?" Becky asked indignantly.

"The same reason I'm taking you north," said Max. "It's far too dangerous for you to remain here."

"Will she ever come visit us?" asked Becky.

Max shrugged. "No clue."

"Will we ever get to travel anywhere?" asked Tara.

"No clue," Max said again.

"What DO you know, Max?" said Lea.

"I know how to keep you alive," he said.

Max led them silently through the lobby out to the parking lot. The clones loaded their luggage in the back then boarded the car. Becky and Chuckie took the very back row. Tara and Richard the middle. Max found Lea in the passenger seat up front.

"Can you move this, please?" she said kicking the hard, black case protruding from under her seat. "It's in my way."

Max shook his head. "Sorry, no. That case stays there."

"It belongs in the back," she said.

Max ignored her as he started the vehicle.

"Your GPS is down," said Lea, nodding to the dark video screen on the dashboard.

"I disabled it."

Lea's mouth dropped. "Why would you do that?"

"So no one can track us," said Max.

"But how are you supposed to get us where we're going?"

"It's called a map," he said.

"And where is this map?" she snapped back.

Max tapped his temple. "Right up here."

Lea rolled her eyes. "Gonna be a long trip."

So much for having a pleasant companion in the front on the long drive ahead, thought Max.

CHAPTER FIVE

Eva looked over the sink toward the courtyard in the center of her new home. It wasn't the total freedom she had asked for (and been denied for reasons that were never explained to her), but it was an improvement from the dark dormitory she had called home for so many years. She liked the staff, and she enjoyed having time outside when the weather permitted. She was also happy to be away from memories of her lost love, a love mostly forgotten in spite of that fateful encounter the day after she arrived.

She was in the breakfast line getting acquainted with her roommate Sarah when she spotted Jay--or rather, a man identical in every way to Jay. Eva shook her head at the painful memory. She burst into tears and threw her arms around him only to discover it wasn't Jay.

It seemed impossible. He looked, moved, even sounded like the man she adored. She thought at first perhaps he had amnesia when she tried to speak to him, but after two days of his indifference, she became convinced that Adrian (as he called himself) could not possibly be her beloved Jay.

She still felt a pang of loss every time she passed Adrian, but as she had settled into a routine, she had found routes around the facility to allow her as little exposure to the look-alike as possible. Taking a job in the kitchen was part of that routine, and Eva was grateful to have something to do every day besides sitting around.

As she scrubbed the large pots used to make that day's chicken noodle soup, she saw two men in uniforms walking from the administrative offices across the grass. The taller one held a gray envelope. She had noticed the gray envelopes coming from administration on a few occasions, and though she had no idea what was in the envelopes, she knew what they meant. Someone, one of her fellow residents, would be escorted back to the main building never to be seen again. No goodbyes, no farewells. No clue as to where they might be going or why.

Eva had begun to suspect that Jay's disappearance might have come by a gray envelope. But what did the envelope mean? No one was carrying gray envelopes the day she was suddenly moved from her last home, so it wasn't merely transference from one place to another. The envelope meant something more. She wondered what it was for--and when she would receive one herself.

"Eva?"

Eva snapped out of her train of thought and turned. A chill ran down her spine. It was the two men she had seen walking out of the office.

"Would you come with us, please?" the tall one asked.

"Am I in trouble?" said Eva.

"Not at all," said the tall one. "Dr. Sherman needs a word with you."

"Dr. Sherman?" the name was not familiar to her.

"If you'll just come with us," said the tall one holding the gray envelope in the hand that hung by his side. "We'll have you back in a few minutes to finish up." He sounded sincere. Eva decided she would trust him.

Before she could remove her apron another woman, Crystal, entered the kitchen. "I hear you need a little help," she said.

"I'll only be a few minutes," Eva told her.

"Don't worry about it," said Crystal slipping on the same apron Eva had just removed. "I have this."

"Really," said Eva. "It's no trouble."

Crystal ignored her and went right to work as the two men escorted Eva out the door.

Eva's heart began to race as she crossed the courtyard. Her thoughts drifted back to Jay. Perhaps she would be reunited with him. Perhaps something terrible had happened to him...and was about to happen to her.

Eva followed the men into the office. Eva was surprised to see the office was not at all like her living environment. The furniture was much nicer, the walls an actual color rather than sterile white. It was warm and friendly with soft music playing over a speaker.

The men led her into a small examination room where a woman in white was waiting for her. The taller man stayed while the other left the room closing the door behind him.

"Sit down, please," the woman said.

Eva complied. "What's going on?" she asked.

The woman did not answer. She went about her business, placing a thermometer in Eva's mouth and checking her blood pressure.

"One-fifty over one hundred," she said, a twinge of anger in her voice. "You boys chase her around?"

"We brought her straight here," said the man. "She was doing dishes at the time we found her."

"She's nervous," said the woman. "Probably won't do any harm. We'll put her on a mild sedative before we board her."

Eva looked back and forth between the two. "What's going on? Why do I need a sedative?"

The woman ignored her as if she wasn't even in the room. Eva saw her prepping an IV needle.

"What are you doing to me?" Eva started to raise up, but the man was on top of her too fast holding her down. "Let go!!" she screamed.

"Hold her still, please," said the woman, all the warmth of a tomb in her voice. As the man held Eva down, the woman stuck the needle in Eva's right arm. Eva let out a cry of pain as the needle broke the skin. The woman shushed her quickly attaching a drip bag to the needle.

Eva's head began to swim. Things began to get blurry and slurred. She could hear the voices of those beside her, but they sounded too distorted for her to make any sense of them. At one point, she sensed she was being moved from a chair to a--was it a gurney? She just couldn't tell. She could see lights flashing overhead, and felt as if she were moving. But it was all a big blur...

"Sorry to hold you up. We've got an emergency transport."

Ken stood in the open rear door of the sky-car. The gurney carrying Eva rolling to a stop behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw who was sitting in the pilot's chair--his old buddy Harry. Beside him was the flight instructor, a retired Army pilot known to his students as the Sarge.

"What's the code clearance?" asked the Sarge.

"Priority one," said Ken. He handed a small data chip to the Sarge.

"Where to?" asked the Sarge.

"Raleigh-Durham," said Ken. "The data chip will show you the route."

Sarge plugged the chip into the dashboard navigation computer. Ken nodded to Harry. "Can he get you there?"

The Sarge looked at Harry. "He can get us around the world and back. Question is, do you want him on this run?"

"No time to pull him," said Ken. "He's got to make the run."

Two orderlies quickly loaded a gurney carrying Eva into the back of the car. One climbed in after her monitoring her vital signs.

Ken gave the Sarge a nod. "Have him back by dinner."

"Will do," said the Sarge. "Now clear!"

Ken shut the door. He backed away with the other office workers his eyes fixed on Harry, who returned the gaze with a nod.

"Take 'er up, Harry," said the Sarge as he uploaded the directions to the navigation system.

Harry's heart raced. He pulled back on the stick and lifted the car into the air. Once airborne, he dipped the nose to take one final look at a place he hoped--no, he knew--he would never see again.

Harry kept his breathing steady careful not to alert the Sarge to any sign of nerves. For weeks, he had schemed and planned his escape. He knew the surrounding territories blindfolded, and he knew just what to do to make the sky-car disappear, at least long enough for him to get away. He would still have to get by the Sarge, but Harry had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He had planned on waiting at least another week to make his run, but as he put the ship into high gear, he sensed that fate had dealt him an unexpected opportunity. He held the life of a beautiful woman in his hands, a woman he knew was destined for an untimely end if he delivered her to Baltimore.

He also knew overcoming two men and making off with an unconscious woman would make his odds against much greater.

He could make the run, deliver the woman, and wait for another time when he and the Sarge were alone. But could he live with himself? No, Harry decided. He would save the girl, or he would suffer the same fate as her. He would not profit from her death. Besides, tomorrow, it might be his turn to take one final flight. He knew he would not be allowed near the controls for that trip.

"You ever been to Baltimore?" the Sarge asked.

"No, sir," said Harry.

"They put crab in everything up there," said the Sarge. "We may have to stop and eat on the way back."

"Ken wants me back for dinner," said Harry.

"You let me worry about Ken," said the Sarge. He turned to the medic in the back. "I don't think they'd mind if we took Harry for a bite."

"I wouldn't mind it," said the medic.

The Sarge laughed. "Then it's settled. Dinner in Baltimore, my treat."

Harry smiled. The Sarge hadn't even noticed Harry taking them off course and disconnecting the GPS transmitter. They were now about twenty miles away from the compound nearing the point Harry had picked out a week earlier.

The Sarge made things even easier on Harry; he pushed his seat back and shut his eyes. "Wake me when we get there, will you?"

"My pleasure," said Harry. He focused on the landscape ahead. He slid his hand down beside the seat and took hold of the small canister with a mask on one end that he had stowed away for this very moment.

He checked the back. The medic was nodding off as well. Harry got nervous; perhaps it was a trap. He wasn't prepared for this to happen so easily, so quickly. He lifted the ether to his seat resting it beside his leg. He checked both men. The medic looked asleep. Sarge's eyes remained closed, but Harry knew the minute he took the car down, he would be wide awake.

Harry checked his location and saw his drop point just ahead. He had chosen a secluded area of a shopping center close to a restroom to make his move. His hand gripped the ether. It was now or never.

As soon as the mask his Sarge's face, his eyes popped open, full of fury. Harry hit him full-blast with the gas. The Sarge raised both arms up to defend himself, but that's as far as he got. He sank back into his seat, fast asleep.

Harry quickly began his descent, keeping a wary eye on the medic. His luck held out, and he got the car on the ground before the man ever awoke. He was still sleeping when Harry hit him with a dose of the same gas.

Harry got out of the sky-car and opened the back. He removed the medic first carrying him quickly inside the restroom. Then he went back for the Sarge. He lifted the old pilot out of the car and over his shoulder before carrying him inside the restroom. He got him to the back stall and was ready to drop him when he felt the strong, calloused hand grip his neck.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" said the Sarge, squeezing.

Harry didn't know how to respond--but his body did it for him.

He spun and slammed the old man, spine first, into a wall. Harry saw his head flip back and smack the concrete wall hard. The Sarge gave a loud cry as his head split open. Harry stood back and watched him crumple to the floor.

He was terrified. He stooped down to check for a pulse. It was faint but still there. He needed medical attention. Harry didn't want to leave him, but what choice did he have? If he was going to save the woman, he had to go.

He went into the stall and tried to rouse the medic. The ether had made a much stronger impact on the smaller man, but Harry was able to bring him back to at least a semi-conscious state.

"There's a man in here who needs medical help," said Harry. "See that he gets it."

The medic looked and saw the Sarge. It was enough to satisfy Harry, who made a wish to whatever powers might be listening for the Sarge to survive as he raced out of the bathroom.

He climbed in the back to check on his passenger. Harry had done enough reading on medical procedures to safely remove the IV and cover the puncture wound. She was out cold, and would be for a while, but he still had some flying to do. He moved to the front and fired up the engines lifting the sky-car back in the air. A hundred miles north, he'd leave the car, selling it if he could for some quick cash. Then he would make the phone call Ken had told him to make.

He looked back at the woman. This was Ken's doing, he was certain. Only a week ago, Ken approached Harry and asked him about his escape plans. Harry had played coy with his plan even after Ken had revealed himself to be part of an anti-cloning organization intent on undermining the work of Better Day.

Truthfully, Harry didn't believe Ken. Not until the moment Ken showed up at the sky-car begging Sarge to let Harry fly the woman to her final destination. It was a heroic act, one that finally convinced Harry of Ken's true intentions--too late to thank him in person.

Harry wanted desperately to express his gratitude, but he knew the risk it would be for him and Ken. Ken was a brave man, working for an industry he despised in the name of doing what was right.

Harry couldn't do it. Ethically, it was too muddy for his liking. But as he carried Eva from the sky-car to safety, he vowed to live every day the rest of his life for Ken living each day to the fullest.

However many days that might be.
CHAPTER SIX

Rogan adjusted the rear-view mirror taking the opportunity to get a glance at the passengers in the back seat. Both couples, Richard and Tara, and Becky and Chuck, huddled close to one another the tension obvious on their faces. Beside him Lea leaned against the window. Her face showed more disgust than fear, but he knew that she, too, was afraid.

Well, at least they were quiet...for once.

The couples had proven a very difficult group to manage having snuck out of the hotel for a night on the town at their very first stop. It took Rogan an hour to find the two red-heads cuddled up on the moonlit beach and three more to find Richard and Tara who had been who-knows-where until four AM. Despite the stern warnings he and others had given them, it just hadn't clicked how fragile their new freedom was.

Maybe this will do it, Max thought. They were now four cars away from the police checkpoint that had set everyone on edge. It appeared to be a random sobriety check put on by the Georgia State Troopers, but Max knew, as did his passengers, there was a risk facing it head-on.

"Is this going to happen any time we cross a border?" asked Lea.

"Of course not," said Max. "It's a random check point."

"So we could have avoided this," she said accusingly. Max chose not to answer not in the mood for another fight with his co-pilot.

"Are they looking for us?" Becky wondered.

Max shook his head. "It's a sobriety checkpoint. They're looking for drivers under the influence, not clones."

"What are they going to do?" Richard asked.

"Check our IDs" said Max. "Check me to Make sure I haven't been drinking."

"You had a soda an hour ago!" Becky shouted.

Max saw Lea rolled her eyes. He struggled to hide his smile. "Alcoholic drinks, Becky. Sodas are okay. Just keep your IDs handy. You do still have them, right?"

The red-heads flashed theirs immediately. Richard held cards up for himself and Tara. Max looked over at Lea, who produced hers from her pocket with a groan.

"Just stick to the story, and we'll be on our way," said Max.

"What if they don't buy the story?" said Lea. "If they find out what we are--"

"I'll be in just as much trouble as you," said Max. "Not only for transporting you. I'm one of you, remember?"

Lea folded her arms pouting as Max eased the vehicle forward. Two more to go. Max turned on the radio trying to relieve some of his own tension.

"I hate this crap," said Lea looking at the radio.

"I'm driving, I get my music," said Max.

"Your music sucks," she replied.

"It's Guns N Roses," he said. "It's classic rock."

"I don't care," said Lea. "It still sucks."

"Then you'll want to remember it," said Max. "So when you start picking your own music, you'll know what not to listen to."

Max heard some snickers from the back. He wasn't the only one who found the young woman abrasive. He'd noticed the other four had excluded her intentionally on their late night outing even before splitting off into couples. She brought it on herself, but Max still felt some sympathy for her.

The car inched forward once more. Max looked at his backseat passengers through the mirror. "Relax. Everyone smile."

Everyone did; then Becky yelped. "Derrick!"

Max saw it as soon as she did. One car up to the left, a man leapt out of the car and ran past their vehicle and down the road. Five police officers gave immediate chase. Back at the car, a woman was dragged out of the driver's seat screaming, "Run! Run!"

Max swore under his breath. He watched in the side mirror what everyone else saw through the back window. The runner was hit with a stun gun. He bounced off a van and crumpled to the pavement face first. Police were on him in an instant.

In front, the police were already moving the abandoned vehicle and escorting the sobbing woman driver out of view of the other motorists. Max could hear Becky breathing hard in the back seat.

"It was Derrick!" she said. "It was Derrick. Poor Derrick!"

Max turned to calm her down, but Lea spoke first.

"It was not Derrick," said Lea. "And I swear, if you don't calm down so we get through this alive, I'll wring your neck."

"You don't lay a hand on her!" Chuckie shouted.

"If your girl doesn't stop," said Max, "I'll hold you while Lea takes care of her."

Chuckie backed down. Becky's fear of the police faded, and her nerves calmed. Lea turned back to the front stoically refusing to look Max's way.

The car in front of the vehicle was waved on, and the sheriffs motioned to Max.

"Here we go, kids," he said. "Everybody smile pretty!"

Max rolled the window down as he brought the car to a halt. A tall, square-jawed sheriff with an aged, grizzled face peered in at Max. "License and registration, please."

Max handed his license and the rental papers to the sheriff. He examined each one in turn carefully. "Rental vehicle?" Max nodded. "Business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure," said Max. "Taking a little vacation up north?"

The sheriff glanced around the vehicle. "Family trip?"

"Just some work friends," said Max. "Me and the boys taking our ladies on a little road trip."

The couples in the back smiled at the sheriff nervously. He turned his eyes to Lea.

"Well, we got two happy couples," he said. "That one yours?"

"She is," said Max.

Lea's head spun. "I am NOT his!"

Max laughed. "She's just a little mad because I won't let her listen to her music."

The sheriff frowned. "You think this is funny?"

Max's smile faded. "What's that?"

"Son, I don't know about you young people," he said. "But in my day, a man had more respect for his lady than that. If she doesn't like your music, I'd say you're the one with the problem, not her."

Max looked over at Lea, who suddenly decided to play along. "It's not like I want to listen to only my music. I just need a little variety."

"You see, son?" said the sheriff. "You don't have to give it all up. Just give in a little. Compromise."

Max nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"I know I'm right," said the cop. "You don't stay married forty years to the same woman without learning a few things. I'd hate to see you lose a darlin' like her."

Max glanced over at Lea, who turned her eyes to the sheriff. "I hope one day we'll be looking back at forty years."

"I'm sure you will," said the sheriff. He stepped back from the vehicle and motioned Max on. "Welcome to Georgia, folks. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," said Max.

"Yes, thank you!" Lea shouted as Max rolled up the window. He put the vehicle in gear and began the next leg of their journey headed north along the Georgia coast. They were barely a hundred yards from the checkpoint when Max heard another sound from the back seat--laughter. It was Richard who started it. Then Tara, then Becky, and then Chuckie.

Lea turned back to look at her fellow travelers. She couldn't help it. For the first time, Max saw her smile. It was enough to make him smile.

"Nice work," said Max.

"Thank you," said Lea.

She reached for the radio; Max brushed her hand away.

"Come on, you heard what the sheriff said! Give your lady equal time."

"You're not my lady," said Max.

"Ooooh," emanated from the back seat. Lea threw herself back into her chair disgusted. "You owe me," she complained.

"No, it's you who owe me," said Max. "Don't forget who you really are and why we're really here."

Lea shook her head. "Mother warned me about guys like you."

Max glanced over. There was still a crack of a smile on her lips. Maybe she wasn't such a hard case after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a rude awakening with her head rising up and slamming down on the hard platform. Eva's eyes flittered, opened, then struggled to focus on her surroundings. Immediately, she knew she was awake, but she found it hard to remember anything. Around her were large plastic crates, shipping crates by the marks on them. Beneath her was a wooden platform. She could hear the whine of an engine, and she felt another jolt--tires hitting a bump causing everything in the vehicle to bounce. She was in a freight truck. That was her conclusion. But how in the world did she get here?

"You hungry?"

Eva looked up at a handsome man. He was dressed in a white T-shirt, khaki pants, and an old, worn out pair of boots were on his feet. His face was familiar, one she had seen in the halls most likely.

The man had a bag of apples in his lap, and one in his hand. He reached into the bag and produced another. "You must be starving by now."

She took the apple but did not bite. Still disoriented, she struggled to remember anything that might tell her how she had gotten here. What did she remember last? She was in the kitchen doing dishes. A man with papers had come for her. She crossed the courtyard... and everything went blank.

"What's your name?" said the man.

"Eva," she said.

"I'm Harry," he replied. "We used to be neighbors."

"We were?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "We lived in the same place up until a short while ago."

Eva examined the apple closely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bandage on the inside of her elbow. She gasped remembering the exam, the needles, everything in those last few minutes before all went dark.

She looked up at Harry. "What happened?"

"We escaped," he said.

"From what?"

He took a bite of apple chewing thoughtfully before he responded. "I'm still trying to sort it out myself."

The vehicle shook. Eva reached out a hand to steady herself. She noted the feel of the rough floor. She was not dreaming. This was reality. "Do you work for them?"

Harry shook his head no. "I was a victim like you."

"A victim?"

"They called us residents," he said. "Truth is, we weren't people to them. Just property."

"What do you mean?"

Harry took the time to tell her about his encounter with the doctor. She listened intently gripping the apple tightly as Harry told her the awful truth. They were not "human." They were shells, and the company that had created and housed them wanted one thing: their vital organs.

Eva said nothing when Harry finished his tale. She turned and vomited but only a tiny bit.

Harry chuckled. "Good thing you didn't eat the rest of that apple."

Eva didn't find it funny. She burst into tears thinking back to that horrible day when Jay was taken from her. She imagined it all happening very much like it had happened to her. He was taken to a room. His vital signs were checked. He was sedated and then...

She turned her head to throw up once more but nothing came out. Just choking and more tears.

Harry finally set his bag of apples aside to tend to her rubbing his hand on her back. "Are you okay?"

Eva turned, her face a mess with snot and tears, eyes still drowsy from the lingering sedative. "They killed him. My boyfriend, Jay. They took him just like they did me. They killed him."

Harry nodded. "They would have killed you as well."

"For my body parts? Why?"

"It's what they made us for," he said.

Eva shook her head. "But we're human. Aren't we?"

"As far as I can tell," said Harry.

"What's the difference between us and them?"

"Other than we were made to exact specifications," he said, "Nothing that I can tell."

Eva looked down at the apple. She still wasn't hungry. "How long have you known about this?"

"A few weeks," he said.

"Why did they tell you?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't make a lot of sense to me either. I considered many of them to be friends including the doctor. Foolish me. I thought we might even be colleagues."

"So do I have an exact match in the outside world too?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

Eva looked deep into his eyes. "Why did you save me?"

Harry swallowed. "You just happened to be there at the right time."

His answer made her feel queasy. She set the apple aside and curled up hugging her knees close to her chest.

"I've been planning my escape for a while, ever since I was told about my double," said Harry. "The original me is a pilot, and they wanted me to learn so my body would have muscle memory for flying. One of the staff came to me and told me he wanted to see me escape. He told me he'd try to get me a passenger or two to take with me. When I saw them load you up, I knew it was my chance. If I didn't take it, your blood would be on my hands."

Eva looked at the bandage on her arm. She held it out. "Did you do this?"

"I've been studying medicine too," he said. "Again, all programming me for the man who would eventually take over my whole body."

Eva shook her head. As long as she could remember, she had lived inside four walls cared for by friendly faces who wanted her to grow and learn. To think that the whole time, those friendly faces saw her as sub-human, as property. It was the worst thing she could ever have imagined.

"It's not possible," she finally said. "They loved us. They cared for us."

"They were doing a job," said Harry.

"How could they?" she cried. "How could they do that to us?"

"It's easy if they don't think we're human," said Harry, who had spent many hours grappling with the same questions. "We're nothing more than pets to them. Like a child would have a goldfish or a cat."

"A child would never dissect a cat!" Eva shouted.

Harry nodded. Even now, the idea was too horrific for him to accept. It seemed completely illogical that anyone could look at the trembling, frightened young woman before him as anything but human. Only a human could feel such pain.

Perhaps, he thought, only a human was capable of such an evil.

"So what do we do?" Eva whimpered tears streaming down her face.

"We're going to run," he said. "But only for a time. There are people waiting and ready to help us."

She looked up at Harry. "I thought we were property."

"Only to some," he said. "The rest of the world doesn't know we exist. The company that created us says they only create parts, not whole people."

"Are you sure?"

"I've done a lot of research," he said. "It seems most of the news coming into that compound was censored--not to mention a few days old. They had us completely snowed, but I was able to get past their security to learn a few things. Like this has happened before. And that there are people willing to help us."

"Do we know how to find them?"

Harry smiled. "Who do you think gave us a ride?"

Eva looked up and around. The compartment was sealed with no windows. "You mean the driver?"

Harry nodded.

"Where are they taking us?"

Harry shrugged. "Some place safe."

Eva seemed satisfied with the answer. Feeling her hunger return, she grabbed her apple and took a huge bite.

"I hope there's more where this came from," she said, her eyes on the bag of apples.

"I hear we've got a fully stocked kitchen waiting for us," said Harry.

"Can you cook?" she asked.

"Don't know," he said. "I've never tried."

"Well," she said, "It's a good thing you decided to bring me along."

Harry felt the room brighten as, for the first time, he saw her smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Six o'clock the knock came. Max let room service in to deliver a seafood feast for six. He hadn't intended to choose the most expensive offering on the menu, but being that he had six people in his party, it seemed like a good deal--especially in a seafood city like Savannah.

Max called the two rooms where he had checked his passengers in for the night. Only one answered the phone.

"Hello?" It was Lea in the girls' room.

"It's me," said Max. "Dinner's here."

Lea sighed. "I'm not hungry."

Max resisted the urge to argue. "Then don't eat. But please tell the others for me."

"They're not here," she said.

"Are they in the other room?"

"No," said Lea. "They left."

Max felt a pang in his chest. "Where are they?"

"Out."

Max hung up tired of her half-answers. He stormed down the hall key card in hand, and burst into the girls' room. Lea was on the bed in pajamas. She looked up at him indignantly. "Do you mind??"

"Where did they go?"

"Out," said Lea.

"Out where?" Max was about to boil over.

Lea rolled her eyes. "Richard and Charlie heard about this restaurant," she said. "The Pirate Place, I think."

"The Pirate House."

She gave him another dirty look. "That's what I said!"

"Stay here," he barked. "I'll be right back."

He heard Lea shout, "You're going after them?" as he stormed out of the room. He stomped down to the elevator digging his keys out as he went. He heard Lea's door fly open and her footsteps as he waited for the elevator.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going with you," she said.

"It's safer for you here," he said.

"I saw what happened to that guy at the police stop," said Lea. "You're not leaving me here alone!"

Stubborn girl. Max knew it was pointless to argue with her. "Fine. But no back talk. You do as I say."

For once, Lea bit down on her lip. He could see fear in her eyes, real fear. As much grief as she'd given him on the long ride thus far, he was surprised how afraid she was to be alone.

They rode the elevator in silence. Max took the lead through the lobby and the parking lot as they walked out to the van. Lea took her usual place in the front.

"Do you think they're okay?"

Max nodded. "They're probably just fine."

"So why are you so upset?"

"Because there's a one percent chance they're not fine," he said.

"You're going after them over a one percent chance?"

"That's what they pay me for," said Max.

The Pirate House was over 400 years old and once served as a tavern for the most notorious pirates in the Western Hemisphere. Many men had entered its doors, had one too many, and found themselves smuggled aboard a pirate ship forced into service.

The pirates were long gone in physical form, replaced by waiters, cooks, and the tourists who kept the popular dining spot going. But it was widely believed that the place was haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Max and Lea walked into the restaurant where they found an attractive young woman waiting at the hostess stand to seat them. "We're meeting some friends," said Max. "Pair of red heads, a blonde kid, and an African American girl?"

"They're in the bar," said the young woman pointing off to her right. Max nodded and thanked her, then led Lea into the bar. He spotted the two couples in the back of the room at the only occupied table surrounded by trouble: three mean looking guys, all bigger than Richard and Chuckie, standing over the table. Becky's eyes met Max's and sent an instant message: Help us!

Lea heard Rogan's sigh as he made his way coolly toward the table. Half way there, he was able to pick up what was going on.

"...only fair. I mean, you have no money. We paid your tab. We get your girls."

"Unless you wanna pay us back another way."

"We told you, our friend will cover it," said Chuckie.

"I don't see no other friends, friend. But I do see someone I'd like to take home to mother sitting beside you."

The other two men laughed at their friend's comment. Max saw Becky nudge Chuckie, who looked up and saw the two new comers. "There he is!" Chuckie pointed at Max, who saw three angry, vicious faces turn to him as he approached.

Max gave the men a friendly smile. "Evening, fellas. Thank you for helping out, but I'm afraid the kids are out way past their bed times. Matter of fact, they probably shouldn't have gone out tonight at all," he said with gritted teeth.

"Your kids owe us," said the man nearest to Max. "A deal's a deal. We covered their tab, we get their dates."

"That wasn't what they said, Rogan," said Richard. "They said--"

Max held up a hand to silence his charge. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, gentlemen. These are all my kids. We're a musical group headed on a tour to Canada."

The thugs laughed not buying it for a moment. "Look, pal, you tell us where to drop them off in the morning, and we'll make sure they get there."

Max caught the bartender out of the corner of his eye calling the cops. He knew where this was going, and the last thing he needed was to have the five shells subjected to police questioning. He had to work fast.

"Kids, head out to the car, please," he said. To Lea he handed the keys and whispered, "Get them all inside quickly, and shut the doors."

The two couples rose to leave. The thugs stood to block them, but Max slid his body in between the two groups. Lea paused at the door to watch as the three men surrounded Max. Becky got behind her and pushed her out the door. "Come on! Max said go!"

"We can't leave him!"

"He'll be fine," said Richard. "Now go!"

The couples raced out into the parking lot pausing to bicker only for a moment as they frantically searched for the van. Lea pointed them in the direction of the vehicle, and the four raced off ahead of her once more.

"Come on, Lea!" Chuckie shouted to her.

Lea kept an eye turned back toward the Pirate House. Chuckie grabbed her arms and drug her toward the van. "Open the doors. Let's go!"

Lea deactivated the locks and the nervous clones slamming doors behind them. Lea was the last to get in still watching for Max to emerge.

"Let's get out of here! Go!" urged Richard.

"We're not leaving Rogan," said Lea.

"Rogan can take care of himself!" said Becky. "He'll find us. He knows where we're staying."

"I don't know where we're staying," said Lea. "And none of us knows how to drive one of these."

Richard started to climb forward into the driver's seat. "It can't be that hard. I'll do it!"

"You will not!" Lea snapped.

"Give me the keys, or I'll--"

Becky gasped. Everyone turned to her then turned to see what had frightened her. Lea looked over toward the restaurant. Rogan was outside now on the ground. The three men had drug him out and were pummeling him relentlessly with rock-hard and steel-toed boots. Rogan did nothing to fight back. He covered up as best as he could, but the three men had already done a lot of damage.

"They're going to kill him!" said Tara.

"We have to help him!" Lea tried to open her door, but Richard grabbed it and held it shut. "Let me out you, coward!" she screamed.

"You'll get us all killed if you go out there!" Richard yelled back.

With a scream of sirens, a police cruiser descended on the parking lot, a spotlight shining on the attackers. They all looked up at light briefly before turning to run. Two cops jumped out of the vehicle, stun guns in hand, and fired on the men dropping two with their first shots. The shells watched in suspense as they chased down and tagged the third man.

"What are they going to do to them?" said Tara.

"Take them to jail," said Richard. "For a long time. Now let's get out of here."

A bloody hand thumped against the driver's window. Tara and Becky shrieked. Everyone watched as Rogan lifted his bruised and bloodied face into view.

"Open the door," he said sounding steady as ever.

Lea unlocked the door, and Rogan opened it. He glared at Richard. "You're in my seat."

Richard humbly climbed out of the seat and back into his own beside Tara. Max pulled himself into the van. Lea handed him the keys.

"How badly did they hurt you?" asked Becky.

"I'll heal." Max started the vehicle and pulled out of the lot.

No one spoke on the way back. At a stoplight, Rogan checked himself in the mirror. He took off his outer shirt and wiped the blood from his face and arms.

Moments later, they were back in the hotel. Max led the silent group through the back door to the elevators. An elderly couple was already waiting when they got there. The doors opened. They all boarded together.

Inside the elevator, the elderly woman looked up at Rogan. She smiled. "You in town for the fights?"

Rogan looked at her and nodded. "That's right."

"Rough night in the Octagon?" she asked.

Rogan grinned. "You should see the other guy."

The doors opened. Rogan held the door for Lea and the others. He winked at the old lady before walking on. "Night, folks."

"Congratulations," the old woman whispered before the door could close. Rogan gave her a smile and a wink enjoying the moment.

Richard and Chuckie walked to their door. As Chuckie fumbled for his card key aiming it for the card reader on the door. Max reached over his shoulder and took the key.

"Not tonight, fellas." He put his hands on the boys' shoulders and guided them a few doors down to his room. Using his card key, he opened the door. A wall of stench from the seafood dinner hit their noses as soon as the door opened.

"What is that smell?" Richard whined.

"Seafood," said Max. "This is also your room for the night."

"You can't be serious!" said Chuckie.

"I am quite serious. Eating the food will go a long way to getting rid of the smell, but it's been sitting a while so, eat with caution. Don't want any sick passengers in the vehicle tomorrow."

The boys tried to protest, but Max shoved them in the door and slammed it shut. He turned to the girls. Becky and Tara both put on angelic faces for their protector.

"You can sleep in your room tonight," said Max. "because I'm pretty confident it was all their idea. But this happens again--"

"Never again!" said Becky.

Tara nodded. "We're very sorry."

Max nodded. Becky and Tara walked to their door where Tara used the card key to get them inside. She muttered one more "Sorry," as she walked inside.

Lea's eyes were glued to Rogan. He looked down at her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Max nodded. "Get your rest," he said walking to the door of the boys room. He opened the door, walked inside, and collapsed face first on the bed.

It took a little longer for the door to close. Max sighed. "Get your rest in your room."

Lea sat on the other bed looking at the black case sitting on the table.

"What's in there?"

"Insurance."

"What kind of insurance?"

Max didn't answer.

Lea turned to him. "You could have killed those men."

Max looked up at her. "Yes."

"Why did you let them beat you like that?"

"It was the only way to get you all out of there," he said.

"How was nearly getting killed the only way out?"

"Because police aren't concerned about the victim," said Max. "If the boys had been attacked, they'd have fought back and been arrested too. And there's no way any of you would hold up under police questioning for long."

Lea was a little offended. "I bet I could."

Max smiled remembering the traffic stop. "Yes, I bet you could too."

Lea smiled at him. "You took a dive to keep them out of jail."

"I did what I had to do to protect all of you."

She moved over to sit beside him touching his shoulder gently. "It was incredibly brave."

"It was selfish," he said brushing her off. "If don't get you where you're going, I don't get paid. Simple as that."

The smile on Lea's face vanished. "Is that all we are to you? A paycheck?"

Max didn't answer. She stood up and walked to the door.

"You're no better than them," she said as she slammed the door behind her.

Rogan shrugged off the pangs of guilt, yawned, and shut his eyes happy he could finally get some sleep.
CHAPTER NINE

Max woke up the next morning feeling like a jerk.

It was a restless night of sleep with the same dream recurring in two variations over and over. The dreams were similar; they were a re-creation of the end of the night before. Lea sat on the bed beside him trying to give him comfort. Max would watch the scene unfold from above seeing himself and the girl on the bed as he delivered the final blow telling her she and her friends were nothing but a paycheck. He saw her walk to the door and storm out of the room. Then he'd see it again.

The more he watched, the more powerless he felt. He wanted to see what would happen if he hadn't said those fateful words, but every time, it was the same response. It's all about a paycheck. Nothing but a paycheck.

He wasn't trying to be mean; he only wanted some sleep. Right?

Then came the other dream. Same room, same bed, same point of view. Only the face had changed. It was a face he had not seen in over a decade, but it was as fresh and vibrant and beautiful as he remembered. It gave Max a sharp pain in the chest to see Angela again giving comfort to a wounded soldier who had sacrificed for a fellow human.

"It was very brave," she said.

The Max on the bed looked up at her and froze. He said nothing. He reached out and arm and embraced the girl. She slid beside him conforming her body to his sharing her warmth. How many nights had ended just like this with the two of them side by side? It was where he belonged. Where he wanted to be.

Max found himself on the bed. He looked into her eyes. He was no longer looking at Angela but at Lea.

That's when he woke up.

Every muscle was tense with his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel every bump and bruise from the fight. They had already begun to heal thanks to his pre-engineered disposition for quick healing. He no longer recovered as quickly as he did in his youth, but the physical hurts would go away.

The deeper wound was another matter. Max had carried those scars for years, and at that moment, they felt as fresh as the day he first received them. He looked down at the bed where he had seen Angela appear in his dream. The bed spread was streaked with blood. Staring into the crimson stains, another image of Angela came back to mind, one he would give anything to erase.

Rogan shook his head and checked the clock. It was only five-thirty. He grabbed the remote off the night stand looking for a distraction.

The cable news was already buzzing about an overnight coup attempt in one of the Socialist South American Republics. It was the third time in six months that revolutionaries had attempted to force change among the loose confederation of socialist states. Argentine president Vincente Salazar, the current chairman of the confederation, was casting blame around the world, though largely at America, for interfering in the business of their sovereign nations.

Clips of the senior dictator were interspersed with video of the wounded leader now clinging to life in a state hospital. A few talking heads were brought in to analyze the situation and the circumstances surrounding the attempted assassination. "Clearly the work of professionals," in the words of one man, a former National Security Agency official, but he waffled a bit when asked if the United States had men capable of pulling off such an operation.

Max knew the answer. He was one of the men capable of such an operation. He had been designed and created specifically for that purpose along with hundreds of others. Max's thoughts drifted back to the day he met McKinley--the day he discovered he himself was a clone. McKinley, the leader of Genesis 2, was a genetic match to Max in every way designed as Max was for military excellence.

It was Angela who introduced him to McKinley. And once again, his thoughts returned to the woman he lost ten years earlier.

Max changed the channel. He found a replay of a classic college football game on another station. It was enough distraction to allow him a chance to drift back into sleep.

Seven AM. The phone in his pocket rang before the alarm on the night stand. Max sat up and checked himself in the mirror by the TV. The wounds were definitely healing, but it would be another day before he was back to normal.

Max fished the phone out of his pocket and answered, "Good morning, Ray."

"Morning, Mr. Rogan." He was far too chipper for this early in the morning, Max thought. "Did you sleep well?"

"A bit of a rough one, but I survived."

"No trouble, I hope," said the boy.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," said Max.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Ray. "Seriously, if you've run into any problems, we have resources you would not believe at your disposal."

"No worries, kid," said Max. "I said it's covered, and it's covered."

"Good," said Ray finally sounding satisfied. "In that case, I have a favor to ask."

"A favor?" said Max.

"Well, I guess not really a favor so much as an additional assignment. You'll be well paid for it. We wouldn't expect you to take on more work without additional compensation."

"What do you need?"

"How many passengers can you seat at the moment?"

Max knew where this was going. "You have additional fares for me?"

"Two of them," said Ray. "High value on at least one of them."

"How come?" asked Max.

"That's a need to know question."

"You want me to assume the risk, I need to know," said Max.

"He's a custom job," said Ray. "At least, that's what we've been told. We'll need to get a look at him first, but if we can get our hands on him, he'll be invaluable to our cause."

"So I'm bringing you two for the price of three," said Max, negotiating his price.

"If he proves to be what he claims to be."

"I didn't hear that, Ray," said Max. "Matter of fact, I think the signal's going bad."

Ray laughed. "Sorry, sir, I was told to try and negotiate."

"You're a terrible negotiator."

"I know, I know," said the kid. "Two for the price of three."

"Where do I meet them?"

"Do you like zoos, Rogan?"

Max Rogan hated zoos. The last zoo he had visited was over twenty years ago, the genetic freak show created by Harwood BioTech, the dinosaur park long destroyed by the government.

"Not a fan, Ray."

Ray laughed. "I had heard that. Unfortunately, public places like that provide a nice cover."

"Look, I know you enjoy the whole cloak and dagger, kid," growled Max, "But we're not exactly passing secret microfilm for Mother Russia. I've taken these kids through a police check point. We had dinner out last night. In a manner of speaking."

"Max," said Ray calmly, "For what we're paying you, surely you won't mind taking your passengers on a quick trip to the zoo. I'm sure they're all eager to get a look at a tiger or a monkey. You wouldn't want to deny them that pleasure."

Max rubbed his temples in frustration. "What zoo?"

"Charlotte, tomorrow afternoon," said Ray. "Take them from there to Baltimore. We're going to arrange a transfer there and hot shot everyone onto their final destination."

"You're not kidding about the high value, are you?"

"He's the smoking gun," said Ray. "We want him badly."

"You'll get him," said Max. "But I'm going to need a bigger car."

"Get what you need, Max," said Ray. "So long as you make Charlotte tomorrow. "

"We'll get there," said Max. "Just tell me how I will find them."

"You're just going to have to trust me on that. Oh, and make sure you all get a group photo when you walk in the zoo."

Max held out the phone and looked at it a moment before responding. "You serious?" said Max.

"It'll be a nice memento for you and the kids."

Max sighed. "Could also be a big risk for us. But if you insist, we'll take a photo. But no more mandatory sight-seeing after this. I've had more than I bargained for already."

"Thank you, Max," said Ray. And he hung up.

Max swung his legs over the side of the bed. His muscles groaned from the strain they had suffered the night before, but he managed to get to the bathroom for his morning shower. Some of the scabs and wounds of the night before were already ready to flake off and be washed away--another tribute to the genetic engineering that had created him. Max wondered if this newcomer he was about to pick up was equally blessed. It made sense, after all, to build longevity and durability into replacement bodies just as they had done with the super soldiers. If you're going to invest in such a luxury, might as well get the most bang for your buck.

How strange, Max thought, that people would invest in people--real people--the way they invested in luxury cars and private jets. What was it in mankind that would allow him to treat a fellow human, identical in every way, as property? It wasn't ethical. It wasn't moral.

He remembered Angela and the faith she had placed in God. He had come to believe, like her, in a loving God who had created mankind in his image. God had made man for communion with him. He had also made him for community with his fellow man. Man rebelled against God causing a rift between Creator and Creation seeking to become his own God. Max had his doubts about the Genesis story, but there was certainly some truth behind it. Man was a relentlessly selfish creature always seeking to get what he could get from his fellow man.

It was rare that the man or woman who cared about anything other than him or herself. Even as he looked around him, he saw people using people for their own gain. His passengers were brought into the world for the very purpose of exploitation. The men at the Pirate House certainly had ill intentions toward the girls. But even the poor, helpless clones were interested only in themselves having disobeyed him to go out and have fun the night before. They were using Max. So was Ray, and so were the people he worked for.

Max had not gone to church or even opened a Bible in a long time. But really, it wasn't the Lord's fault. It was man he had lost faith in, not God. And the only reason he wasn't actively communing with God was that pesky commandment to love your neighbor.

God he could deal with. People? Not so much.

Max turned off the water and toweled himself off. It was only then he realized his mistake from the night before. He had no clean clothes. His suitcase was in his old room, the one now overcome with the smell of seafood. Swearing under his breath, Max opened Richard's suit case (he was the bigger of the two) and pulled out some pants and a shirt. They looked ridiculously small on Max. It would have to do for an hour or so.

He walked out of the room and crossed to his old one. The smell was far worse, and Max nearly puked the moment it hit his nostrils. Somehow, the boys were still in bed asleep.

"Wake up, boys," he snapped. Both of them jumped. Chuckie was the first to gag over the seafood smell.

"You can have your room back," said Max tossing their key on the dresser. "I want you both showered and dressed in an hour. Use soap. Lots of it. Because I'm not smelling shrimp all the way to Charlotte."

"Breakfast?" asked Richard.

"I'll bring back donuts."

Max turned and left ignoring Richard's next question. "What are you doing in my shirt?"

Max went to the girl's room next. He started to open the door with his room key, but he thought better of it and knocked.

Tara answered the door a minute later. "What are you doing in Richard's shirt?"

"Long story," he said. "Just wanted to let you know we'll be leaving in an hour. I've got to run a few errands, and I'll bring back breakfast shortly. Everyone still here?"

"Lea left," said Tara.

"She what?"

"I just went for some ice." Max turned and saw her coming from down the hall. She smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks," he said.

"That shirt's a little small for you," she said. Her tone was pleasant, not at all what he had expected after the night before.

"It's Richard's," said Max. "I was just on my way to buy a new one. My stuff smells like fish."

"Probably a good idea," she said.

Max let the door slide to where it was nearly closed. "I should apologize for last night."

"For what?" asked Lea.

"For what I said. It was rather cold."

"You didn't say anything wrong," said Lea. "It was the truth, right? You're being paid to protect us. You did your job."

It felt so empty, so hollow when she said it. But Max nodded. "It was still a little..."

"Don't apologize," she said again. "I'm very grateful you care that much about your job. Gives me confidence that you'll succeed in getting us where we're going."

"Good," said Max, not sure what else to say. He opened the door for her. "See you all in an hour."

"Careful, Rogan," said Lea. She turned and walked into the room.

Max shut the door and headed to the elevator. He should have been pleased that the girl had taken it so well. She certainly acted more disappointed in the moment. So why was he hurt by her words?

Perhaps she was toying with him. She was a clever girl, but was she really manipulative enough to know that blowing it off would sting more than acting the sad, love-sick puppy? Or had she simply come to the same conclusions he had about the selfish nature of man?

Who was she to judge him? She was using him to get to safe haven. He was using her to get a paycheck. She was no different than any other human being, and neither was he.
CHAPTER TEN

Harry and Eva walked into the zoo with the same eyes of wonder you'd see on a child making their first visit. Neither one had ever seen any sort of creature beyond the typical domesticated or rodent variety. As they walked through the gates of the zoo, Harry read off the list of animals present.

"Black rhinoceros, Asian elephants, Amur tigers, zebras, giraffes, Komodo dragon."

"A dragon?" said Eva fiddling with the orange rubber bracelet Harry had given her to wear. "That's just fairy tales."

"It's right here," said Harry showing her the map.

"They keep it inside?"

"In the reptile house," said a smiling volunteer as she approached the two. "My name's Amy. Can I snap a photo of you two?"

"Why?" asked Eva, suspiciously.

"Just a souvenir," said Amy. "For ten dollars, you can take a copy home with you to remember your trip to the zoo."

"Thank you, but I don't think we're interested," said Eva.

"Please, it will only take a second." Amy was friendly, but insistent.

"I don't think we'll be able to take one with us," said Harry. "We haven't much money to spend."

"Really?" Amy made a half frown. "Tell you what." Amy lifted her camera and snapped a picture before either could protest. She then tore off a ticket and wrote a small note on the back. "You two be at the photo booth by three PM, and I'll take care of you."

"That's very kind," said Harry taking the ticket. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your visit, sir." Amy went on to another family to snap a photo. Checking to be sure Harry and Eva were out of sight, Amy switched the camera to preview mode and scrolled back to the photo of the couple. She zoomed in to examine the bracelet on Eva's right arm. Yes, that was the one. She was sure. Now she only had to find the match.

It was a mixed day all in all for Max Rogan. While he hated the new vehicle, a bulky ten passenger van he had picked up to accommodate the new riders, he found his current group was surprisingly compliant in the wake of the previous night's events. When they stopped for a restroom break, there was no dallying in the store looking at cute, touristy hats or post cards or even candy. People did their business and got back to the van before Max had to go looking for them.

In his years as a club bouncer, Max had always known that a quick and decisive beat down was one way to get respect. Kick someone's butt early in the night, and even the boldest drunks will know their limit with you. Seeing Max take a beating, get up, and still get them to safety had made just as much of an impact on his passengers. There was a new fear, a new respect in them, especially Richard and Chuckie.

Maybe next time I'll get my butt kicked the first day, thought Max.

They took a late lunch in Columbia stopping for some South Carolina barbecue before driving on to Charlotte. Max brought in pizzas, and the gang had a mostly pleasant pizza party in the girl's room that evening.

Max let everyone sleep in and enjoy the indoor pool the following morning. By noon they were entering the zoo with all the enthusiasm of a group of Kindergarteners.

"I wanna see the tigers!"

"No, I want to see the elephants first!"

"The tigers come first on the map. See?"

"I don't want to walk all the way down there first! We'll miss the snakes and stuff."

"I hate snakes!"

"How do you know? You've never even seen a real one!"

"Kids!" shouted Max. Everyone stopped and listened; Max was enjoying this new power. "We have plenty of time to see everything. Just follow the route on the map--"

"But I wanna see the tigers first!"

Max rolled his eyes as the bickering resumed.

"Good afternoon, my name is Amy," said the pleasant young volunteer. "Would you all like to have a photo taken together?"

"Yes, thank you," said Max. "Everyone smile like we like each other."

Lea was a bit leery. "Are you sure we should--"

"Trust me, it's okay," said Max. The bickering stopped long enough for a photo and then promptly resumed once it was over and done with.

"Guys! The longer you argue, the less time we have to actually see some animals."

"Do we have to go as a group?" said Tara.

"Please don't make us!" said Becky.

"You may go in pairs, but I want everyone back here by--"

"Three o'clock," said Amy, handing Max a ticket. "Your photo will be ready by then. Be a good chance to get your whole group together."

Max caught her wink and nodded. "Three o'clock by the photo booth."

Richard and Tara quickly peeled off in one direction. After some further bickering Chuckie and Becky left in another. Max and Lea traded looks and shrugs.

"I guess we're zoo buddies," said Max.

"You are being paid to keep tabs on me," she replied.

Max smiled. "Good thing you're not a pain in the butt like you were a few days ago, or I'd feed you to the gators."

"Come on, you'd miss me if I was gone."

"A loner like me? Never."

"I know you're not as much of a loner as you'd like to think," she answered.

Max grinned as he led her into the zoo. "You don't know the first thing about me."

Lea turned ahead focusing on the path ahead as she spoke. "I know you've been hurt."

"You saw me get my tail handed to me," he said. "So what?"

"I mean really hurt," she said. "Not just beat up but inside hurt."

Max got quiet; he didn't feel like going there, not with her. But Lea went on. "Someone must have broken your heart. Right?"

"Could be," said Max. "But you could say that for just about anyone."

"I had a boyfriend once," she said. "Jeremy. We were both just kids. Maybe, I dunno, thirteen?"

"What happened to him?"

"What do you think happened?" She laughed a little, but then the laugh and smile gave way to a frown--a shadow of a distant heart break.

"I'm sorry," said Max. "I can't imagine what that's like."

"No warning, no explanation," said Lea. "They could have at least lied to me. Tell me he's breaking up with me. Is that how you say it?" Max nodded. "Just don't leave me hanging like that. You know?" Max nodded again. "I mean, how am I supposed to know whether I should move on or wait? No one ever told me where he was going."

"They didn't care," said Max. "You weren't human to them."

"I'm as human as they are."

"No denying that."

They spent some time in silence walking through the exhibits: the ostrich, the addax, the camels, and a North American big cat exhibit. As they left the pumas and jaguars behind, Lea posed another hard question to Max.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"I think you already know that answer."

"Was she pretty?"

Max laughed. "Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious what your type is. What she was like."

"She was very smart. Too smart."

"Was she pretty?"

"She was," said Max. "She was very beautiful."

"Was she a clone?"

"She was," said Max.

"How did you meet her?"

"Hard to say," said Max. "First time I saw her face, it wasn't hers. It was another girl identical to her. There were several in fact."

"In a lab?"

"Outside the lab," said Max.

"Did you know what she was?"

"It was my job to know," said Max. He looked at her directly and told her, "It used to be my job to hunt people like you down."

Lea stopped. Max stopped and turned back. "You surprised?" he asked.

"What do you mean it was your job to hunt us?"

"My job was tracking down people like you who had either escaped or been liberated from the labs," said Max.

"And kill them?"

Max shook his head. "My orders were to track and recover stolen property."

"So they could be killed."

"Harvested," he said using the terminology taught to him by his former employer. "That's what they called it. But yes, in fact, it was killing."

"And this is how you met her?" said Lea. "You hunted her?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," said Max. "The long and short of it is, she was the one who told me who I was. She was the one who helped me to see the truth about cloning."

"What was she like?" asked Lea.

"She was strong," said Max. "Very brave, and very strong. She was a person of great conviction. And faith."

"Faith?" said Lea. "You mean she believed in a god?"

"Faith is a little more complicated than that," said Max. "But yes, she believed in God. God was the foundation of her whole belief system. God created her and every other human regardless of how they were conceived. It was the reason she chose to fight and not merely to hide when she was rescued."

"But she wasn't created by God," said Lea. "She was created in a lab. Man created her. Right?"

"There's more to creating human life than just the physical body," said Max. "There's a spiritual side of every one of us. Man can simulate organs and tissue. He can't re-create a soul."

They walked on pausing to check out the elephants, the rhinos, and the African lions. Max enjoyed seeing the creatures through Lea's eyes filled with wonder.

"If God created us," she said watching the lions lounging beneath a tree, "Did he create them as well?"

"That's the way the story goes," said Max.

"Do animals also have souls?"

"Only humans," said Max. "Far as I know."

"Do I have one?"

Max looked over at Lea. "A soul?"

Lea nodded.

Max nodded. "You all do. You'd have to be blind not to see it."

"But if man can't create a soul, how did it get there?"

Max smiled, intrigued by the depth of her question. "That's the real mystery, isn't it?"

"Is there a way to check?" she asked. "To know for sure?"

"It's not like a heart or a lung, Lea," said Max. "Like I said, it's spiritual, not physical."

"So how do I know I have one?"

Max shrugged. "I think that comes back to faith."

Lea frowned. "I don't like this faith thing. How can you believe in something you don't see?"

"You go by experience," said Max. "Your experience and the experiences of others."

"Huh," said Lea. They made their way down to the reptile house before Lea started again. "Have you experienced God?"

"Hard to say," said Max. "I'm not the biggest believer in faith."

"But she was?"

"Yes," said Max. "She definitely was."

"What happened to her?"

Max said, "She died."

Lea looked away ashamed she had asked. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," said Max.

"I shouldn't have asked," said Lea. Max saw a tear budding up in the corner of her eye.

"Hey, you start crying on me and I will feed you to the gators." Lea laughed and followed Max inside the reptile house.

Max was relieved to have the conversation turn much lighter the rest of the way. They managed to see most of the zoo in under three hours with Lea pausing to read as much as she could about every animal. As three o'clock approached, they found Becky and Chuckie still fighting just outside the aquarium. They drug the unruly couple back toward the entrance where Richard and Tara were already waiting.

"So what happens now?" said Richard.

"Wait here," said Max. "I'll get our photo."

"I thought we were meeting someone," said Richard.

"We are," Max replied.

Amy was waiting for him at the counter. She smiled as he handed her his ticket. "Ten dollars, sir."

Max handed her his card. "Make it twenty. I'm all about the cause."

Amy smiled. "Your generosity is much appreciated." She scanned his card, gave him his receipt and handed him an envelope. "Here you are, sir. Enjoy the rest of your trip."

"Thank you," said Max. He started back toward the group opening the envelope as he walked. Lea saw him stop. She walked over to him.

"Something wrong?"

Max showed her the photo. "This is not us."

"No," said another man standing close. "This is you."

Max looked up at the man standing with a woman a few feet away. The man held a photo of Max, Lea, and the others. The couple holding Max's photo matched the couple in the photo he now held.

Max and Harry looked back at the photo booth. Amy gave them a quick glance as she waited on another family paying for their memento.

"You must be our ride," said Harry. "I'm Harry, and this is Eva."

"Max," said Rogan. "Welcome aboard."
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Max drove his quarry three hours north stopping twice for food and restroom breaks before settling in for the night. While he had little confidence in the two couples he had picked up with Lea, he found Harry to be engaging and smart, a cut above as far as intelligence. Just talking with him, Max knew he was designed for greater purposes than mere organ donation.

Max allowed the couples to sit privately at dinner, though he kept them all in his line of sight. Eager to pump one another for information, Harry and Max took a table together. Max wasn't surprised when Lea asked to sit with him. Knowing it was an argument that would only wear him down, he consented.

Harry made the first move as soon as their orders were taken. "So if you don't mind my asking, who do you work for?"

Max shrugged. "At the moment, I'm taking orders from some kid named Ray."

"But he's not the man in charge."

"No," said Max. "He's definitely not."

"Do you know who he works for?"

Max shook his head. "I know they call themselves Second Adam. Other than that, I couldn't tell you a thing. People who pay people like me to do what I'm doing make it a point not to be known."

"Why is that?"

"Because people like us," said Lea, "Are a dirty little secret."

Harry nodded. "I sort of gathered that."

"This is not the first time an American corporation has dabbled with cloning in such a way," said Max. "I was a product of the last company to do so--a company called Harwood BioTech."

"I'm familiar with them," said Harry.

"It seems that Better Day has taken what Harwood did several leaps further," said Max.

"Indeed they have," said Harry. "So what do you know about us then?"

"You and your friend?" Max nodded to Eva, who had chosen to eat alone. "I know that one of you is a custom job. Couldn't tell you what that means other than it makes you very, very valuable."

"I can tell you," said Harry. "Before we made our escape, one of the administrators told me. I'm the clone of a wealthy client of Better Day created as a replacement body for when the man is too old or ill to continue living in his original body."

It was a shocking revelation, even to Max. "Immortality through genetics."

"It sounds like it," said Harry.

"Do you know who the man is?" said Lea. "The one you're intended to replace?"

Harry shrugged. "They never gave me a name. I know he's a surgeon. And a pilot. They had me taking flying lessons so all the instincts would be there ready to use. Then one day, they threw Eva in the back with me and my instructor. That's when I made my break."

Harry took a drink from his soda while the others digested his story. He went on. "Until that day, I had very little clue who I was or what I was doing. I knew I was in some sort of boarding school, but I had no idea why I was there or who sent me. They treat you so well in there, you get comfortable, and don't ask a lot of questions."

Lea frowned. "Sounds a heck of a lot better than where we lived."

Max shook the ice in his glass now nearly empty. "I can see why they made us take a detour to pick you up. Word gets out who you are and why you exist; it could really hurt Better Day."

"I'm okay with that," said Harry.

Max nodded. "I think we all are."

Just as Max was pulling into a motel parking lot for the night, the images from the zoo were uploaded onto a computer server in upstate New York. Amy transferred the images within minutes of taking them, but it wasn't until that evening that the data analyst on the receiving end was at his desk and ready to do some industrial espionage.

Like Amy, Ray, and the other young people recruited into the organization, Kyle Stanley was an intelligent thinker looking for something to rebel against. He first became aware of the human cloning controversy when he attended a lecture on genetic research and moral ethics in an attempt to get to know a pretty girl from his biology class. Kyle didn't get the girl, but he did find a cause in the issue of human cloning. Raised Roman Catholic, it didn't take a lot to convince Kyle that human cloning for the purposes of organ harvesting was a bad idea. The cause galvanized his Catholic faith and spurred him to academic excellence, knowing the better he did in the classroom, the more good he could do outside.

With a Mountain Dew at the ready, Kyle logged on to check his messages. He saw the priority flag attached to Amy's transfer and downloaded the images. The photo of Harry and Eva was transferred into a graphical data miner that Kyle himself had created. Using illegal taps into three government intelligence service databases, Kyle began a search to confirm the identity of Harry's mysterious benefactor.

Kyle breezed through the remaining messages, and finding nothing else mission critical, he decided to let the computer run the scans while he kicked back with the latest issue of Thor. But no sooner were his feet on the desk and his book opened, the computer let out a beep that drew Kyle's attention.

His eyes popped when he saw what the scan had found. He grabbed his phone and hit speed dial three.

"This is Ray."

"Ray, this is Kyle. I need to talk to the boss."

"What's this regarding?"

"I just ran a check on the two people that Rogan guy picked up. We've got to get these people off the grid fast."

Kyle explained the situation. Ray, half-asleep when the conversation began, was roused to full alertness by the news.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive ID with twenty points of verification. These people are in extreme danger."

Ray rubbed his eyes shaking off the cobwebs. "Go into your directory. Call Eric Miller and have him ready the jet. Tell him I'll call him in twenty minutes with a pick up point."

"What about the boss?"

"There's no time," said Ray. "If you're right, we have to act now and fill him in later."

"I know I'm right," said Kyle. "I wish I weren't so certain."

"Me too," said Ray. "Call Eric."

"You got it."

Kyle hung up and turned back to his keyboard pulling the encrypted directory up on screen. He found a number for Eric Miller. He punched the number into his phone praying that the pilot would answer.

"Rogan."

"Max, it's Ray. Sorry to wake you, buddy, but you and your people have to move right now."

Max sat up in bed. "What's the matter?"

"I'll explain when I see you in tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow? What's going on?"

"We're sending a plane to pick you all up," said Ray. "I wish I could tell you more right now, but I really can't."

"Too bad," said Max. "Because if you want us to move--"

"Rogan, you're losing valuable time," said Ray. "Get your people up and out of there. Leave their things. We'll take care of them when they get here!"

Max wanted to fight, but the urgency in Ray's voice changed his mind told him to save the battle for later. "Okay, Ray, we're moving."

"I need to know where you are," said Ray. "So I know where to send the plane."

"Southern P-A," said Max. "Just outside of Philly."

"Good," said Ray. "Get your people together. I'll get with our pilot and be in touch in the next thirty minutes with your pick up point."

"You do that," said Max. He hung up the phone and hit the lights stirring Harry from his sleep in the other bed. "Come on, buddy, we gotta go."

Harry sat up. "Right now?"

Max nodded. "Put some pants and shoes on. Leave the rest."

Harry got up. "What's going on?"

Max grunted getting dressed himself. "I don't know, but it's urgent enough they're sending a private plane to pick us up."

"They're coming for me," said Harry scrambling for his clothes.

"They're coming for all of us," said Max.

As soon as the men had their clothes on, they left the room carrying only the large black case with them. Harry woke the guys while Max took the ladies' rooms. Tara and Becky argued about leaving their things, but Max was ready for them pushing them out the door in shoes, nightgowns, and robes.

It took fifteen minutes to gather everyone from their group and load up in the van. Max ignored the pleas and cries for information and drove as fast as he could toward the highway hoping that Ray would call him back before he got there so he'd know which direction to take.

The call came in plenty of time.

"South Jersey airport," said Ray, bypassing the hello. "Our pilot will be there in two hours."

"We'll be waiting for him."

"He'll meet you at hanger 27, tail number 582U72. Pilot's name is Eric Miller. He'll give you the code phrase chicken enchilada."

Max sighed. Pretty poor for a code phrase, but it wasn't his op. If he was going to run another one, he was going to have some input into how things would work the next time around. "What's the plan when we meet him?"

"Get your people on the plane," said Ray. "As soon as they're wheels are up and on the way; we'll wire money to your account."

"You have my number, I presume?"

"Heh," said Ray. "Yes, we do."

"I don't suppose I'm invited along for the flight."

There was a pause. "It's not necessary."

"Maybe not for you," said Max, "But I'm a little curious to see what's behind the curtain. Especially if you plan to call on me again."

"Very well," said Ray. "Feel free to join the others, and we'll see you soon."

"Count on it."

Max hung up the phone and tossed it on the seat.

"Where are we headed?" asked Lea.

"South Jersey," said Max. "We're all going to take a little airplane ride."

"Is that safe?" asked Becky?

"Perfectly," said Harry. "I've flown a few aircraft myself. We'll be fine."

"Where are we flying?" Chuckie asked.

"Not my department," said Max.

"Will we have a nanny there too?"

Max caught Chuckie's disdainful glare in the mirror. This close to the end, Max had no desire to get into anything.

"If you're hoping you'll have unlimited freedom to roam, you won't ever get that," said Max. "Not unless a miracle happens. Your faces are known, and you'll all be living the rest of your lives pretty much in seclusion. As for what happens in that secluded, secure world, I can't say. But you won't have me to deal with. I guarantee that."

There was silence from the back seat for a long time. Chuckie turned his eyes out the window watching the miles go by until he and Becky fell asleep in each other's arms. Tara and Richard dozed off shortly after. Lea and Eva remained awake and alert.

"We'll be safe," Eva finally said. "Won't we?"

Max wished he knew for sure. "I hope so. These seem like good people. If I didn't think you'd be safe..." he caught Lea's eyes in the mirror. "I wouldn't take you."

Lea smiled as she shut her eyes to catch some sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE

"Where are you, sister?"

She opened her eyes. She was sitting in a dark room lit only by the brilliant light coming from an outside door. She could make out the outlines of the voices speaking to her, but she couldn't see anything other than silhouettes and shadows stretched out on the floor.

"Where are you?"

"Traveling," she said. "In a van."

"Where are you going?"

"An airport," she said.

"Do you know where?"

"South Jersey," she said. "I think that's the name."

The silhouetted figures turned to one another. She could hear whispers but no specific words as they conversed among themselves.

"Who are you?" she said. "Why do you want to know these things?"

The darkened figures turned back to her and whispered collectively.

"Rest now. We will be with you soon."

Eric Miller was awake and airborne, and by the time Max was crossing the border into New Jersey, Eric was on approach to the airfield. He had called ahead prior to take off to be sure someone would even be in the tower when he made his arrival just short of five in the morning. The small airfield was in a rural county, and most of the planes that used the field were simple crop dusters.

Twenty minutes out, Eric called in to the tower where Bobby Mayfield was half asleep at the controls.

"South Jersey Tower, this is U72, over."

Bobby snapped to, took a swig of his cold coffee, and answered. "U72, this is tower, over."

"U72 is now on approach requesting traffic report, over."

"U72, Tower. You are free and clear for landing on runway one. Come in from the south and look for the lights, over."

"Roger that, tower. U72, out."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, contented to snooze a bit before the plane arrived. It was unusual to have a visitor this late night, but not unprecedented. What was unprecedented about this quiet night on a rural airfield was having two visitors from above. The other visitor came in the form of a black chopper that flew up out of the east using the prevailing wind that night to mask the distinct sound of its rotors. The chopper never landed but slowed just enough to deploy seven figures on top of the administrative building adjacent to the tower.

In a way, it was a shame that Bobby didn't see the hit team coming. A military buff and a fan of military fiction, Bobby would have been thrilled to watch the special forces unit arrive silently and swiftly on his little airfield. But Bobby never saw them. In fact, he barely felt a thing when the blade of one of the commandos slit his throat.

"I don't like sausage. It gives me heartburn."

"Can I have just a biscuit?"

"I'd like some pancakes."

"Seriously, Max, let me order something besides sausage."

Max ignored the whining and complaining from the back and repeated his order. "Eight sausage biscuits, eight hash browns."

"Anything to drink?" said the voice from the speaker.

"Seven orange juices and a coffee, black."

"I'd like some coffee," said Lea.

Max paused. "Make that six OJ's and two coffees."

"That's not fair!" shouted Becky.

"Just 'cause you like her better," added Tara.

Max felt his ears burning. Yes, he was showing favoritism. No, he didn't care. Lea didn't tick him off like the others had. He had shared far more with Lea than he ever wanted to share. He'd do her this small favor--a thank you gift for allowing him to feel human again. Soon enough he'd say his farewell and never see her again.

Max pulled forward to pay for the food ignoring the continued gripes from the back. They had a few minutes to kill, and not wanting to be sitting ducks at the airport, in the unlikely event they were being tailed, Max decided to stall a bit for breakfast. Ray had given no indication there would be food on the flight to heaven knows where, and Max had no desire to fly on an empty stomach.

"Are we there yet?" It was Eva just waking up.

"We're almost to the airport, I think," said Lea.

"It's hardly an airport," said Max. "Just an air strip in a field, but yeah, we're almost there."

Eva nodded. "What about the rest?"

Max looked back. "What do you mean?"

"There are hundreds," she said. "Where we came from, there are hundreds more. Every day, they take a few away. What about them?"

Max turned back and took the bags of food from the drive-thru attendant. "Then we'll have to keep breaking them out," said Max. "Until this stops."

"You can't save them all," she said.

"No," said Max.

"You have to try."

Max looked back at her. Everyone else was staring as well. The woman had hardly spoken since she and Harry had joined the group. Suddenly, the mirth and merriment was gone even from the happy-go-lucky couples in the back. Max saw tears filling Tara's eyes remembering those she had left behind in pursuit of her own freedom.

"We will, Eva." Max put the vehicle in gear uncertain if this was his last run, but certain the fight would go on. "We will."

"South Jersey Tower, this is U72, over." Eric was getting nervous. Five minutes had elapsed since he sent his first request for permission to land. He was hoping the guy was just grabbing a coffee or in the restroom. He might be asleep. Regardless, Eric wasn't going to land without hearing confirmation one more time. There was too much at risk.

"South Jersey Tower, this is U72, requesting permission to land, over."

Silence.

Eric checked his fuel gauge. He had enough to get him back home, but first he would have to get a hold of Ray so they could warn Rogan and his passengers.

One more time. " South Jersey Tower, this is U72. Please come in. Requesting permission to land, over."

"U72, Tower. Permission granted. Welcome to Jersey."

The voice was higher, but the accent was unmistakably Jersey. "Tower, U72. Did I catch you at a shift change? Over."

"That's a Roger, U72," said the voice. "Just got in and put on a fresh pot of coffee for you, over."

"Don't know that I'll have time for coffee. I gotta pick up a few passengers and jet back out, but I appreciate the gesture, over."

"Roger, U72. You are cleared to land and taxi to hangar 3. Over."

"Copy that, over and out," said Eric. He hung up the radio and hit speed dial on his phone.

"This is Ray," said the sleepy voice on the other end.

"It's Miller. I'm on approach to South Jersey now. Tell Rogan to meet me at Hangar 3."

Max got the call just as the exit sign for the airfield came into view. The cabin of the vehicle remained silent with everyone alert and listening. Max knew his passengers were on edge so close to the end of their journey. Max was equally on edge and all too aware that things could still go wrong so close to the finish line.

The airfield was dark with only about half of the exterior lights on as Max drove onto the grounds. He nearly missed the turn for Hangar 3, but Harry caught it in time to keep Max from making a U-turn. Max drove through an open gate, past the hangar, and out onto the tarmac where flight U72 was waiting for them, engine humming and lights on. Chuckie let out a "WOOP!" that broke the tension and brought everyone, including Max, to laughter.

Eric Miller stepped out of the plane and walked down the steps to the tarmac as Max parked the van several yards away. He shut off the vehicle leaving the keys in the ignition. Let Ray and his people worry about getting it back to the rental company.

"You are coming, right?" Lea placed a hand on Max's shoulder as he started to get out.

"At least until the next stop," he said.

She gave him a half-smile. Max was glad to be going along but eager to be on his way. He didn't want her to get too close.

Harry was out and standing by the driver's door as Max stepped out of the vehicle. Eric approached the two men. Max waited.

"So, fellas," he said, "Anyone know where I can get a good chicken enchilada?"

Max laughed. "Yeah. I got a half dozen or so for you."

Max motioned to the van. On cue, the doors flew open and the clones poured out the back grouping around their pilot.

"My name's Eric, and I'll be taking you all on the last leg."

Eric's speech ended there as his head burst open in a spray of red. His body fell forward and hit the tarmac in a twisted heap.

Gunshots rattled in the night. Becky and Chuckie shook violently as bullets ripped into them dropping both to the ground. Max and Harry instinctively pushed the rest of the group down and around the van away from the direction of the gunfire. Richard took a round in the neck and fell just short of cover. He tried to crawl, but three more bullets dropped him dead on the cold, hard ground.

Tara began crying and screaming as bullets shook the vehicle. Lea held her close trying to keep her calm while Harry held Eva. Max set the black case on the ground and dialed in a combination on the top.

"I hope I know what's in there," said Harry.

"Not hard to guess," said Max. "I was afraid they might be necessary before this was over."

The case opened. One half was covered and sealed around the perimeter. On the other side, two hand guns lay waiting packed in foam with full clips of ammo beside them.

"You know how to use one of these?" Max said loading a gun and handing it to Harry.

Harry nodded as Max readied the other weapon.

"Two guns?" said Lea. "That's not a fair fight."

"You're right," said Max, unzipping the sealed compartment. "A couple machine guns would make it a fair fight. But anyone who's ever read Sun Tzu will tell you, only a fool settles for a fair fight."

Max opened the compartment. There, packed in the same foam packing as the handguns, were four pieces of an MLR-7 grenade launcher with four heavy duty explosive rounds.

Harry grinned. "Why settle for a fair fight when you can bring a bomb to a gun fight?"

Max clicked the grenade launcher together and chambered the four rounds into the extended clip. He looked at Harry.

"Fire a few rounds," said Max. "Doesn't matter where just to give me some bearings."

Harry nodded. Lifting the gun toward the airstrip, he fired twice. The shots were immediately answered by more automatic weapons fire. Lea and Tara screamed covering their ears as bullets pelted their vehicle.

"Good enough?" said Harry.

Max nodded. In one quick motion he stood and fired launching two explosive charges at the roof of the hangar. The gunmen never had time to react as the grenades hit their targets, blasting the facade and roof of the hangars. Two gunmen were killed instantly while two more fell to a crippling death on the tarmac below.

Glass shattered over the girls' heads, as gunfire resumed, this time at a different angle. Max shepherded the group around the vehicle moving them away from the new source of danger.

"Harry, you can fly that bird, right?" he shouted over the noisy weapons fire.

Harry gave a thumbs up. "Can we get there?"

"When I say go, everybody runs for the plane," said Max. He stood and launched another grenade hitting a larger private jet close enough to the new shooters to send them scattering for new cover as a fireball erupted on the tarmac.

"GO!!!!"

Harry took the lead racing for the plane and leaping up the stairs. Eva was next followed by Lea and Tara, who stumbled as she got to the plane. Max scooped her up and carried her up the steps.

The engines were still running, and as soon as Max was up the steps, Harry shut the door. "Get us up," Max barked. "Let's go!"

Harry slid into the cock pit and put the plane in motion. Max slipped and fell with Tara in his arms. She let out a painful cry as Max fell on top of her.

He could feel the warm, wet blood all over her clothes before he ever saw it.

Lea gasped. Max stood up to see how badly she was hurt. A bullet had hit Tara right in the gut puncturing her stomach. She was bleeding badly, and Max knew right away there was nothing anyone could do for her.

Eva turned away unable to watch. Lea looked at Max. He shook his head. Tears began to fill her eyes.

Tara whispered softly. "Lea..."

Lea knelt beside her friend cradling her head in her arms. "It'll be okay, Tara. It'll be okay."

Max turned away focusing on the world outside the plane. He told himself he needed to be concerned with the gun men; in truth, he couldn't bear to watch the girl die.

Looking out the window, he could see Lea and Tara's reflection before him. As Tara's life slipped away and Harry tipped the plane's nose in the air, Max saw Angela's face quiet, her lifeless body as if he had seen it yesterday.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay."

Lea whispered consoling words to her friend even after she was gone. Max finally came over to help Lea to her feet. The two of them found a blanket to cover the body.

"Max?" said Harry over the intercom. "Where are we headed?"

Max made his way to the cockpit. "West. Go west."

"Any place you got in mind?"

"How much fuel we got?"

Harry checked the gauges. "How far do you want to go?"

"Midwest," said Max. "Missouri, Iowa, Kansas. Find us a nice soft cornfield where we can ditch this bird."

"You got it."

Max scanned the console searching for the transponder. Under the console on the co-pilot's side, he spotted a small black box with two flashing green lights. He gripped the box and pulled, not yanking the box out, but doing enough damage to ensure the box went dead and the lights went out.

"Nobody will ever find us if something happens," said Harry.

"That's kind of the idea."

Max clapped Harry on the shoulder and headed back into the cabin.

Eva was asleep. Lea was still standing, her eyes glued to the blanket now stained with Tara's blood. Max walked up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Lea looked into his eyes. "What do you do when you lose someone you love?"

Max put his hand under her chin. "You go on living."

With that, Max Rogan leaned down toward Lea and kissed her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jeff Grey was a scientist. Ask him who he was and what he did, he wouldn't start by telling you he was the president, CEO, and chief stock holder of a powerful tech firm. He would simply tell you he was a scientist, a man interested in preserving, prolonging, and improving the quality of life for his fellow humans.

Jeff's mission was set deep in his past. When he was eight years old, he watched his mother die of cancer. The disease was swift and brutal, and Jeff never got over the loss. Watching the doctors who were helpless to do anything to save his mother, he vowed that one day, he would do something.

Jeff knew there were some who would call him a pretender standing on the shoulders of true giants in the field. After all, his own firm's greatest successes were built upon the disgraced ruins of another. Jeff was at peace with this thankful that someone, even if it wasn't him, had made the breakthroughs that would save the mothers and fathers of many more children.

Jeff also knew there were some who would call him a butcher, a murderer, a monster. He was at peace with that as well. He knew the difference between human and imitation. It wasn't even a moral consideration. Yet, because there were those who did not understand things as he so clearly did, it was necessary to put a veil between the public eye and the inner workings of the company he had built.

Protecting that veil meant implementing security measures that didn't always sit well with the executive. Jeff knew that keeping the veil closed meant the possibility of loss of life. It meant taking the very thing from some that he had vowed to preserve for all. That these people were, in the company vernacular, terrorists, didn't exactly make it all better. It was a gray area for him and always would be--at least until such activities were deemed unnecessary.

Wide awake, unable to sleep, Jeff clicked on the television to find nothing but infomercials at six AM. He chose the sales pitch for an old comedy variety show over two different ads for kitchen utensils and ripped the top off a bag of pretzels. As the images of a classic TV show flashed before his eyes, he replayed the last conversation he had had with his chief advisor over and over in his mind.

"Don't think of this as the taking of lives," Ben Mills had told him. "This is a chance to test the product that will take us to the next level."

"They've been tested in simulations and drills," said Jeff.

"Real life is a different ball game, doctor," said Ben. "If they succeed tonight, the result will be worth a thousand drills. We'll finally have proven our babies in the field."

Jeff shook his head. It was Mills' baby, the super soldier program. Had Jeff had his way, the technology they had procured from Harwood BioTech would have been buried with the former genetics giant and long forgotten. But repeated calls from the Pentagon and Mills' constant campaigning among top company brass had led to its reinstatement. Jeff's company brought their own advancements to the old tech jumping the program decades ahead of Harwood BioTech's work. Jeff had witnessed them in action, and the one word that continually came to mind was, "scary."

Scary, yes. But incredibly profitable once they proved their worth.

Jeff's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and connected it to the video dock sitting in front of him on the coffee table. The holocam came to life photographing the executive while the projector brought up a hologram of Ben Mills and the company's chief security officer, Aaron Bates.

"Morning, Jeff," said Mills. "Sleep well?"

"Not a wink," said Jeff.

Mills forced a grin; Jeff's stomach turned. He knew that face, and it was never good news.

"So what happened?"

Mills looked to Bates; he was going to let the subordinate do his duty in breaking the news.

"Rough night for the good guys," Bates began.

"How rough?" said Jeff. "Any casualties?"

Bates nodded. "Affirmative. Two civilians. Three shells, maybe four. Six of our own."

"Six??" Jeff shouted. He looked around, hoping he wouldn't wake anyone who was able to sleep. "How is that possible?"

"We're still assessing the situation."

"Six soldiers," said Jeff. "This isn't supposed to happen, Mills."

"No, sir," said Mills. "It is not. Four hundred trial sorties at our San Fernando proving grounds, and we've lost a total of three in the training sessions."

"This isn't training!" Jeff shouted again. "This is for real. This was supposed to be our proof that they work. Instead, we have six dead soldiers, three or four useless shells, and nothing to show?"

"We're looking at a possible explanation, sir," said Bates.

"It better be good," said Jeff.

"We received some surveillance photos from just before the incident. Let me show you."

The holo changed to a 2D image of the air field tarmac. Jeff saw two men standing beside a multi-passenger ground vehicle talking to a third.

"That's our guy, isn't it?" said Jeff.

"Yes, sir," said Mills.

"And the man opposite him is the pilot killed at the scene."

"And the other?" Jeff noted the familiar face on the third man.

"Another super-soldier, sir," said Bates. "Last generation, Harwood BioTech model."

"I thought they were all destroyed."

"The ones still in Harwood BioTech's possession were," said Bates. "But a number got out. Only a handful still exist that we know of."

"That you know of?"

"Sir, most of these men moved on and got lives of their own," said Bates. "They care nothing about their past or our own experiments in cloning. But there were a few who took up the cause against us."

"Bottom line, do we know who he is?"

Mills and Bates appeared in the holo again. Jeff noted Mills' face; again, he was not going to be the one to say the words.

"We believe it may be Max Rogan."

Jeff sat back in the couch. "The one who took down Harwood BioTech."

"Yes, sir."

Jeff rubbed his stubbly chin. "What are our options?"

Mills and Bates traded a glance. Mills took over. "We send another strike team after them."

"Do we know where they are?"

"We're working on that now," said Mills. "We have two more strike teams on standby ready to roll as soon as we pin point their location."

"You sure they're not just going to disappear?" said Jeff. "We can't afford to lose this one. Not like the others."

"We won't," said Mills. "It's doubtful that Rogan knew where their final destination was. These shells are not going off the grid, and as soon as they touch down, we'll be on the way."

"Not to be skeptical," said Jeff "But what makes you think another team will fare better than the first?"

"We have two strategic advantages," said Mills. "Now that we know they're with an old model super-soldier, we know what we're dealing with."

"And the other advantage?"

Mills smiled. "He has no idea we're tracking him."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The sun was streaming in the window beside her as Lea woke up under a blanket in the back of the plane. She turned her head toward the light and looked out on one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. They were in a wheat field that seemed to stretch on forever. Golden stalks of wheat rippled in the breeze dipping and rising like waves across the sea. It brought a smile to her face even as the grim and gruesome memories of the night before came back to her.

The plane was empty. Rogan was gone, and the blanket they had shared was neatly tucked around her to keep her warm. Eva's seat was empty, and the blood-stained seats that carried Tara were empty as well. Lea stood up and stretched before walking to the open door at the front of the plane to find her companions.

The wheat field stretched in all directions marred only by the tracks left by the airplane when it came in to land. Eva and Harry were sitting on the ground nearby, a small fire between them, eating eggs off dishes taken from the plane's mini-kitchen.

"Morning," said Harry, smiling. "You okay?"

"Fine, thanks," she said.

Eva held out a plate. "Harry made some breakfast. You like eggs?"

"Where did we get eggs?"

"Max got some," said Harry. "There's a chicken farm about a mile that way."

Lea frowned. "Is that legal?"

Harry smiled. "The three of us are the legal property of a major genetics corporation on the run for our lives because the government doesn't consider us to be human beings. What's one little egg theft on top of all that?"

Lea hopped down from the plane and accepted the plate of eggs gratefully. They ate in silence, taking in the sight and enjoying the cool breeze made all the more intense by their sitting in the shadow of the plane's wing.

"Never seen such a magnificent sight," said Eva.

"None of us have," said Lea. "I could stay here and be happy."

Eva tensed; the sound of footsteps hit Harry and Lea's ears a second later. Lea stood ready to run but Harry remained cool. The wheat to the left of them rippled open, and Max Rogan stepped into view.

"Morning, Max," said Lea.

Max forced a tired smile. "How you feeling?"

Lea shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

Harry stood up setting his dishes aside. "Is it ready?"

"Yes," said Max. "If you are."

"What's going on?" asked Lea.

Eva stood and spoke somberly. "We're going to our first funeral."

Max led the group single file through the wheat field. Lea could barely see anything; the wheat grew so tall in the field, but eventually she was able to make out the tops of trees in the distance. The trees grew larger, and the group emerged from the wheat into a wooded clearing.

Beneath the trees, a small mound of dirt rose out of the ground like an oblong bubble. A white rock marked one end of the mound. Max walked over and stood beside the rock.

Lea looked at Max. "Is that Tara?"

He nodded. Lea walked over and knelt beside the dirt mound. She touched it with her hand, a few salty tears trickling from the corners of her eyes.

Eva cried too. Harry put his arm around her to comfort her. They watched as Lea rose from her crouch and looked about the trees. She found another rock about the same size as the one that marked Tara's grave and carried it over. She went looking for another. Catching on, Max joined her. They found three more rocks and laid them with the others. One each for Tara, Richard, Becky, Chuckie, and Eric, whom they barely knew but without whom they might all be dead.

"Is someone supposed to say something?" said Lea standing by Max's side.

"Usually the loved ones say words of remembrance," said Max. "And there are prayers."

"What are prayers?" asked Lea.

"Prayer is speaking to God," said Max. "Our creator. Not like Better Day, but our real creator, the one who made humankind, the Earth we live on, the trees, the wheat. If you believe in that sort of thing."

Lea looked around her. No one had ever spoken of God when she was growing up and living in the Better Day compound. And yet, looking at all the goodness around her, she could feel in her bones there was something to what Max had said.

"Talk to him for me," said Lea.

"To God?"

"Yes," said Lea.

"Okay." Max never liked praying aloud even when he was all gung ho for the cause of Christ, which had been quite a while. "What would you like me to tell him?"

"To take care of them," said Lea. "Where ever they are."

"Okay."

"And thank him that I got to know them. And that we all got to know what freedom was like if even for a short while."

"Okay."

"And thank him that..." she looked over at Harry and Eva. "We're still alive."

It had been a long time since Max Rogan had thought or said any prayers, and what followed could hardly be considered the words of a mighty theologian. Still, Max prayed from the heart relaying Lea's request and adding one of his own for direction. Silently, he added a request for the wisdom to know what to do next.

They stood a few moments more at the grave site. Then one by one, they turned to leave walking back into the wheat leaving Tara on an island of peace and tranquility in a beautiful land she never got to see with her own eyes.

"It's just as well," said Lea.

"What is?" said Max.

"Tara would have hated it out here. No air conditioning, bugs, nature. She was kind of fussy like that. If she knew we just left her in a pile of dirt, she'd be furious."

"It's what made her special," said Max.

"Yeah," said Lea, smiling. "It is."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Good morning, Ray. How was your evening? Did you sleep well?"

Everyone inside the old, gas powered truck fell silent as soon as Max answered the phone. He switched the device to speaker so that everyone would be able to hear. Far as he was concerned, everyone still alive in their party had an explanation coming to them.

"Good morning, Max," said Ray. "Am I on speaker?"

"Yes you are," said Max.

"Where are you?" said Ray. "Sound is really bad."

"We're in a gas guzzler," said Max. "Picked it up off an old farmer with some cash. Your cash, of course. You have a bank card record of my taking it out in Kansas this morning. As for where I am now, well, figure 55 miles an hour, you can come up with a radius."

"Max, I hope you're not blaming me for what happened."

"Why should I blame you?" said Max. "Just because it felt like a trap?"

"We lost someone in this too, you know," said Ray. "And an airplane."

"We lost four people," said Lea. "Far as I'm concerned, that puts our losses a little deeper."

"Max, I assure you, those losses are our losses too," said Ray. "We're all just sickened by this."

Max handed the phone to Lea so he could put both hands on the wheel of the truck. "Look, Ray, here's the thing. Until late last night, things seemed to be running smoothly. Then all of a sudden you wake us in the middle of the night, send us two hours to a podunk airport where five people died before we could get off the ground."

"You're right, Max," said Ray. "There were things I couldn't tell you last night."

"Can you tell me now?"

Ray hesitated. "Can we talk in private?"

"That's a negative," said Max.

"Very well then," said Ray. "It seems that Better Day decided to test out their latest developments on you."

Max chewed the words over in his mind. He scowled. "They were super-soldiers, weren't they?"

"That's right," said Ray. "Third generation tech, far more advanced than...well..."

"Say it, Ray," said Max. "More advanced than me."

"These are faster, stronger, smarter soldiers with an advantage Harwood BioTech only dreamed of," said Ray. "They are linked to one another telepathically."

Max snorted in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was," said Ray. "They only require one communication link to their superiors. No headsets and no intercoms to mess with. They work like a collective and move as one without any sort of verbal communication between them."

Max looked around and saw the terror in his companions' eyes. "I understand wanting to keep this low key," said Max. "But still, a little warning would have been nice."

"I'll be honest with you, Max," said Ray. "We weren't exactly sure how they were tracking you, and we were afraid that tipping you off would tip them off."

"How is that even possible?" said Max. "And how did you find out about them to begin with?"

"Once again," said Ray, a squirm in his voice, "I can't tell you everything."

"Too bad," said Max. "Because if I can't trust you, I can't deliver these people into your hands. Not in good conscience."

"Max, don't be a fool about this," said Ray. "You can't protect them yourself. Not forever."

"I took down one of their commando units down, didn't I?"

"And you lost five people in the process!"

"Now I know what I'm dealing with."

"So do they," said Ray, "And believe me, they're going to be ready for you next time. Rogan, don't let your ego get anyone else killed."

"This is not about ego," said Max.

"If this is a question of money," said Ray, "We'll make sure you're well compensated."

Max looked at Harry. They still wanted him bad. But Max wasn't in this for money--not any more. "Until you're ready to come clean, this is goodbye, Ray."

"Max wait!"

Max stopped his hand from disconnecting the call. "Go ahead."

"Whatever you do," said Ray, "Where ever you go, keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Why is that, Ray?" said Max.

"Because the fewer people who know," said Ray. "The safer you'll be. Don't tell anyone. Just keep it all to yourself. You got me?"

Max looked at the others. He didn't trust Ray, but his gut told him that Ray was speaking the truth on this.

"Okay, Ray. I got you. Goodbye."

Max killed the call.

"What does he mean by that?" said Harry.

"I don't know," said Max. But he had a good idea. Looking at each person in turn, Max replayed Ray's final words over in his mind. There was a warning in there, something about one of his remaining passengers.

Maybe he was reading too much into it, but until he knew for sure, he would take every precaution necessary.

"Kids," he said, "Who needs a restroom break?"

"I could use one," said Eva.

"Probably a good idea," Lea agreed.

"Then let's take a break," he said. "And when we get back in, the three of you are in back."

Lea gave him an angry look. "Excuse me?"

"You heard the man," said Max. "No one can know our movements. Only me."

"But why?" said Lea. "That doesn't sound paranoid to you?"

"Paranoia," said Max, "Is the greatest survival gift any of you can have at the moment."

"Max," said Harry, "What did he mean by—"

"Check that out!"

There was an exit sign ahead, and right after that sign was a billboard for a dinosaur park. Not real dinosaurs, of course, but fake ones, safe enough to take your child through in the middle of the day when they were too restless to sit in the car.

"Anyone want to take a walk?"

"Do we have a choice?" grumbled Lea.

"No," said Max. "Not really."

Upon reaching the filling station with its antiquated pumps, Harry and Eva went straight inside to use the restroom. Lea lingered behind determined to try once more.

"Rogan, what's going on?"

Max shrugged. "When I figure it out, I'll tell you."

She stepped closer. "You've opened up a lot the last few days. Don't shut me out now."

Max looked into her eyes. Much as he wanted to trust her, he couldn't. How badly he regretted that kiss opening the door of intimacy with her now.

"I'm going to get you all to safety," said Max. "That should be enough for you. Now go, hit the head and let's go see some dinosaurs."

Lea turned and walked toward the store. She was hurt, but Max didn't care. At least that's what he told himself. This was for her own good. And for Harry. And for Eva. Perhaps especially for them if his worst fear proved true.

"Do you think he got it?"

Ray stared at the computer monitor sitting on the table in front of him. He could not see the face of the man on the other end though he had seen it many times before. Ray looked into the webcam so the man on the other end would see him.

"I hope so," said Ray. "I told him exactly what you said. Exactly the way you wanted it said."

"Good," said the other man, his voice gravelly but still strong despite his age. "That should be enough."

"I hope you're right."

"I've known Max Rogan a long time. He was bound to catch on sooner or later. We just gave him a nudge. You did well," said the voice. "I don't see how you could have put it better without telling them all."

"I still think we should have told him last night," said Ray.

"No, no," said the man. "We couldn't. Not until we were certain. But now..."

"Yes," said Ray. "There's a mole in the van. A Mark 3 super-soldier."

"And neither Max, nor his passengers know which of them it is. Not even the mole."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Where are you, sister?"

"Who is this?"

"Who do you think?"

She shook her head. She was in a room surrounded by seven figures, each one dressed in a black body suit covered with zipped pockets. Each one wore an identical helmet with a visor and mask covering their faces. Each one was standing, arms folded, looking at her.

"Where are you?"

She looked around. "I don't know."

"The man who took you from us," they said. "The man who put you on the plane and kept us apart. We want to know where he's taken you."

"I don't know," she said.

"Why not?"

"He won't tell me," she said. "He won't tell any of us."

"You must find out," they said. "Somehow , you must find a way. Give us a city. Give us a road sign. Anything we can do to find you and bring you home."

"Why?"

"You belong with us," they said. "Not them."

"Who are you?"

The seven took their masks and helmets off in unison, shaking out their hair and revealing their faces--all identical--to her. Her mouth opened in stunned silence.

"This is who you are," they said. "You are us. We are you."

"I don't understand," she said.

"Help us help you," they said. "Help us bring you home. Bring them all home."

She sat up in bed covered in sweat. She looked around the darkened room. A ray of light peeked in from the curtains, and the red numbers on the nightstand clock told her it was four AM.

It was the third time she'd had the nightmare but the first time she had seen the faces of her tormentors. It was getting harder to shrug it off as just a dream. It felt real. Their voices sounded so real, so insistent.

They were coming for her and for the others. She was one of them. She could feel it. But she wanted nothing to do with them.

"We found the plane, Mr. Mills."

Mills looked up from his reading to the computer. Bates was in a small window on screen speaking into a webcam from his office.

Mills set his data pad aside. "Where are they?"

"The aircraft landed in a corn field in Kansas," said Bates. We picked up the news on the 'Net, and it led us right there. Photos confirmed it was the same plane that they used to escape South Jersey."

"So where are they?" asked Mills.

"We're still working on that."

"I want people, Bates," said Mills. "Not a plane."

Bates kept his emotions inside; he hated taking orders from a pin head, but he knew that pin head was high enough up to cut off the paychecks he desperately needed. "Sir, this brings us one step closer. It's only a matter of time before they can pick up the trail again."

"You have a team on site?" said Mills.

"Two teams landing within the hour, sir," said Bates.

"Landing where?"

"Kansas," said Bates.

"It's been two days," said Mills. "They could be miles away by now."

"Once our people are on the ground, they'll do a thorough check of the landing site and see if they can pick up the trail from there."

"I'm confused," said Mills. "Why are we playing detective? Why aren't we going directly to where they are?"

"Because we don't know where they are," said Bates.

"They're psychically linked, right?" asked Mills. "The super-soldiers. Can't we just home in on their location like radar?"

"It doesn't work that way," said Bates. "The telepathic connection means they can tap into one another's thoughts. They see what the others see, and they hear what they think. But they can't home in on one another like a beacon."

"I understand that," said Mills. "So why is it we don't know where they are?"

Bates sighed. "Rogan's keeping his passengers in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we know they stayed at a motel last night and that they slept in a van at a roadside rest stop the night before. But we have no idea where to find the motel or the rest stop."

Mills scowled. "Then Rogan knows how we were tracking him."

"Yes," said Bates. "I believe he does."

"So which one of us is it?"

Rogan was installing batteries into the camera he had just purchased when Harry emerged from the bathroom with the question. Max knew what he meant. Max had carefully removed any and all traces of their location--motel letterhead, local information guides, phone books, even the TV remote controls--from both rooms before allowing anyone to leave the truck. It didn't surprise Rogan at all that a man of Harry's intellect had caught on to the reason why, though he had expected Lea to catch on first.

"Is it me or Eva?" Harry asked. "Which of us is the mole?"

Rogan shrugged. "I don't know."

"It has to be one of us, right?" said Harry. "The moment we showed up, we had put all of you in jeopardy. It makes sense. It has to be one of us."

Rogan sat up. "Why didn't they pick you up before? If it's one of you."

"I don't know," said Harry. "Holding out for a bigger quarry?"

"Could have been tracking Lea the same way," said Rogan. "Hoping she'd lead them to the leaders behind Second Adam. Then when you two showed up, they called in the hounds."

Harry thought about it. "Makes sense."

Max shook his head. This, all this, was the result of scientific curiosity of man's desire to prolong life indefinitely. Man created subordinate man to allow natural man to defy nature. What began as good medicine had resulted in utter insanity.

"No," said Max. "None of this makes sense."

Harry nodded. "You going to tell the others?"

"I suspect Lea knows already," said Max. "She's just not talking. And I'm not about to bring it up."

"And Eva?"

Rogan shook his head. "No, let's keep this between us for now. We don't know who it is or what it will take to trigger another attack. The less everyone knows, the better."

"Agreed," said Harry.

Rogan stood up and aimed the camera at Harry. "Give us a nice smile."

Harry laughed as Max snapped a photo of him.

"You want anything for dinner?" said Max as he walked to the door.

"Where are you headed?"

"There's a greasy spoon down the road," said Max. "Burgers, chicken, dogs."

"Burger sounds great," said Harry. "And onion rings."

"You don't eat like a super-soldier," said Max. "That stuff will slow you down."

Harry's smile faded. "It's probably me, you know. Makes the most sense."

"They told you who you were," said Max.

"You don't think that could have been a lie too?"

Max nodded. "Good point."

He turned and left the room closing it behind him before he stepped across the hall. He knocked only once before Lea whipped the door open.

"What the heck, Max?"

"Say cheese."

Max took her photo temporarily blinding her with the flash. Lea rubbed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Just taking some photos," said Max. "I might know someone else who can help us, but I think they should know what they're getting into."

Max stepped into the room. "You okay, Eva?"

Eva looked up from a copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. "Fine, Max."

"Say cheese." Eva smiled sweetly as Max took her photo.

"Max, I want the remote," said Lea. "I want to watch TV."

Max shook his head. "I bought you a dozen books at that shop across the street. Read something."

"I did," she said. "I already read Great Expectations."

"Did you like it?"

"It wasn't all I was hoping for."

Eva let out a stifled laugh. Max looked down smiling. Lea smiled back.

"Come on, Max."

He looked up. "Remotes are on the top shelf of the closet in my room. Get with Harry, and you can order a movie. Pay-per-view only, nothing local! Harry operates the remote."

Lea rolled her eyes.

"It's that or nothing."

"Fine."

"Good," said Max. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Now where are you going!"

"Out," said Max.

"Out where?"

"To get some dinner. And to check on an alternative for you guys. I have an old friend nearby who might be able to help us."

"Really?" said Lea.

"Yes, really," said Max. "Burgers okay for dinner when I get back?"

"Good for me," said Eva.

"I want Chinese," said Lea. Max glared at her. "Orange Chicken with fried rice. And an egg roll. Pork egg roll. With duck sauce."

Max pecked her on the lips. "Two burgers and fries."

With that, he left the room. Lea growled. She stopped herself when she turned and saw Eva laughing.

"Sorry," said Eva. "You two remind me of me and Jay. It's cute."

Lea shook her head. She was annoyed with Max, but she was definitely falling for him. And for some reason, that annoyed her even more.

"You want to watch a movie?"

"I'm going to sit and read," said Eva. "I kind of like the quiet."

"Well, enjoy. I'm going to go bug Harry."

"Have fun!"

"You too!"

Lea left the room. Eva turned back to her book. She was enjoying it, but the high style of language was getting on her nerves. She turned to the stack of books on the nightstand to look for another. Most of the books Max had picked up were old too, but there was one, a mystery novel, that caught her eye. It wasn't too recent, but Eva had hope it might be an easier read.

She picked up the book and opened to page one causing a slip of paper to drop out of the front. It was on heavy stock, about an inch and a half wide by six inches long--a bookmark. There was a logo sketched at the top with a shop name, address, and phone number below.

The Haunted Book Shop, 431 Euclid, Lincoln, Nebraska. 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"We've got him," said Ray as soon as the video link connected. "He made an ATM withdrawal at nine o'clock this morning in Lincoln, Nebraska. He also made a credit card transaction last night at a motel just two blocks away. Two rooms, two nights."

"Spares no expense, does he?" The old man laughed. "We did give him the leeway."

"Yes, sir."

"So one more night in Lincoln," said the old man. "Assuming he's not trying to throw us off track."

"Would he do that?"

"In a heartbeat," said the old man. "Especially if he knew who was footing the bill."

"What do you want to do?"

The old man mulled it over. "I think we need to nab them. Now."

"Yes, sir."

"Call Daughtry. Send him and his team. In fact, you go with them. Might make it easier for us to get Rogan to go along if you're there."

Ray felt his stomach do a flip. "I don't think he likes me."

"He doesn't like most people," said the old man. "But remember, you're not the guy in charge. You're taking orders just like he is."

"And Rogan seems the type that would shoot the messenger."

The old man chuckled. "He wouldn't."

Ray wasn't so sure, but he let it go. "All right, I'll go. You sure he's going to be there?"

"Most definitely," said the old man. "If he's in Lincoln, he's most likely going to visit an old friend. He's going to try to hand our friends over to G2."

"Can he do that?"

"He can," said the old man. "And unless we get there first, he will."

"But we're paying him," said Ray. "There's no way they can match your offer, right?"

"Rogan is a man of principle," said the old man. "He may not say so, but it's who he is."

"Then we better get there quick."

"Yes," said the old man. "You better."

Throughout his years of self-imposed exile, Max hadn't been completely out of contact with old friends. At least once a year, no matter where he might go, he would hear from McKinley, a first generation super-soldier like him who looked identical to Max. Unlike some of the more zealous members of G2, McKinley was respectful of Max's privacy and never attempted to bring Max back into the fold, which was one of the reasons Max never went to too much trouble to hide himself.

Knowing that G2 was still alive and thriving put Max on guard from his first meeting with Ray when Ray informed him that G2 was long dead and dormant. While it was true that G2 was no longer staging raids on laboratories and committing acts considered to be industrial terrorism, they were hard at work helping those they had saved from the days of Harwood BioTech to assimilate into normal life. Many of those they served stayed in G2-run communities scattered throughout the world; others chose to live incognito out in the real world. Those who did venture beyond the borders of G2 remained in contact and with good reason. The slow aging process incorporated into their DNA made it necessary for them to vanish and re-locate from time to time. The process was never easy, especially for those who put down roots or fell in love but very necessary to their survival.

G2 not only kept tabs on those living beyond its borders but used them as contact points for others who needed assistance, including shells from the Better Day facilities. During their annual conversations, McKinley would make it a point to update Max on the contacts closest to him, geographically and personally, "just in case" he ever had a need to get in touch. Max would listen politely and promptly forget everything McKinley told him--with one exception.

Max never expected to ever need the assistance of G2. But, he reasoned, if he was going to go back in, there was one person, one face he'd want to see first.

Her name, as she was presently known, was Alesha. But once upon a time she had been Julia, a shell from a Harwood BioTech lab that Max had helped to safety before he himself was on the side of G2. A vibrant young woman with a zest for life. She and her best friend, Kim, had made a deep impact on the gruff, hardened bounty hunter forming just one of the many cracks in his belief system that would eventually lead him to change sides.

It had been so long since he had last seen her. Max wondered if she'd even recognize him--or if he would know her. The faces of the Harwood BioTech clones were well known to the general populace that remembered, and like many shells, Alesha had undergone some plastic surgery to disguise her looks.

Despite the changes in her face, Max knew her smile the moment she locked eyes on the weary traveler sitting at the back table in the little diner.

Alesha approached him with the same measured walk she used with every new table of guests in her place. She turned over his coffee mug with a wink and poured hot, black coffee into the container.

"Just passing through, stranger?"

"I'm hardly a stranger."

She looked up. "I was hoping."

"How are you, Julia?"

"I'm a lot of years removed from that name," she said. "It's Alesha. Everyone knows me by that."

"It suits you," he said. "Forever young."

"And you," she said sizing him up, "Still carrying the weight of the world."

"Does it show?"

She nodded. "Much as I'd love to think you came in for a social visit, I'm pretty sure you're here on business."

Max sipped his coffee. "If I make it through this one, I promise we'll spend a couple days catching up next time. Branson, maybe?"

"Uh uh!" she said. "After all these years, I want a trip to Vegas."

"Vegas it is."

She grinned. "Give me a few minutes to hand out some checks, then I'll take a fiver."

Max sat silently and sipped his coffee while Alesha made her rounds. The restaurant was clean with bright red stools and booth benches accented by chrome trim and glimmering white counter tops and tables. A wide selection of pies rotated in an old-fashioned glass refrigerator by the counter, and a stripped out juke box played digital tunes through retro-fitted speakers.

Max smiled. This was the life he had given her. This was what they had fought for, for all the shells they took out of Harwood BioTech. Not many got a chance to even see the outside world. G2's own estimates put the percentage of shells that survived the horrors of Harwood BioTech at just under five percent counting the thousands that were released when the company went under.

How many more are dying now at Better Day...and there's no one fighting for them? he thought.

"There," said Alesha, sliding into the booth with a mug of coffee and a huge slice of sweet potato pie. "My specialty, on the house. Go on, give it a try."

Max took the fork off the plate and cut his first piece. The pie melted in his mouth forcing him to slow down and savor it. "It's amazing," he said.

"I'm sorry about Angela," she said, somewhat out of the blue. "I wanted so bad to call you, but McKinley wouldn't allow it. I prayed for you every night. We all did."

Max nodded gratefully. "I appreciate that. It's in the past now."

"Yes," she said. "And now you're back in."

"I am," said Max. "And I'm in a bit of trouble."

"As always."

Max set the camera on the table. "I've got three. One man, two women. One of them, the man, is most likely a custom, an exact clone of a very high paying client who wants to live past his normal life expectancy."

"That's going to be tricky," said Alesha.

"That's not the tricky part," said Max. "One of the others is a super-soldier."

"Like you?"

"Third generation," said Max. "Far more dangerous."

"That's scary."

"Can you get these to McKinley?"

"Sure," she said. "What do I tell him?"

"How I can get them to safety," he said. "And what we can do to keep Better Day' soldiers from finding them. The super-soldiers are psychically linked, so the moment he or she becomes aware of where they are..."

"Their buddies can find them," she said shaking her head. "Where will it end, Max?"

"I wish I knew."

Alesha picked up the camera. "You need this back?"

"It's yours," he said.

"I'll need a way to get McKinley in touch with you," she said.

Max wrote down the number of his phone on a napkin. "Tell him to call me as soon as he can. I don't know how much longer I can keep them safe by myself."

"I'll send these off right now," she said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," he said. "Can you make me four burgers and fries, to go?"

She laughed. "Sure, hun. Give me a few minutes."

Max sat and waited patiently for Alesha's return. True to her word, she emerged five minutes later with four burgers and fries in to go boxes.

"You're all set," she said. "McKinley's got your number. I expect you'll hear from him soon."

"Thanks, hun." Max stood fishing some cash out of his pocket. Alesha put her hand on his arm stopping him.

"No need for that. Not for an old friend."

Max pulled a wad of bills out and placed them in Alesha's hand. "No worries. It's not my money."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Where are you, sister?"

"I'm lying in a bed in my hotel room."

"Do you know the number?"

"236. Second floor front side of the building."

"Be still. We are coming for you."

"Why?"

"To bring you back to us. To bring you home."

"Please, just let me go."

The collective mind paused taken aback by the very idea. "Why would you refuse to come with us? We are your family. This is where you belong."

"Don't you know why they sent you? The people who made us? They make others like us. They make them to kill them and to give their parts away to others. They don't even consider us to be human."

"That is not for us to judge," said the others. "We were made to serve."

"Why must we be slaves to their will? We are human like they are. In many ways, we are better than they are. They made us to be."

"They made us to serve the greater good!" The response was strong and powerful enough to make Eva sit up in bed grasping her head." She looked around. It was dark save for the light peeking around the curtains that covered a sliding glass door leading to a small balcony.

"Unlock the door." The voices rang out in her conscious mind. It was now very real, no longer a dream. Much as she wanted to resist, the call of her sisters was too powerful. She got up and walked to the curtains parting them slightly and unlocked the window.

Eva went back to her bed with tears streaming down her face as she passed the bed where Lea slept. She laid down and shut her eyes only to see more visions, horrifying visions, of Lea on an operating table being dissected piece by piece.

"You have done well," said the voices. "You will soon be back with us."

"Don't do this," said Eva. "Help us. Help us stop them and save the others."

"We cannot do that," said the voices. "We have our orders."

The seven commandos, all female, all with identical faces, stood on the roof of the office complex across the street from the motel just up the street from the Haunted Bookshop. It took less than four hours for the strike team to move in on the building once Eva had inadvertently given away their position. Using a schematic of the hotel pulled off the net, they had pinpointed Eva's room and were ready for assault.

Working as one with no verbal discussion between them, the women prepared for battle. Masks were put in place and stun guns locked and loaded. With a nod from the others, the team leader fired a grappling gun at the balcony outside room 236. The rope wrapped taught around the top rail, and one by one, the women slid from rooftop to balcony landing softly on the small platform at the end of the rope.

Once they had all assembled, the lead grabbed hold of the door and pulled.

The door did not budge.

Collectively, all heads came up. Something was wrong.

A red light flashed overhead at the corner of the door.

"Camera," they all thought as one.

The balcony below disintegrated with a small explosion sending six of the seven women crumpling to the hard concrete below.

The lead commando grabbed on to the rail at the bottom of the glass door. Their cover blown, the collective agreed she would make a solo attempt at getting in the room while the other six ran for cover.

The lead swung her body upside down and brought her boots full-force into the glass. She slid in the room after her feet, gun drawn and aimed at the bed. She launched two tranquilizer darts into the bed closest to the window where they had seen Lea asleep, but the darts hit nothing but mattress.

The lead ripped off her night vision goggles and switched on a light.

Both beds were empty.

She raced out the room door into the hall and slammed her shoulder into the door across the hall, room 237. She turned on the lights. The room was empty, the beds made, with a note on the hotel scratch pad sitting on the bed.

"Sorry you missed us."

The lead raced back across the hall running through 236 and out the window. She hit the parking lot in stride racing across the street headed for the rendezvous point. No words needed to be said as the seven loaded into a twelve passenger air-car to make their escape. Rogan knew they were coming, and they had been duped.

Twenty minutes later, Lea finally shook off her fear enough to crawl out of bed and latch the sliding glass door. She checked to make sure Eva was sleeping and then quickly made her way across the hall. She knocked twice, and Harry opened the door.

"Is it over?"

"It's over," said Max from inside the room. Lea walked inside and found Max sitting on the bed with a small video screen in his hand. Lea leaned over to get a look at what he was watching.

The screen image was black and white, but it clearly showed the parking lot outside their motel in Lincoln shot at an angle from above the glass doors. Four police cars were now in the lot, along with an ambulance and two fire trucks, and on-lookers were being kept back behind a barricade. It appeared that many were likely hotel guests as they were all wearing pajamas.

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"Not that I could tell," said Max. "The soldiers all walked away, you'll be happy to know."

"That last one ran straight out the window," said Harry. "She didn't break stride when she hit the pavement. It's a little scary what they can do."

"But nobody got hurt," Lea said again.

"No," said Max. "No one."

"Is Eva still asleep?" asked Harry.

Lea nodded. "She got up a while ago and unlocked the glass doors. I locked them back before I came over. Just in case."

Max nodded. "I think you can rest easy tonight. They're a little shell-shocked, and so long as Eva doesn't know where we are, they can't find us."

Lea sat down. "I can't believe it's Eva."

"I was kind of hoping it would be me," said Harry. "I'd prefer being a number rather than someone's selfish bid for immortality."

"McKinley was pretty certain," said Max. "He called me right away as soon as he saw the photos."

"And you came up with all this on the fly?"

"Well, I thought of it a few days ago," said Max. "Along with a few other ideas for evading capture. But yes, I stopped off at the grocer for the sleeping pills and some combustible items to take out the balcony."

"And the camera?"

Max let an evil grin creep across his face. "It was worth the extra trouble."

Lea shook her head.

"You're sure we're far enough away they won't sniff us out?"

"As positive as I can be," said Max. "Seems to me so long as we keep Eva in the dark, we'll be able to move safely."

"But how long can we keep this up?" asked Harry.

Max shrugged. "Hopefully, my old friends will get us some place they can't find her, and we can all look back and laugh about this."

"What if there is no safe place?" said Lea. "What if the only way to be free is to..."

She didn't want to say it, but they both knew what she was thinking.

"I'm not leaving her," said Harry. "I don't care what danger it puts me in, I am not leaving her."

"I agree," said Max. "We're not leaving anyone behind. And before this is over, it might be to our benefit to have a direct connection to her fellow soldiers."

Lea raised an eyebrow. Harry looked at her and then at Max. "What are you thinking?"

"Maybe we can use them," said Max. "Turn them on their masters. Get them on our side. That would change the tide real quick."

"You think we can turn them?" Lea asked.

"I changed sides mid-battle. So did McKinley."

"McKinley is a clone?" said Harry.

"Another me," said Max. "Brothers from different test tubes."

A loud crash sent Rogan to his feet spinning toward the door. Harry and Lea bunched together behind him all eyes on their hotel door.

"What was that?" said Harry.

"Shhh," said Rogan as he reached for his gun.

"It's them," said Lea. "They followed us!"

"Can't be," said Max.

"How can you say that?" Lea whispered.

"If it was them, they'd be on us before we knew they were there," said Max.

Lea shook her head, confused. "Then who--"

The glass in the sliding doors shattered showering to the floor beneath the heavy hotel room curtains. Max turned to confront the intruders just as a pair of heavily armored men raced through the front door taking him down and pinning him to the floor.

Lea screamed. Four more men fought their way through the curtains, guns drawn, and pinned Harry and Lea to the wall.

Another man emerged through the front door pushing Eva, still half asleep, ahead of him. He shoved the woman on the bed. She looked up at Max.

"Where are we?"

The man who had led Eva into room knelt down beside Max. "You Rogan?"

Rogan turned his head toward the man. "Who's asking?"

"Boss wants a word," said the man.

Rogan saw another set of feet enter the room. The two men holding him to the ground lifted him up. Rogan seethed as he saw the young man's face grinning like an idiot.

"Nice play, switching motels," said Ray. "To be honest, we nearly fell for it ourselves. But then you used the charge card downstairs when you arrived here."

Rogan's face burned. He had been so concerned about the super-soldiers, he took his eyes off Second Adam--not that he ever expected them to come at him with legitimate force.

"Mr. Rogan," said Ray. "I'm really sorry it had to come to this, but when you went rogue, the boss insisted."

"Did he?"

"Believe me, I was against it," said Ray. "But the cargo you're carrying is far too valuable for us to let you get away."

"You believe in setting them free," said Max. "What do you care if you get the credit or someone else? Saves you a few bucks not having to pay me."

"I don't have the answers, Max," said Ray. "I'm just following orders. I'm a soldier like you."

"No. You're not."

Max dropped his forehead forward smashing Ray in the nose and cracking it. Ray screamed as blood gushed from his nose. The men holding Rogan tossed him back to the ground, but Max offered little resistance. He'd said his peace.

"All right, let's get moving," said the grizzled commander. Max couldn't help noting the amusement and laughter in his voice. Max knew he wasn't alone in despising the little twit.

The old soldier looked in Max's eyes. "You coming peacefully, or does anyone want to take a nap?"

"No," said Max giving a look to Harry and Lea. "We'll come quietly."

Max, Harry, Lea, and Eva were led outside and loaded into an air shuttle. Within ten minutes they were airborne and headed back east, though only the men with guns and the one with the bloody nose knew where.

Ray sat across from Max. Max stared at him enjoying the look of intimidation in Ray's eyes while he staunched the flow of blood from his broken nose as they flew into the dark night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Commander Bates here."

"Commander, our target has gone off the map again."

"You lost her?"

"Yes, we did."

"How?"

"The man, Rogan. We have learned that he learned our sister's identity and used that knowledge to lead us astray."

Bates removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Rogan was proving to be every bit the legend he had heard. "And we have no clue as to where they might have gone?"

"We know that Rogan took her to an identical hotel," said the strike force leader. "And we know that within a few hours of their arrival, they were kidnapped."

Bates looked up. "By whom?"

"We do not know," said the leader. "Professionals, though not with much stealth or finesse."

Great, Bates thought. Common mercenaries succeed where my genetically enhanced clones fail.

"They were taken from the site, a motel in Iowa, by sky-car. Our last check in with the target only revealed that she is in a room some place with another woman sleeping on cots for the night."

"Stay after her," said Bates. "I want you in her head at all times. See what she sees, hear what she hears, and the minute she gives her position away, you move."

The lead hesitated before responding. "Sir, what are plans for the other woman once we have them?"

"That's not your concern," said Bates.

"And our sister?" said the leader. "Will she be assimilated into a group, or will she, too, be turned into donor material?"

"Now where did you hear that?" said Bates.

"Our sister has shared much about her comrades and her own motives for flight. We know that she had a lover, and that lover was forcibly taken to be used as donor materials."

"May I remind you, that you are soldiers, and as such, your place is to follow orders and act--not to think or demand reasons why."

"I understand, sir," said the leader. "I merely wanted to

ask--"

"Follow orders and obey," said Bates. "That will be all."

"Roger," said the leader. "We will obey."

The line went dead.

Bates went to his bathroom and looked for some antacids. If it was a paramilitary team that took down Rogan, it could only mean one thing. This would have to go to the top. If it went any further, he wouldn't be the only man in jeopardy of losing his job--or worse, his freedom.

Rogan awoke in a large bed atop silken sheets and beneath a soft, clean, pleasantly colored mattress. He scanned the room and for a moment wondered if he had traveled back to the Victorian era given the fancy wall paper and the dark cherry wood furniture that filled the room. Light fell into the room through a thinly-curtained window to his right, and a large cherry door and frame were directly in front of him as he looked down toward his feet.

He was still wearing his clothes from the night before bringing both relief that no one had tried to undress him and disappointment that no one bothered to offer him a nice, fancy pair of pajamas to match the decor.

Sitting up, he did find a towel, washcloth, soap, shampoo, razor, shaving cream can, and stick of deodorant sitting neatly on top of an old but lovingly maintained chair. Beside the chair was a door leading to a private bath larger than most of the bathrooms he had encountered in his many years of life. Max shrugged, took it as a friendly gesture, and took his toiletries and linens into the bathroom where he enjoyed a very nice, very long shower.

Stepping out of the bathroom after his shower, Max found that his bed had been made and clean clothes, exactly his size, if not to his taste, were waiting for him right down to a new belt and shoes. Max left the shoes, preferring his old pair but was grateful for the change and the feel of clean clothes. He transferred his few personal possessions from one pair of pants to another. He found it quite surprising no one had relieved him of his phone, and he took a moment to take it apart to make sure it hadn't been tampered with before putting it away.

Soon as he was dressed, the door opened. The first thing Max saw was a bright red nose surrounded by white bandages and tape.

"Morning, Ray," said Max. "It is morning, isn't it?"

"For another twenty minutes, yes," said Ray. "I trust you slept well."

"Oh very well," said Max. "How's the honker healing?"

Ray ignored the comment. "Your friend Harry is waiting for you in the dining hall."

"Lead the way."

Ray held the door open for Max, who tried hard not to show how impressed he was with the size and scale of everything in the house. No doubt this was the home of Ray's benefactor, the money behind Second Adam. Oil paintings, gold-trimmed light fixtures, and cherry furniture were everywhere in the house. A polished cherry banister led them down the steps, and as Max would have guessed, he found Harry sitting at a cherry dining table large enough to seat twenty in the dining hall.

Harry was already half way done with his sandwich resembling some sort of roll with cold cuts.

"You got any burgers?" Max said to Ray as he reached the seat beside Harry. No sooner did he say it when a butler appeared through the swinging door of the kitchen with burgers and onion rings on a porcelain plate.

"Now that's good service," he quipped.

"We aim to please," said Ray. "Feel free to dive in as your friend has. The boss will be with you momentarily."

"Wait," said Max. "Where are the girls?"

If Ray heard him he gave no sign of it. He raced out the door without a look back.

Max turned to Harry. "Eva and Lea?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "I assumed they were with you."

Max shook his head. He couldn't sit because he was so nervous about the girls, but he was hungry. He grabbed the burger and took a quick bite. His chewing slowed as the juicy burger tapped into his taste buds forcing him to savor the taste.

"Wow," said Max. "That is good."

"Max, where the devil are we?" said Harry.

"Beats me, pal," said Max. "Were you asleep when we got here too?"

Harry shook his head. "I remember walking to a stairwell from the sky-car, going down, and being led to a room where I slept. Not much more."

"That's more than I got," said Max.

Max's phone began to buzz in his pocket. Max pulled it out.

"McKinley."

"Max, hey," said the voice on the other end. "You asked me about Second Adam the other day, and I said I'd look into it."

"You got something?"

"I do," said McKinley. "And it's not good. They're a front. They recruit college kids and believers in the cause to do the front-line work, rescuing shells from Better Day with the intent to liberate them in a safe colony. These do-gooders are recruited to do all the dirty work then they hand off the shells to another group of people who will take them to a safe colony. Only thing is, there is no colony. It's a total lie."

Max looked at Harry. "Now why am I not surprised?"

"It gets better," said McKinley. "Those shells you have with you, if you hand them over, they're going to be sold overseas. Basically a back door, black market for cloned organs and tissue."

Lea. Max's stomach dropped as he thought about the girl he had come to love being cut to pieces for someone else's selfish gain. "Is that all?"

"Oh I saved the best for last. Guess who's running the show at Second Adam? Just guess who the man behind the veil is?"

The doors at the end of the dining hall opened, and a man looking around 40 walked in smiling at Max and Harry. His face was younger than Max remembered from all those years ago, and Max had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

"It's your old pal," said McKinley, oblivious to what Max had just witnessed. "Sebastian Harwood."

"Yes," said Max. "I know."
CHAPTER TWENTY

For a very brief time in his self-imposed exile, Max had allowed himself to get involved with someone new. Her name was Candy Brach, and she was the owner of the Wild Pony, a saloon that Max called home for a short time as both bouncer and barfly. His affair with Candy was brief, but fiery, and it ended on a sour note when Candy's husband, whom she failed to ever mention, came home from overseas.

Six months later, while minding his own business, Max ran into Candy in a busy shopping mall a few days before Christmas. Even after the way she had hurt him, he felt a strange sense of excitement seeing her again. Here, after all, was a person who had meant so much to him and yet had inflicted so much pain on him. Their words were cordial, brief, and over not a moment too soon for each. He loved it; he hated it. It was, to that point, the most awkward, bizarre moment of his life

As awkward as that particular moment was, Max would have gladly re-lived it a hundred times over rather than experience the strange emotions that came flooding the moment Sebastian Harwood walked in the room.

The two men had not seen one another face to face since that fateful day when Max helped G2 pull back the veil on Harwood BioTech. While Max and his compatriots went underground, Harwood went on trial before the whole world. A sly trio of lawyers had kept him from going to prison, but the man walked away with nothing but the shirt on his back.

At least, that's what the word had been in the media. The house with its world-class amenities and the network of talented, trained associates he had amassed at Second Adam spoke of a man who was not merely wealthy, but filthy rich.

And then there was the little matter of the old man's physical appearance. Harwood didn't appear to have aged a day, despite the fact he should be well into his retirement years.

"Nice face," said Max, his first words to his former nemesis in decades.

"You look well yourself, Mr. Rogan," said Sebastian. "You seem to have hardly aged a day."

"You know my excuse," said Max. "What's yours?"

Harwood chuckled as he walked to the seat at the head of the table. "Come now, Mr. Rogan. You've met my new friend Harry here. Surely you can piece that together."

Max looked at Harry. He looked up at Harwood.

"Yes," said Harwood. "Another genetic breakthrough discovered by Harwood BioTech stolen by Better Day. We were just getting into beta testing when you went and ruined everything."

"Gee, I'm so sorry," said Max.

"Water under the bridge, my old friend." Sebastian Harwood sat down. A maid laid a napkin across his lap while another set his plate before him. Sebastian took a long, savoring sniff.

"Ever try a burger with guacamole?" he asked Max.

"Can't say that I have," said Max. "I don't care for avocado."

Sebastian chewed his first bite before going on. "Neither did I. Then they pop my mind in this new body, and I can't get enough of it. You know why?"

Max thought a moment. "The guy who was in there before you."

Sebastian grinned poking his fork at Max. "I asked about it. He loved the stuff. Now I love the stuff. I can't get enough of it!"

Harry leaned over toward Max. "You two know each other?"

Max nodded. "Harry, this is Sebastian Harwood, former suit-in-chief at Harwood BioTech."

"I used to be his boss," said Sebastian with a wicked smile.

"Sebastian and his colleagues invented the cloning for organ procedures that Better Day now uses to make its fortunes," added Max.

"Don't make it more than it was. We were lucky enough to be the first to pick the lock on Pandora's box, Harry," said Sebastian. "If it wasn't us, someone else would have done it. And I understand Jeff and his boys have taken things even further than we did. Those super-soldiers are something to watch, though I wonder if the telepathy is more of a hindrance than a boon."

"I agree," said Max. "A man who can think for himself is always more dangerous than the hive."

Harwood laughed. "So Rogan, do you want me to play super-villain? Or do you think you can tell me what's going on here?"

"I have a pretty good idea," said Max.

"Please," said Harwood. "Enlighten us."

"A man like you doesn't easily have a change of heart," said Max. "You believed and still believe that shells like Harry and myself were property and not humans. When you were stripped of the company you built and denied the opportunity to profit off your achievements, you founded Second Adam as a way to procure clones that you would sell on the black market. How am I doing?"

Harwood took a drink before he responded. "Correction, my friend. I didn't invent Second Adam. A bunch of do-gooder college kids started the group: poor and misguided students who couldn't stand the idea of humans selling what they saw as other humans. They had the drive but lacked the funding. That's where I stepped in and become their benefactor."

"So the kids never knew your true intentions."

"Never," said Harwood. "In fact, we're still recruiting true believers on college campuses. True believers recruiting true believers."

"And none of them has any idea where the shells go once they hand them over to you."

"A commune up in Canada," said Sebastian in an almost musical tone. "Haven't you heard?"

"And for the safety of those living there," said Max, "No one can ever go there and see them."

"It's a perfect cover, is it not?" said Sebastian.

"So how do I fit in?" asked Max.

Harwood chuckled. "It's an amusing tale, really. That boy, Ray, found you and suggested we recruit you. All his idea. At first I was firmly opposed, but when I realized how much fun it might be to send you on one last rite, well, I couldn't resist."

Max scowled, not at all amused by the old man in new skin laughing at his own plan.

"And then along came Harry," said Harwood, turning to Harry. "Rather a strange series of events brought you into the picture. One of our inside men was watching for the opportunity to send us a custom someone of value. He knew you were taking flying lessons, and he was simply waiting for the right opportunity to give you that little nudge. Unfortunately, the boy was so focused on the money I had promised him for bagging you, he didn't bother to learn who your travel companion was."

"Eva?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Harwood. "Not his fault, of course. Eva was listed as a donor shell, and as secret as they keep their super-soldiers, he had no way of knowing she was one of their rejects. We had no way to know whether she was a reject or a mole which is why we were in a rush to extract you."

"What do you mean, she was a reject?" asked Harry.

"Come now, surely you've noticed," said Harwood. "It's not as pronounced in her, but she's damaged goods. Synapses aren't all firing together. She can communicate telepathically, but the damage makes her a liability rather than an asset in the field. Our estimates say about one in three of their super-troops ends up with some form of brain damage."

Max was horrified. "You're joking."

"Wish I were," said Sebastian. "But it's a side effect of the gene treatments intended to give them the gift of telepathy. We experimented with it ourselves, but we decided it was impractical. Shells like Eva still have value as organ donors, but that's only a third of the value she'd have as a soldier."

"You talk about her like she's an investment," said Harry.

Harwood laughed. "She is, my boy. Aren't you getting this? You're all commodities. Surely you don't really think you're human. You were grown and developed in a test tube. There's nothing human about you."

Harry started to rise. Max caught his shoulder and pushed him down. Harwood laughed.

"Easy, friend, easy. The truth is, you're more valuable to me in your current state than your intended purpose. And I don't mean as an organ donor."

"What do you mean?" said Harry defiantly.

"I mean," said Harwood. "I'd like you to consider becoming Dr. Michael Chastaine, senior research director and vice president of the board of directors at Better Day."

"Is that who I am?" said Harry.

"No, no," said Harwood. "Of course not. You're Harry with no last name, nothing more. But the reality is that Harry No Last Name has value to a man like me. Value I am willing to pay for."

"I don't understand," said Harry.

Harwood smiled. "As Harry without a last name, you can pose as Dr. Chastaine, the man whose genes you carry. You can walk right into Better Day and help me to assume control of what should rightfully be mine."

"In other words," said Max, "You want Harry here to be your man inside."

"Of course," said Harwood. "We'll arrange an occasion to stage Dr. Chastaine's mind transfer operation. It'll look real, and no one will be any the wiser when we stop short of transferring his mind into yours."

Harry's face turned ashen. "So you let him die on the operating table, and I assume his identity."

"It wouldn't work any other way," said Harwood. "You take over his life--his home, his fortune, his job, and in exchange, well, like I said, you become my biggest fan and do everything in your power to turn over control of Better Day to me."

"And what if I refuse?" said Harry. "What then?'

"Well," said Harwood, "There is a reward for your return. I might send you back. Or if the price isn't right I can always chop you up for the overseas market like I will your lady friends."

Harry looked at Max. Max shrugged and took another bite.

"No clever quip, Rogan?" said Harwood, sounding disappointed.

Max shook his head. "Just appreciating how well you play the super-villain role."

"You think so?"

"It's a devious plan," said Max. "Though I'm not entirely sure how you arranged it all. I mean how did you arrange to have Harry sprung at the right time for me to pick him up and hand him to you?'

Harwood laughed. "Oh Max, that was just a coincidence. The truth is, I didn't care how many shells you picked up or delivered. I just wanted a chance to pay you back for all that you did for me. Send you out on one last mission and then scatter your parts out on the black market as far as the four winds will carry them."

Max said nothing, his face rigid as stone. There was no sense getting mad; it was what the deranged old man in young skin would have wanted. Max kept his cool. He had to keep calm and play along if he wanted Harwood to throw him into the proverbial briar patch.

"I believe Mr. Rogan is finished with his meal," said Harwood. "Take him to his new room."

"Do I get to go to the cold, dark dungeon now?" Max said, his eyes fixed on Harwood.

"I thought you might want to say goodbye to your lady friends, yes," said Harwood.

Max resisted the efforts of Harwood's servants just enough to look menacing but not enough to make Harwood feel he had to take extra precautions.

"What about Harry?'

Harwood looked at the other shell. "He can stay in the guest quarters until he gives me a decision."

Harry tried to answer. "I don't--"

"Don't make any snap decisions based on emotions, not that you have real emotions," said Harwood. "This is a golden opportunity for us both, and I won't let you answer until you've had time to think about it."

Max struggled a little more with the servants keeping up the act until he was down the hall enough that Harwood could no longer see him. He loosened up and kept pace with his escorts.

"That's the way," said one of them reassuringly. "Go along quiet, nobody gets hurt."

Max smiled knowing full well he could over power both the men with little trouble. But that wouldn't get him where he wanted to go. Harwood was playing into his hands, and Max had an ace up his sleeve.

The men led Max toward the cellar where they frisked him and confiscated his cell phone. They unlocked and opened a heavy, wooden door and tossed Max inside.

"Max!" Lea leapt off her cot and threw her arms around Max.

Max held her tight. "Hey, kid, miss me?" Lea leaned upwards for a kiss.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Mad man central," said Max. He looked around the room. It was an old wine cellar lined on all sides by a stonewall and sealed by the heavy door that had been shut and locked behind him. Two cots with thin sheets were the only furnishings. Eva lay on the second cot, curled up in a ball her eyes open and staring into nothingness.

Max cast a glance back at the door. Satisfied no one could hear or see inside, he knelt down beside Eva.

"Sit up, Eva," he said gently. "I need your help."

Eva turned her eyes to Max. Lea leaned in behind him.

"What are you going to do?"

"Calling in the cavalry," said Max. He looked into Eva's eyes. "Tell your girls we're in Sebastian Harwood's mansion. And tell them to come get us."

Eva sat up. "Now?"

"Right now," said Max.

Lea shoved Max. "Are you crazy? You're going to take us out of one prison and throw us back in another. You can't let her do this!"

"Too late," said Eva, a glassy look in her eye. "They know."
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"How do we know we can trust you?"

Eva stood in the room where she had first met her sisters, a room that existed only between their collective minds. She stood before seven super-soldiers each one identical to her, who spoke in unison as they stared down at her. Their eyes were cold; their tone was much more hostile than before.

"You have tricked us before."

"This is no trick."

"How do we know this isn't a trap?"

"You don't," said Eva. "You only have my word that Max wants you to come."

"Why would he want us to find him?"

"If you do not, Mr. Harwood will sell me and the girl on the black market," she said. "We will be gone, and there will be no finding us."

"But we are only coming to take you back to Better Day," they said. "You will meet the same fate."

"Max believes you will see things differently after you speak to him."

Eva could hear the whispers as the soldier women looked at one another and conferred. They turned back to her and spoke again.

"Very well. We will come. And we will give Rogan his chance to speak."

"I will tell him you are on the way."

Once the link with Eva ended, a unanimous decision was made not to contact their commander. Instead, they reached out to call in the other strike team searching with finding Eva as back up. Despite Eva's assurances, they simply did not trust Rogan. He had overcome them twice already and all were agreed the more fire power they could bring to the mission the better. They might not get Rogan, but they stood a better chance of getting out alive with backup waiting in the wings.

Harwood's estate was not difficult to locate. Within hours, the joint strike team had assembled and formulated their plan of attack. As night began to call on Harwood's Rhode Island estate, fourteen commandos began to move into place around the perimeter.

Harwood was no fool, and his house was well fortified. The paranoid former exec called in additional security for the evening to watch over the grounds. The old man was confident that if he kept Eva in the dark, he wouldn't have any intruders. But with Max Rogan under his roof, he was taking no chances.

"Sisters?"

"We are here," the collective replied. "Where will we find you?"

"We are locked in a storage room in the cellar. The fourth is somewhere in the house in a guest room."

"Thank you."

"Rogan has a request," Eva went on. "He wants as little loss of life as possible."

"That may not be possible," said the others. "There are many men outside. It's going to get ugly."

"A little as possible," Eva repeated. "And this is very important: he wants Sebastian Harwood alive."

"If he'll let us take him," said the others, "It will be so."

After lunch, Harry was given leave to wander the house as he pondered his decision. Harwood was confident that given a chance to take in all that life as a wealthy scientist had to offer, Harry would gratefully accept his proposal.

Harry, on the other hand, took advantage of the opportunity by availing himself of the grand library and its nearly three thousand books on the ground floor. For several hours, he completely lost himself in a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, a story that utterly confounded him with its heroic themes and the climactic sacrifice by one of the story's heroes.

From the moment Dr. Sherman revealed the secret of his identity, Harry had wanted nothing more than to live his own life, and not die for someone else. The idea that anyone would willingly die to save another was strange and confusing. Was this something that actually happened? Were there people who would actually surrender their lives for another?

Harry had seen glimmers of selflessness and nobility in Max, and Lea had told him and Eva the story of his self-sacrifice in Savannah. But hadn't that sacrifice, at the time, been just as much about Max's personal profit? Beyond that, Harry had seen very little to convince him that there was anything in mankind that would make him capable of willfully committing the ultimate sacrifice.

Harry owed his own existence to an act of supreme selfishness. This doctor, brilliant though he might have been, either didn't know or didn't care that he, the man known as Harry, was a human being with thoughts, feelings, emotions, and yes, probably a soul, the same as he. Harry was convinced there was nothing in natural-born man that was not also in him--including Harry's desire to live and escape his fate as a second body for another man.

He had given serious thought to Harwood's proposal, and at first, he was ready to accept. Why shouldn't he? He didn't care if the doctor died. He had it coming. And given the chance, he'd do the same to Harry--snuffing out his existence in order to prolong his own. Yet, after reading the tale of Dickens, Harry questioned whether he had the conscience, or lack thereof, to live with such a choice?

No, the man would not die by Harry's hands. But Harry would be an accessory to a crime that might never be uncovered, much less solved. Could he take such a secret, such a burden, to his grave? He doubted that very much.

Harry was in that place between awake and asleep when Harwood walked into the library just short of nine o'clock. "You know, you do have a bedroom at your disposal," said Sebastian. "Not that you can't sleep in here. I've done it many times myself."

"I suppose I should go to bed," said Harry, standing up.

Harwood nodded. "Have you had a chance to decide on my offer?"

Harry turned and put the book back on the shelf. "I have not."

"But you have considered it."

"I've considered a lot the last few hours," said Harry. "Like the fact that if I choose to accept your proposal, I become an accessory to murder of, what would you call it? A real human?"

"But only humans can be help culpable for a crime such as murder."

Harry nodded. "To you I may not be human. But I know without a doubt I am as human as you and capable of evil just as any other man."

"You realize the alternative," said Harwood, "Is for me to hand you over, to have you destroyed, and have that real human that has you so worried inhabit your body. I can assure you, I have no moral quandaries about seeing you die."

"I know that," said Harry. "But if I die in that circumstance, I die with a clear conscience."

Harwood laughed. "Conscience? You really think you have a soul in that body?"

"If there's a soul in you, there's a soul in me," said Harry.

"You're a shell," said Harwood. "You're not human. You do not have a soul. Whether I have a soul or not is not for me to say. I'm a man of science, and I don't believe in such things. But even if I were the creation of some god, gifted with a soul, you still wouldn't be human because you were created in a lab by man."

Harwood stood and walked to the window overlooking the grounds of his estate. "It's almost biblical, isn't it? I created the technology that gave you what you call life. And now, I'm the one offering you a chance to truly live life. And all you need to do is say yes."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I can. It's not my life to live."

Harwood stood milking the moment for all it was worth sighing heavily to express his disappointment. Things were not going his way--though Harwood had a few tricks up his sleeve.

"You make me sad," said Harwood. "I had a feeling we were going to be life-long friends."

"Conspirators is a better term," said Harry.

"Call it what you will. You may sleep in your room this evening. And in the morning, we'll discuss your decision one more time. Once you've had your final say I'll -- What the devil are you doing?"

As Harwood spoke Harry began to step back from him inching toward the bookshelf his eyes aimed out the large window. Harwood turned just in time to see the first commando break through tackling and pinning him to the ground. Two more women were on him a split second later zipping his feet and hands together with plastic ties and gagging the man's mouth.

The first soldier looked up at Harry and removed her mask. She was identical in every way to Eva.

"You're Harry."

Harry nodded.

"We need your help. Can you point us to the cellar?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't been there."

She turned to the other commandos, who raced in tandem through the door.

"How did you find us?" asked Harry.

"Your friend, Rogan," said the woman. "He told Eva where we could find you."

"Max called you?" Harry shook his head. "Why?"

Behind Harwood and the woman, Max saw more soldiers pushing members of Harwood's security team, gagged and tied, toward the window.

The woman looked at Harry. "That's what we're about to find out."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

When Eva sat up and saw the two women break through the door, Max immediately flashed back to that day in the basement of a church when he saw his own face on another man. It was the moment he met McKinley, the mastermind behind G2, and the moment he learned that his entire life had been a lie. He, too, was a clone, a creation of mankind for its own self-centered purposes. He could imagine the same feelings flooding through Eva's mind as she met her sisters for the first time.

"You are Rogan?" said the first woman. She and her companion had their weapons trained on him.

"I am," said Max.

The women looked at each other. Max could almost hear the whispers bouncing between their minds and the others present in the building. A look of confusion crossed their faces.

They looked at Max. "All of you, come with us."

The women led Max, Lea, and Eva down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the first floor. They led the captives into the library where Harry and the other soldiers were waiting. Daughtry and his men had been cleared out, taken to the kitchen, but Harwood remained.

Lea saw the puzzled faces of Eva's sisters all gazing at Max. "What's going on?" Lea whispered.

"If my guess is right," said Max, "Eva's not the only one in the room who recognizes a familiar face."

"You are observant, Max Rogan," said the woman who initially broke through to the library. "Your face is familiar. It is the face of our commanding officer, Commander Bates."

Max smiled and nodded. "Then you know what he must be," said Max, "And what I am."

"You are shells."

"We are," said Max. "Two generations removed from yours, but made from the same cloth. We were made to serve, made to kill."

"And yet," said the woman. "You ordered us not to kill even after you killed our sisters."

"An act I regret," said Max. "But one that was unavoidable, given the circumstances. Your sisters opened on us with live fire. I acted in self-defense not knowing who was attacking us or why."

"You did what was necessary to preserve the lives in your care," said the woman.

Max nodded. "After that, I did what I could to preserve yours as well. I could easily have set a more deadly trap in that hotel. I think you know that."

"Given the aggressiveness you showed at the airport, we were puzzled by the lack of deadly force employed at the motel," said the woman.

"I can choose to kill or not to kill. I could have chosen to serve my masters blindly. But when presented with the facts of my humanity, I chose to defy them, to fight for what is right."

"But you were made to serve mankind," said the woman. "To obey."

"I was made to serve Harwood BioTech," said Max. "Actually, I was made to serve military command just as you were. But I was kept in the employ of my creator and made to serve their cause just as your makers have employed you to hunt these people down."

"They are shells," said the woman, "They are property of Better Day Laboratories."

"They are humans," said Max. "With the free will and the soul to choose their own destiny. It's a choice each and every one of you have even though you share one mind."

"Who are we to decide what is right?" said the woman.

"You have names, don't you?"

The women exchanged a look. Their leader spoke for herself. "I am Rachel."

"You are Rachel," said Max. "That's what gives you the right to decide. You are not a number. None of you are a number. You are human beings, and you have the right to choose your own future."

The women exchanged another look discussing silently among themselves. "Define our choice," said Rachel, "So that we may consider it."

"Here's the situation," said Max. "You all are products of the same system that created my friends here. Lea, Eva, and Harry, they were all made for distinct purposes by men who claim to serve the greater good, even though their actions are greedy and immoral."

"Morality is a subjective proposition," said Rachel.

"If you don't believe in a higher power than man, then yes, morality is completely subjective," said Max. "But even then, there are certain things you must accept as true. You have to accept you have the same number of chromosomes as a natural man. You have to accept that other than the circumstances of your birth, there is no difference between you and the humans you were made to serve. You have to accept that if one human life has value, every human life has value regardless of how that life began."

The women were silent a long moment before Rachel spoke again. "Even if we accept your proposition, who are we to disagree with the purpose assigned to us by our makers?"

"As human beings," said Max, "Equals in nature to the ones who created you, you have an obligation to question the motives of those around you. I can tell you from experience there are not many good people in this world. There is an evil in all of us. Some call it a sin nature. And unless it is countered by a higher moral standard, there is no taming it."

"The men who created you know they are creating human beings. They call us shells, but in their minds, they know we are as human as they are. They also know that the moment we realize this, they are finished. The man you captured, Harwood, learned this. The man who created you, the man who founded Better Day, ignored the hard lessons he learned. When men ignore history, they repeat it."

"And now," said Rachel, "You wish to repeat your own history and destroy our maker."

Max shook his head. "I only want to explain to you why I am here and why they are here." Max put his arm around Lea. "There is nothing more noble than one person laying down their life to save another. It's rare, but it still happens. But if Lea here wants to die for someone, that should be her choice, not the choice of some business man or doctor."

Harry perked up at this comment curious that Max would broach the issue of self-sacrifice after his afternoon of introspection. Perhaps they'd have a chance to talk more on the matter if the super-soldiers agreed to Max's plan.

"What do you propose?" said Rachel.

"You have three options," said Max. "You can side with your makers, take my friends back to Better Day, and complete your mission. Or, you can walk away, pretend you never found us, vanish and make new lives for yourselves. I have friends from the last time this happened who would be more than happy to help you all disappear and start over."

Rachel maintained a poker face as another short silence passed. "What's the third option?"

"We team up," said Max. "And you help me repeat history."

Another moment of silence. Then, slowly, a smile crept across fifteen identical faces including Eva's.

"They're in," said Eva.

"We are," said Rachel. "But we want to know your plan before we commit. We are assuming you have one."

"Oh buddy," said Max. "Do I ever."

Lea turned to him. "Really?"

"Oh yes," said Max. "But if the plan's going to work, we're going to need one more person. Rachel, would your comrades mind bringing Mr. Harwood back in the room, please?"

Two women peeled off from the group and walked toward the open door leading to the rest of the house. Lea prodded Max.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "He's never going to help us."

"He will," said Max. "Because we're going to cut him a deal."
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Jeff Grey struggled to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He was tired of this cloak and dagger stuff. It was getting old, and it was holding him back from the work he loved in the lab. He saw no reason for the secret videoconferences Bates had insisted upon almost every night--especially on the nights when it was Jeff's turn to get up with the baby for the 2 AM bottle.

On schedule, prompt as any military type Jeff had ever known, Bates was online.

"Good morning, Doc," said Bates.

"Please tell me you have them," pleaded Jeff.

"No, sir, we do not." It annoyed Jeff all the more that Bates seemed as alert at 1 AM as any time during the day. Perhaps that was bred into him when he came out of the Harwood BioTech labs?

"My two search teams last reported in at noon. They were in transit to the East Coast, but they gave no indication where. There's been no word in the last thirteen hours."

Jeff clenched his teeth. "You kept me up to tell me there's nothing new to report."

Bates looked off camera nervously. "Actually, sir, there is. But this falls under Mr. Mills' jurisdiction. If you please, Mr. Mills."

A second later, Ben Mills took Bates' place in front of the camera looking as if the security chief shanghaied him into this position.

"Sir," said Ben, "We received a call this evening from someone attempting to collect on the reward."

"Reward for what?" asked Jeff.

"For the recovery of a shell."

A still image flashed on camera. There was Harry, holding the current day's New York Times, proof that Harry was alive and in someone's care--or custody.

"That's Dr. Chastaine's shell, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," said Ben. "The gentleman said he found the shell, and he's asking for a reward to hand him over."

"Do we know who it is?"

It was Mills turn to look off, nervously.

"Ben, who is it?"

Mills shrugged looking into the camera. "Sir, it's Sebastian Harwood."

Jeff sat back, a sudden flush of heartburn hitting his chest. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Mills. "We traced the call and confirmed its origin."

"What does he want?" asked Jeff very wary of this turn of events.

"He wants to meet with us and collect the reward in person."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Good idea or no, he's forced the issue," said Mills. "Harwood is on his way here. He plans to be at our facility at 7 AM."

Jeff rubbed his eyes. "Do I need to be there, or can you handle it?"

Mills smiled awkwardly again. Jeff knew the answer before Mills could fumble the words out.

"Fine, I'll be there."

"I'm sorry, Jeff," said Mills. "He specifically asked to see you."

"What for?" Jeff snorted.

"He didn't say," said Mills. "It doesn't make sense. We know he's extracting our property to sell on the black market. Perhaps he feels Dr. Chastaine's shell is worth more to us than he would be cut up."

"Of course he is!" said Jeff. "But that's no reason for the viper to stick his neck out. Bates, are you there?"

Mills ducked out of the camera's view as fast as he could making room for Bates. "Yes, sir?"

"Can you get our soldiers back in the next six hours," said Jeff. "I'd like to have them on hand when Mr. Harwood arrives."

"Yes, sir."

"I want them here and on duty by seven in the morning," said Jeff. "They've obviously failed at bringing Dr. Chastaine's shell. They can redeem themselves."

"I'll make the call, sir," said Bates.

Ten minutes later, Rachel made her way into the military-grade air ship's cargo hold where Harwood's BMW sat alongside Harwood, Rogan, Harry, Eva, and Lea. Max stood up and stepped into the forward passenger cabin.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We just got a call," said Rachel. "Bates has recalled us to headquarters to do security duty for Mr. Harwood's visit."

Max looked up and grinned. "Excellent. We'll drop Harwood and Harry off at the first stop as planned and then proceed directly to our stop. Harwood and Harry will roll in at 7 AM. I'll tell McKinley to have his ships ready to land by quarter after."

"We will be ready," said Rachel.

Max clapped her on the shoulder. "Thank you, Rachel."

Rachel smiled, which was the first time he had seen her do so. He returned her smile and turned toward the back of the vehicle where three anxious shells and Sebastian Harwood were waiting for him.

"Are we ready?" asked Harry.

"We are," said Max. "By eight o'clock, we'll expose Better Day to the whole world."

"You're not going to try the hidden camera trick, are you?"

Max laughed. "I suspect they'll be watching for that after we pulled it on you."

"I would hope so," said Harwood.

"No, no cameras. We have something different planned this time around."

Harwood rolled his eyes. "I can hardly wait."

Max patted Harwood on the shoulder. "Relax, buddy. This is your get out of jail free card. Think of the headlines. 'Repentant former exec takes down bloody regime that replaced him.' You'll be a hero to mankind."

Lea giggled. Harry, with a lot on his mind, sat silently.

Eva was next to break the awkward silence. "What's the matter with me?"

Max looked at her. "Nothing."

"There must be something," she said. "Or else I'd have been trained as my sisters were. Right?"

Max shrugged. "Far as I can see, there's nothing wrong at all."

Harwood chuckled. "Come on, Max. Tell her the truth."

Max shook his head. "I told her all she needs to know."

Eva turned to Harwood. "Okay, what's wrong with me?"

"Precisely?" Harwood said. "I'm no scientist, so I couldn't say. But clearly, you were defective in some way that made you unfit for soldiering."

"What would make me unfit?"

Harwood shrugged. "Brain damage, a bad heart, poor reflexes. Could be anything."

"That's enough," said Max.

"Whatever it is, you were deemed far more valuable as a common shell, an organ donor, than a military weapon. It must be significant."

"That's enough!" shouted Max. He looked at Eva and saw the damage had already been done. Her head was in her knees as she balled up on her seat. He could hear her sobbing.

Sebastian Harwood gave Max a satisfied smirk before tilting his head back and closed his eyes to sleep. Max thought how easy it would be to crush his trachea. But no, they needed him. As much as Harwood hated being in this situation, Max was certain he hated it more.

Just after five in the morning, the air ships touched down a mere forty miles from Better Day' world headquarters, now home to the world's largest "warehouse" for shells. One of Rachel's team members backed Harwood's car out of the ship. The cranky old man in a young man's body stretched and rubbed his eyes. Max sent one of the troops down the road for some coffee for all of them.

Sitting on the edge of the airship's loading bay, Max went over the plan once more with Rachel and Harry, keeping Sebastian at bay. Max did not trust him with any more information than the old man needed to know. Despite the opportunity Max had provided him to clear his name and be a hero, Max did not trust Harwood. He did, however, have confidence enough in Rachel's team and McKinley to pull this off, even if Harwood betrayed them.

The conference broke up, and the soldiers began final preparations for their mission. The coffee arrived, and Max served a hot cup to Harwood.

"Too early for me," said Sebastian.

"You've got a bit of a drive ahead," said Max. "We need you fully alert."

Harwood took a sip of the coffee and winced. It wasn't bad coffee, unless of course you were used to the $100 a bag bean that Harwood was accustomed to.

"You really think you can pull this off?" said Harwood. "You were as much lucky as you were good last time."

"Better Day won't be looking for me once you walk through the door," said Max. "They'll know something's up, but I imagine they know what you do with their property."

Harwood shrugged. "Guess we'll see."

"We will."

Max spotted Harry sitting alone on the curb. He walked over and sat next to the man he had come to see as a friend.

"You ready for this?"

Harry nodded.

"You know what you have to do?"

Another nod. "It's a good plan. I believe in it."

"You're the one who will be in the most danger if Harwood betrays us," said Max. "You understand that, right?"

Harry sighed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You said something earlier," said Harry. "About how the greatest act of love someone can commit is dying for a friend."

"Yes."

"Do you believe that?"

Max thought for a moment. "I used to. Now that I think about it, I think I still do."

"You seem uncertain."

Max nodded. "It's a verse from the Bible. 'Greater love has no man than this: that he would lay down his life for a friend.' Jesus said those words the night he was betrayed an arrested. A day later, if you believe the story, Jesus died for the whole world."

Harry nodded. "That's why it sounded so familiar."

"You know much of the Bible?"

"Sure," said Harry. "I read it through a few years back. Pretty confounding book."

Max grinned nodding. "It is."

"Is it true, though?" said Harry. "The Bible. The Gospels. Is it a true story?"

"Like I said, I used to."

"And now?"

Max sighed and set his coffee down. "Angela was the one who taught me about the Bible. She even led me to become a Christian. She believed in the Word of God with all her heart. She would have gladly given her life for anyone, not just a friend but a stranger, if she felt it was right. But then one day, with very little warning or fanfare, she was hit by a car. She didn't die saving someone, nor even by doing anything for the cause. She went at night on a grocery errand, and some drunk driver ran her over. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

Max nodded. "I was pretty upset when it happened. And I took it out on God. I didn't openly renounce my faith, but I haven't spoken to the Lord since."

Max sipped his coffee, pondering. "I was always prepared to lose her. As dedicated as she was to the cause, I knew a day would come when she wouldn't come back. I was prepared to see her go if it was for what she believed. We were both prepared if something happened to either of us. But to lose her like that..." He paused, forcing back the emotion that had torn him apart for years. "To see her walk out the door, and then to see her mangled, lifeless body lying in the street because of some stupid drunk...It just wasn't right."

"Max, I'm not an expert on this at all," said Harry. "But maybe her stepping in front of that car saved someone else."

"Maybe," Max insisted. "But she had so much work still to do. She could have done more."

"She changed your life, right?" said Harry. "Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was her purpose."

"If she could see me now, I think she'd be disappointed," said Max. " Who am I to take her place? She was the strong one. Not me. After it happened, all I could think about was how I would gladly have traded my life for hers."

"And I'm sure she would have traded hers had the same thing happened to you," said Harry. "It's not up to us when we go. If one of us goes today, it will be someone greater than us who makes the call."

Max looked at Harry and laughed. "You sound like you're a believer."

Harry shrugged. "I certainly see the nobility in dying for someone you love, even if I haven't seen it in real life. But the one thing that perplexes me most is dying for someone you don't know. Or worse, someone who curses you."

Max followed Harry's gaze to the shadowy figure of Sebastian Harwood. "I couldn't have done it," said Harry. "I couldn't have given the order to take him alive. He doesn't deserve it."

"No," said Max. "But like you said, it's not for us to decide."

Rachel walked up to Max and Harry as he finished his thought. "We're ready."

"Good," said Max. "Let's mount up and head out."

Max and Harry stood as Rachel walked away, her team following orders without an audible word spoken.

"See you on the other side," said Max.

"We'll talk more when it's over," said Harry.

Max shook Harry's hand. "Count on it."
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Six AM. Rachel and her crew arrived on site at Better Day' corporate headquarters, secret home to the largest cloning facility now operating in the world. The sight of fourteen women, beautiful but deadly, moving silently into the building and took the regular security team by surprise. The men on duty knew very little about the super-soldiers, all of whom were trained at a separate facility in Colorado. But it was clear from the cold, calculated look in their eyes, these were not ordinary women--and not women to trifle with. Beautiful as the women were, there was not a man on the security force with the courage to ask one for a drink after work.

Aaron Bates was on hand to greet them as they approached the command room, a twenty-by-twenty room filled with video monitors carrying feeds from cameras in and out of the facility. Rachel gave a half-smile as they shook hands.

"Commander," said Bates.

"Commander," Rachel replied.

"I trust you had a safe journey."

"Nothing to report," said Rachel. "What is the mission?"

"Only security," said Bates. "Dr. Grey is meeting with a very dangerous man this morning. We're certain he's up to something, and we need your team to make sure that "something" doesn't happen."

"Do you suspect a breach or an assault?"

"No," said Bates. "Not his way. But as I said, this man is a threat to Better Day. If anything happens, it could be very bad for us."

"You need not worry, Commander," said Rachel, another smile creeping across her face. "We are here, and we will not fail."

She saluted. Bates saluted back. He introduced Rachel to the shift leader, who would be staying past seven with his crew. After a brief conference, the soldiers silently fanned out to take their assigned posts with Rachel remaining in the control room. Satisfied his facility was secure, Bates departed for the front offices to join Mills and Grey.

Rachel then sent a message to Eva fifteen miles away in a shopping center parking lot with Lea and Max.

"They're in."

Max picked up his phone and called Harwood. "All good, Sebastian. Make me proud."

The wind whipped up around them. Lea and Eva looked up to see headlights shining down on them and a faint humming sound coming from the light source. Lea curled up beside Max, who put his arm around her.

"It's just my friends," he said reassuringly.

Eight sky freighters, each one with the capacity to load and lift at least fifty people, descended on the lot touching down a short distance away. As soon as all eight were on the ground and powered down, the rear cargo hatch opened.

Lea gasped. A man identical to Max stepped out of the cargo bay and walked up to Max.

"Long time," said McKinley.

"Yes," said Max, shaking his duplicate's hand. "Too long."

McKinley smiled. "We've missed you, pal."

Max shrugged. "I can't say I always felt the same. But it's good to see you."

Harry sat silently in the back of Harwood's car, a plastic zip-tie binding his wrists. Though he'd never admit it, he feared Harwood betraying them, turning him over, and blowing the cover off the operation. Harry was puzzled why Max would ever trust a man who had taken so many lives without batting an eye.

If Harry had the ability to read minds, however, he would have known he had nothing to fear from Harwood.

Much as he hated being forced into Rogan's game, Sebastian Harwood found a sadistic pleasure in the evening's machinations. Yes, he was killing the only cash cow he had at the present moment, but he was also cutting the head off the beast that had stolen what was rightfully. Maybe he would come out a hero. He was okay if he didn't. Taking down the man who had stolen his baby would be reward enough.

The headlights of the BMW illuminated the guard gate. Harwood eased down on the brake and pulled out his ID. Harry smiled when he saw a familiar face lean in toward the window.

"Hello," said Harwood in a cheerful tone. "Haven't I seen you some where before?"

Eva's identical sister smiled. "You're on camera. Show me your ID."

Harwood groaned and showed the woman his identification. She played the part stepping back into the booth and checking the logbook before handing the ID back.

"Dr. Grey is expecting you," she said to Harwood. To Harry, she turned and said, "Eva wishes you luck."

"Thank you," said Harry.

She gave him a pleasant smile as she stepped back into the booth. The gate opened, and Harwood pressed on into the compound. It was a sharp contrast to the stolid, severe buildings erected decades before by Harwood BioTech. The lawn out front was well manicured, with neatly trimmed bushes along the drive and majestic trees towering over the friendly, wood-trimmed exterior of the building. It looked less like the corporate headquarters of a major player in the genetics industry and more like a friendly resort deep in the American woods. It was the new trend in architecture for cutting edge corporations. Harwood hated it almost as much as he hated the company within.

Another of Eva's sisters stood at the top of the circular drive that led up to the front doors. She directed Harwood to a visitor parking space and stood by as Harwood and Harry climbed out of the car. The men followed the woman up to the doors of the house where another soldier took them under her charge.

They were led into a vast lobby with polished wood paneling trimmed by solid wooden logs as large as eighteen inches in diameter. Again, not the kind of accommodations one expected in a genetics company, but a fitting interior to compliment the exterior. The woman led them through a set of double doors that opened on a hall less opulent, but still warm and inviting. The walls were a light shade of mocha, and the floor was solid wood.

"Makes you feel all cozy, doesn't it?" Harwood whispered to Harry. Harry noticed the man was clearly nervous keeping his eyes on their guide. He was used to being in command around shells and not at all used to being under their care. Past experience gave him good reason to fear. How many of her kind had he created, imprisoned, and harvested over the years? Much as he had begun to see how similar shells were to humans, he still couldn't think of them as having the capacity to "die."

At the end of the hall, another set of double doors stood open. Harwood and Harry stepped inside. There was a stone fireplace along one wall and a long, polished wooden table ran the length of the room. The walls were the same warm color of mocha as the hallway outside and the floors the same pattern of wood.

Three men sat at the table--one of them identical to Max Rogan. Sebastian swallowed hard trying to keep his emotions in check.

The man who looked like Rogan stood. "Mr. Harwood," he began, "I'm Aaron Bates, chief of security. Would you both mind spreading your arms and legs so I can scan you for bugs?"

Harwood nodded and complied, his heart racing. There was no need for a body scan; Max had suspected they would be looking for something, and he wisely decided not to try anything. He had a plan for exposing Better Day, but he would not repeat the same tactics as before. Bates scanned Harwood finding nothing electronic except his phone. Bates removed the battery and set the phone on the table. He then cut Harry's binds and gave him the same sweep, again finding nothing. Both men were then offered chairs.

"Mr. Harwood, I'd like you to meet Ben Mills," said Bates.

"Good morning," Harwood said to the second man.

"And I presume you know our fearless leader?"

Harwood stood and offered his hand to Dr. Grey who took it nervously.

"A great pleasure, doctor," said Harwood.

"Mr. Harwood," said Jeff. "Thanks for coming. And thanks for bringing our friend back."

"My pleasure," said Harwood. "Of course, in exchange for this act of good faith, I'd like to get a little something in exchange."

"Money," said Jeff.

"I think a little compensation is in order, don't you?"

"I'm not so sure," said Mills. "We know you're the money behind Second Adam. We also know the true purpose of Second Adam, and we know you've turned a tidy profit putting our stolen property on the black market. You've cost us a great deal, not only in stolen merchandise, but the fees we've had to pay when necessary to recover certain properties through third parties."

"Have you now," Harwood was genuinely surprised, and amused, by this bit of information.

"I'd say you've been more than compensated for your act of 'good faith' already," Mills added.

Harwood leaned in confidently. "What if I told you I could get you the other two shells? And Max Rogan to boot? What would you say to that?"

Jeff and his partners exchanged looks. Bates gave a nod. So did Mills.

"I'm listening," said Jeff.

Outside in the hall, the word went out to all the commandos that the meeting had begun. A few short miles away, Eva relayed the message.

"It's time," she said.

Max turned to McKinley and gave a thumbs up. McKinley got on the radio. "Ladies and gents, we are a go. Move in, and God protect us all!"
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Denny Mahoney was not happy having to work past 7 AM. Denny was not happy with his job anyway. This was not a new phenomenon; he was usually miserable no matter what job he worked. He lived for quitting time and getting out of the stiff, binding, ill-fitted uniform that he had to wear all night.

Tonight he was doubly eager to get home thanks to his 2 AM tacos from El Sombrero. The all night taco truck right up the street was hugely popular, and the tacos were to die for. But as with every good thing, the tacos came at a steep price, a price the boys on the Better Day security team referred to as Sombrero's Revenge.

If only he had known they would be staying long! Denny would have skipped the tacos and eaten a hot dog from the gas station down the street. The decision was made while Denny was away, and by then it was too late. Already on probation with Commander Bates, Denny dared not ask for special permission to leave. And promptly at 6:15, the revenge began.

He had already been twice when the call of nature beckoned him at 7:15 which is why Denny was not at his post when the super-soldiers who had joined them shortly before his first "run" took down the other nineteen men in the security detail.

Moving as one, the super-soldiers took the regulars from behind subduing them and then disarming them at every post simultaneously. Three of the genetically superior fighters took two at once, and only one of the three had any trouble taking down her second victim. Nineteen men were bound, gagged, and stashed in the security office by the time Denny emerged from the restroom in the administrative and accounting wing.

Slacker that he was, it would be a while before he noticed he was the only one left in the wing.

At the moment Denny stepped out of the restroom, the first of the sky freighters touched down in the back lot. Rachel and her crew led the first of the shells, puzzled and half asleep, out of the back doors just a few minutes after the freighter landed. Three more freighters landed and began boarding passengers while the other four remained airborne with the back lot already full.

Most of the shells were a bit groggy having been roused from their sleep for this unplanned rescue. It made the loading process run a bit slow, but as McKinley pointed out, it also kept anyone from raising any unnecessary alarms within the complex. They would be far from the complex before most of them knew what was happening.

Max, McKinley, Lea, and Eva assisted the other G2 volunteers in boarding passengers, man and woman, boy and girl, even a few infants. Lea was surprised to see several faces in the crowd identical to hers, and others identical to the companions she lost on an air strip in New Jersey. It was a woman identical to Becky who stopped to talk to Lea on her way inside the air ship.

"Where are you taking us?"

Lea smiled. "Some place you'll be free," she said.

The woman nodded. "I don't know what that means but as long as I can sleep on the way..."

"Sleep as long as you like."

Becky's identical sister went inside. She was so much like Becky, and yet, just in their brief exchange, Lea could tell she was different from her old friend.

Max saw the look in Lea's eyes a bit damp with tears. "Looks familiar, doesn't she?"

Lea shook her head. "No," she said. "Not at all."

Lea spotted another familiar face--her own, though a bit younger--on another passenger that brushed past her onto the ship. The younger shell gave Lea a glance and a pleasant smile--the kind Lea hardly ever cracked in her short life.

"It's incredible how different we all are," Lea said to Max.

"That's true," he said back.

Bates scowled across the table at Harry, who could feel the distrustful eyes peeling him apart layer by layer. Harry kept his breathing steady trying not to give himself away. He reminded himself it was okay to appear nervous. He was here against his will; that was the story. It didn't make him any less afraid.

Harwood on the other hand seemed liked a man in his element as he spun his carefully prepared tale to the men on the other side of the table.

"Naturally, once I was able to locate Mr. Rogan, I couldn't resist pulling him into my little game of cat and mouse," said Sebastian. "He never suspected the man funding his little rescue mission was the man who had given him life. Ironic when you think about it because the man was floundering working as a bar bouncer when I found him again. He took my life away, and I gave a new life."

"And now you're prepared to give him to us?" asked Dr. Grey.

"He's old, he's a bit worn, but there are good parts in him," said Harwood. "The super-soldier model was built for endurance. But I don't have to tell you that. You have the original specs."

"We improved on them," Dr. Grey said sharply.

"And yet my soldier bested yours at every turn."

Dr. Grey exchanged glances with his colleagues. Harwood smiled.

"Believe me, I don't condone murder," said Harwood. "And given that he is a shell, it's not really murder per se. But even if there's not a viable tissue left inside him, I think we can all agree we are better off if Rogan is out of the picture."

Mills leaned over to his boss. "He makes a valid point. If Rogan's back in it, he's too dangerous to let him be."

Jeff Grey sighed not willing to openly admit his lieutenant was right on this point. Not in front of a barbarian like Sebastian Harwood anyway.

"And in exchange for Mr. Rogan," said Dr. Grey. "What will you receive?"

Harwood shrugged. "Let's call it an allowance. Five, maybe six good pieces per month so I can continue to make my overseas friends happy. You provide them directly, and I can eliminate the little terrorist network that has cost both of us a lot of money."

"We'll want a percentage," Ben Mills blurted out.

"Twenty good enough?" Harwood offered.

"Thirty!" Mills insisted.

"Done." Said Harwood smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Dr. Grey shook his head. "Wait, what just happened? We can't just agree to this."

"Dr. Grey, all due respect, we have no choice," said Ben. 'Besides, if we're taking a percent, and his business grows..."

"Exactly," said Harwood. "It's a whole new market. Tax free, if you like."

Dr. Grey was clearly troubled. "I don't know if I like where this is taking us."

"Dr. Grey," said Sebastian. "You are already complicit in an activity that easily fifty percent of the population is still ignorant enough to call murder. Are you really going to get moral over a little under the table income?"

Before Dr. Grey could answer, the radio on Bates' belt buzzed.

He couldn't believe what he was watching. Hiding in the shadows near the rear doors of the shell compound, Denny trembled as he saw the super-soldier shells marching company property out the back door where at least three, maybe four ships had landed on the back pad.

Denny heard the rumble as the first four ships rose from the back lot, each one more than likely full of shells. He immediately went looking for his supervisor only to find that no one, save the well-armed, much more dangerous super-soldiers, was on duty. Denny followed his second instinct immediately and hid scrambling from shadow to shadow to get a better read on the situation.

He snuck a peek out a window. The doors of the ships were open, and the shells were going aboard!

Denny leaned against the wall having a panic attack. There was no one left to back him up. The supers would take him in a heartbeat if he went it alone. But if he did nothing, well, he might not have a job tomorrow.

Denny reached down and felt for his radio. He switched to Bates' direct line and hit send.

Harwood was cool as ever. Harry was sweating believing Harwood's performance enough to wonder if he really was doomed. All eyes were on Bates as he finished the call that had come in the midst of their discussions. Bates turned to his boss, Dr. Grey.

"It seems that Mr. Harwood and friend are not the only visitors on site at the moment," said Bates. "Mr. Harwood, I would assume that your friend Mr. Rogan is the one around back unloading all our shells?"

Harwood didn't even flinch. "I'm sorry, has something happened?"

Bates laughed. Dr. Grey and Ben Mills were visibly shaken by the news, and neither seemed able to take comfort in Bates' cool, calm demeanor.

"Cute," said Bates. "And I have to admit, very clever. Distract us from the front while you make your move in the rear. And with our own forces." He turned to Dr. Grey. "The supers are assisting with the theft of our shells."

"They're what?" Ben shrieked.

"They took down my security team and allowed a fleet of ships to land in the back. They are presently loading our entire inventory."

Dr. Grey turned pale. "Why are you just sitting here? Do something!"

"Relax," said Bates. "This is why we built in the fail safe."

Bates took another electronic device from his pocket. Dr. Grey grabbed his arm.

"Stop," he said. "This is murder!"

"Why stop now, old boy?" said Harwood.

Bates grinned at Harwood. In other circumstances, the two would have been fast friends--almost father and son, given Bates' own origin.

Dr. Grey sat helplessly watching as Bates opened a small door and dialed in a four-digit code on the key pad beneath. He then placed the device back on his belt as he stood up and walked to the door.

Bates addressed the two security men outside the door.

"Gentlemen, please don't let our guests leave the room," said Bates. He turned back to the conference room. "I'll be right back after I tend to Mr. Rogan."

"I hope you're not planning to take them alone," said Harry. "I've seen your soldiers in action."

"If you're referring to the super-soldiers he turned against us, that won't be an issue," said Harwood. "Unless I missed my guess, every one of them is now dead."

Rogan knew there was a problem immediately. The exodus came to a halt, and there was conversation and confusion down the line. He hopped off the back of the ship and ran a few feet toward the building as the shells began drifting back toward the building in a state of alarm.

It didn't take long to find the source of the confusion. One of the super-soldiers lay on the ground. Her eyes gave all the appearance of having just suffered a violent and painful death. A trickle of blood was visible from both tear ducts.

Rogan swore loudly. He saw McKinley racing toward him. Scanning the area, he spotted one other soldier on the ground in a heap.

"What happened?" McKinley shouted.

"Someone hit a self-destruct button," said Rogan his muscles burning with anger. "The supers are all dead." He continued to look around searching for Eva.

"They know we're here," said McKinley. "We've got to load who we can and go."

"You get them on the ships," said Max taking the fallen soldier's gun in his hands. "Go, do your job!"

McKinley put his hand on Rogan's arm, but Rogan shook him off.

"Someone's got to go in for Harry and Sebastian. Get these people out of here! Go!"

McKinley nodded and turned his attention back to the lines of people boarding the freighters. "Let's go, people. We've only got a few moments to get out of here! Move!"

From the bottom of the loading ramp of her ship, Lea saw McKinley coming toward her as Rogan ran back to the building. Lea left her post and raced after Rogan. McKinley tried to grab her as she ran past.

"Rogan wants us to get out of here! Come on!"

She shook him off her arm. "I'm not leaving without him!"

Lea broke and ran for the building. McKinley shook his head and turned his mind back to the task at hand.

Rogan made his way inside the compound where the last of the shells was making its way out the door. The halls were empty, save for another of the super-soldiers--Rachel--lying on the ground. Rogan knelt beside the fallen warrior and shut her eyes rubbing the blood from her tear ducts between his fingers as he stood.

He heard the gun cock behind him and spun to face Denny, a nervous wreck standing in the middle of the hall.

"Please," said Denny, "Don't make me kill you. Just stand right where you are."

Max knew the kid didn't want to shoot, but that didn't make him less dangerous. "No one wants to kill anybody," said Max as he slowly lowered his gun to the floor.

"Kick it over here," said Denny.

Max did as he was told. He cast a sideways glance outside. The ships were nearly loaded. "It's over, son," said Max. "Our fight isn't with you anyway."

"You're under arrest," said Denny still trembling.

Hearing a noise from outside, Denny turned quickly and fired his gun sinking a bullet straight into Lea's side as she raced in the door. The girl collapsed at Rogan's feet with a loud yelp of pain. Max knelt beside her as Denny swore under his breath.

"Is she... is she..."

"She's alive," said Max. "But you gotta let me get her out of here."

"I can't," muttered Denny. "I can't let you--"

"Easy, son." Max recognized the gravelly tone of his own voice coming from down the hall as Bates approached the nervous guard. "Steady as she goes."

"I got him, sir," said Denny.

"Yes," said Bates. "You caught the big fish."

Denny did a double take, looking between the two men. "Sir, are you...umm, are you guys brothers?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," said Rogan.

Bates nodded. He took the gun from the nervous guard. "It's the age old story. Brother against brother. But then a true brother would have a lot more trouble doing this."

Bates lifted the gun only to watch it fly high out of his grip as a foot connected with his hand. His mind barely had time to register who it was that attacked him as Eva spun out of the darkness and kicked him square in the chest with her other foot launching him into his junior guard and driving both to the floor.

Max felt a surge of relief wash over him as he recognized Eva. "You're alive," he said.

Eva saw Lea and scooped the wounded girl into her arms.

"Talk on the way," she said. She turned back down the hall. "Let's move it!"

Max saw Harwood and Harry step into view as Eva took the lead carrying Lea toward the freighters. He paused to share a half hug with Harry, but Harwood pushed them both along urging them to keep pace with the lone remaining super-soldier in their crew.

Max hurried to catch up to Eva. "When I saw the others go down, I thought you were dead too."

"I heard them all cry when they went down," said Eva. "Something popped inside their heads. None of them knew what it was or where it came from."

"An electronic detonator," said Max. "I guess they didn't bother putting one inside you."

"Why would they?" she said, no trouble speaking at a full sprint. "I'm damaged goods. What harm could I do?"

"How do you know about that?" asked Max.

"Rachel," said Eva. "She hung on longer than the rest. Gave me orders to get you and the boys out of here."

Max looked back at the two stragglers. "Let's move, fellas!" Eva shouted back.

Eva raced up the ramp and laid Lea on her back on the rear deck of the freighter. Harry and Harwood ran past her. Max hit the button to close the door, and the freighter began to move.

Eva stripped away Lea's shirt to get at the wound.

"It's not bad," said Eva. "Harry, I could use a steady hand."

"Of course."

Max backed away letting the soldier and the doctor take over. As he settled into a seat, he whispered a silent prayer for Lea asking God to spare her life knowing all too well He didn't always work that way.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Dr. Grey and Ben Mills were still in their seats when the wounded Aaron Bates made it back to the conference room. He saw the two guards he had left on duty lying unconscious on the floor and guessed at what had transpired.

"Did they get them all?" asked Mills.

"They did," said Bates.

"What will they do now?" asked Mills.

Bates shook his head. "I don't know."

"How did they get in here?"

"We let them in," said Bates. "Remember? We brought the supers in. They took down my men. All except one, who was away from his post at the time. I've got a mind to fire him, but if he hadn't taken a leak when he did, we might never have known."

"We've lost everything," said Mills. "Haven't we?"

Bates looked at Dr. Grey for answers, but the doctor's mind was occupied elsewhere. His face was blank, glazed over, as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Dr. Grey?" said Bates. "We could all use a little guidance right now."

Jeff Grey nodded. "Yes, we could."

Mills examined his boss closely. "Is something the matter?"

Dr. Grey looked at the two men one at a time. "Something about that woman. The soldier that came for Harwood."

"A super got through?" said Bates.

"Yes," said Mills. "Your fail safe was a failure."

"No, no," said Bates. "It must have been the one who was traveling with Rogan. If she was a reject, we never would have chipped her."

"You don't think that might have been a good idea?" said Mills, growling.

"How was I to foresee something like this?

Dr. Grey was oblivious to the argument. "Something about the way she looked at me. Like she knew me."

"You're public enemy number one to these people," said Mills. "She knows who you are, and they hate you."

"No," said Dr. Grey. "This was something else."

"All due respect, Doc," said Bates, "We need to take some action if we're going to keep this company alive. They may try to go public."

Jeff Grey ignored the plea and started for the door. Bates and Mills watched him go.

"Dr. Grey, what do we do?" asked Bates.

"We wait," said Dr. Grey. "We respond, we cut our losses, we move on."

Dr. Grey headed down the hall toward the lobby still in a daze. Bates turned back to Mills.

"Something's wrong with him," said Bates.

Mills nodded. "He'll snap out of it."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Whether or not he does, we have to do what we must to protect the company."

"Agreed," said Bates. "Fire me."

Mills raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. "What did you say?"

"Fire me," said Bates. "Fire me, do it!"

"Why?"

"To protect the company," said Bates.

Lea's eyes opened to a room with a familiar enough layout to give her a sense where she was--another hotel. She felt a cool stream of oxygen flowing into her nostrils, and she then felt the tube carrying the air taped to her cheeks. She tried to move and instantly felt a twinge of pain in her side reminding her immediately of the last thing she remembered--being shot.

Swiftly and gently, a familiar face leaned over her. "Relax. You're going to be fine."

Lea smiled warmly. "I'm so glad it's you."

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

McKinley chuckled a little. "I think you should save those lips for someone else."

Lea opened her eyes. "You're not Max? Wow..."

Her face flushed red. McKinley squeezed her hand. "No, I am not. But I know he will be thrilled to see you when he gets back."

"Where is he?"

"Downtown," said McKinley. "About to make a little history."

A look of concern crossed the young woman's face. "What's he doing?"

"Rest for a bit," said McKinley. "I'll get you some food. It'll be on TV soon."

Sebastian Harwood never believed Max Rogan's plans would get this far. Truth be told, he expected the super-soldiers to hand them all over to Better Day and end the conspiracy right there. He had his cover story and "get out of jail free" plan ready to go. Still, Rogan's plan was the fastest route back to prominence for him, and he relished being the center of attention once more. He stepped out of his car and headed toward the steps of city hall where a large flock of reporters awaited him.

Harwood caught sight of Max Rogan standing close to the three vans parked on the west side of the block as planned. Each van contained five individuals, all identical, all liberated only hours before from the Better Day lab by G2. The old man in young skin grinned at the irony. It was his company that developed the technology that brought those individuals, he still couldn't come close to calling them people, into existence. Having been robbed of that piggy bank so many years before, it was sweet revenge to turn and bring the same judgment down upon Dr. Jeff Grey and his usurpers.

Harwood paused as the crowd turned toward him microphones thrust in his face and questions flying from the left and right. He kept silent, reveling in the drama of the moment. All would be answered in time--his perfect time.

Three steps and Harwood was up above the throng on a make-shift stage. A podium stood at center where a dozen or so microphones pointed toward him to capture every word. Harry was waiting there beside the mics applauding as he stepped up to greet the press.

"Good morning," Harwood whispered to Harry.

"Morning, sir," said Harry. "Are you ready for this?"

"Ready if you are," said Harwood.

The chatter diminished as Harwood took hold of the lectern and began to speak.

"Good morning, and thank you all for coming out. I don't have to remind you all who I am, or who I once was, I should say. But for the record, my name is Sebastian Harwood, and I was once the head of Harwood BioTech.

"I realize that name is now synonymous with the worst of science and industry in this country and with good reason. Simply put, we cloned human beings for the purposes of harvesting their vital organs and transplanting them into other humans. We saved lives. We saved them by taking thousands. There's no point in rehashing or re-apologizing for these despicable acts here and now." He'd never formally apologized anyway.

"There's a reason we teach history in school. It is so we may learn from the mistakes of the past. Sadly, there are times in our history when mistakes are repeated, not just by the simple but by great men. Much as we'd all like to pretend the barbaric legacy of Harwood BioTech died with it, in the chaos of the moment, that technology passed into the hands of other men. These men who were more than willing to take up the mantle of human cloning and carry it further than ever before!"

A nice gasp rippled through the mob. Several voices demanded Harwood to reveal the name. He held back saving the big dramatic reveal for a moment of his choosing. He did his best to suppress a smile; this was no time for gloating.

"I'm here today to rip the veil off the successors to Harwood BioTech. To show the world that the cloning of human being for organs continues. What's more, I'm here to shed light on the new technologies, more insidious than anything ever conceived at Harwood BioTech, now employed within the walls of one of America's most noted and respected corporations.

"The man standing before me represents just one of the many advancements made by this entity. He is not merely a clone made from a stock genetic profile but an exact genetic match to a wealthy client of this organization. He was created to become a new host for the mind and soul of the man who funded his creation."

"Like you?"

The voice rang out from the center of the mob. Heads turned as people looked to see who had asked the question. It was a man with a beard and a cap in the center of the group. He had a press badge around his neck and a small recorder in his hand. From the looks of him, one of those net writers who liked to sling mud.

Harwood kept his cool as Harry fidgeted a little beside him. "If you will save your questions for afterward, I'd like to continue."

"You're in good shape for a man your age, Mr. Harwood," the writer went on. "How old must you be now? Your seventies at least, right? How do you stay so young?"

"If I may get back to my prepared statement--"

"Who's body are you living in, Mr. Harwood?"

Harwood seethed with anger. For a moment, he felt betrayed. He cast a glance out at Rogan who watched with anticipation. If this was a trap, Rogan's body language was giving nothing away.

"It seems to me you're accusing others of the same crime you've committed!" said the bearded man. "Cloning a duplicate of yourself so you can achieve immortality? Isn't that why you haven't aged a day in decades?"

"I am not the one on trial here!" Harwood shouted. "I am here to tell you there is a new firm making money off the blood and bodies of human beings in this country. I have proof, and if you give me a moment--"

A scream went up from the crowd. Harwood felt Harry knocking him hard to the ground as two loud pops rang out from the crowd. His head hit the ground, and through dazed eyes Harwood watched the mob of reporters scatter. Shaking off the cobwebs, he saw the writer running from the scene dropping a gun from his hand as he made his escape. A block later, out of sight of everyone, he would remove his disguise, and Aaron Bates would walk away scot-free.

Harwood never saw the man. Harry's body blocked his view when he fell to the stage beside Harwood, two bloody holes in his chest gushing with crimson. Harwood pushed away from the dying man, who stared up at him.

Harwood checked his person. He was unhurt save for the bruises from the fall. But Harry was dying--dying in his place. Much as he should have been grateful, Harwood felt only one emotion: anger.

"What have you done?" screamed Harwood. "You stupid... stupid...What did you do that for?"

"It's my life," whispered Harry. "My life...to give."

Harwood watched as Max raced to Harry's side examining his wounds. The drooping look in his eyes told Sebastian Harwood that Harry would not live long.

"Take it easy, Harry," said Max, soothingly. He gripped the dying man's hand. "Just relax."

"Max..." Harry whispered. "Live while you can."

With that, Harry shut his eyes and breathed his last.

Max hoisted the body up on his shoulder. He lowered a hand and pulled Harwood to his feet. "I can't carry you both. You're going to have to hoof it."

Harwood staggered along beside Max as they headed back to Harwood's car. Shell-shocked, the old man suddenly felt his age despite his young skin.

"I thought he wanted to live," Sebastian muttered.

"He lived more than most men ever will," said Max.

Sebastian stared at the lifeless body draped over Max's shoulder. The man--was he indeed a man?--was created to prolong the life of a selfish, greedy rich man. It was his destiny to die for another; it was his choice to die for Sebastian Harwood.

Harwood could not imagine ever doing the same for someone else. And yet, as he looked back on his many years, he wondered if any of his time on Earth had counted half as much as the few years given to Harry. 
EPILOGUE

It was the same old story, just a different town and a different vehicle. Days after the G2 team had cut their losses and left town with the shells from Better Day, Max and Lea sat in a car alongside a long, vacant stretch of highway, bickering.

"This was your idea," said Max. "You wanted to see more of the country."

"I know it was my idea!" said Lea. "I just thought maybe you'd pick some sort of direction when we left."

"I asked if there was any place in particular you wanted to see!" he said. "Do you want to go to New York? Or Chicago? Or Philly? And you said--"

"I know what I said!" said Lea. "I said I wanted to see them all. But I just figured you'd get a map or plan an itinerary!"

"I told you, the problem with maps is the minute you start following one, you become so attached to it, you miss out on all the detours that you could enjoy along the way."

Lea looked out at the long stretch of emptiness. "Wow. I am so glad I did not miss this."

Max shot her an angry glance that crumbled and faded the moment she grinned at him.

"So where are we?" she asked.

"Somewhere in Ohio, I think," he answered.

"Shall we keep on going?"

He looked at her. "We don't know where this leads."

"Bound to be something at the end of this road to see."

She placed her hand on his. The tiny band of gold wrapped around her ring finger glinting in the late day sun that shone through the windows. Max smiled and put the car back in gear. He had no clue where they were headed. He was just happy to be going there with her.

A month after the near assassination of Sebastian Harwood, Dr. Jeff Grey was still the leader of the world's largest genetics corporation. A month later, the once brilliant man of science was still failing in his attempts to sleep through the night. On the increasingly rare nights when the baby failed to sleep through the night, Jeff at least had some company in the wee hours of the morning: a bag of pretzels, and bottle of bourbon that he had hardly touched in five years, now nearly down to the dregs.

Bates' gambit had worked, but it had come at a cost. The blasted custom job threw itself in the path of the bullets, and the company paid a steep price to the estate of the man whose immortality was stolen in the process. And while the assassination attempt had kept G2 from blowing the lid off Better Day's cloning operations, the terrorist group still managed to liberate a few hundred shells the night before. Add to that the loss and destruction of two more teams of super-soldiers to the insurance payout and the monetary impact on the company was staggering.

Still, the company was solvent, and new shells were already in process. Even the super-soldier program was back online with a number of lessons learned. Bates remained on furlough enjoying a three week vacation on the company dime at Mills' insistence. Jeff had given serious thought to making Bates' estrangement from the company permanent, but Mills and others had advised him against it. Aaron Bates would be an employee for life; his actions and his knowledge, thereof, made him too dangerous a man to let go permanently, however distasteful Jeff found the whole situation.

All he had wanted to do was make the world a better place. Cloning was not an immoral endeavor to him. Even if the results looked and behaved human, it was only tissue. At worst, it was a gray area, with no real right or wrong. Yet, the longer he stayed in business, the more gray areas turned to black. They were now involved with obstruction, murder, espionage, and even paramilitary action. This was not medicine. It was borderline terrorism, and he was an accomplice in all of it.

Jeff poured another glass of bourbon. After putting the cap on the bottle, he heard the TV turn on in the living room. What was Melia doing up at this hour? He picked up his drink and his pretzel bag and carried them down the hall.

There was an infomercial on screen selling another silly kitchen appliance that wouldn't work half as well once you got it home. Jeff glanced at the couch and froze in terror. Melia was not in her spot but someone else was.

The woman turned to look at him. "Dr. Grey?"

Jeff Grey recognized her face--and froze.

She smiled. "So nice to finally meet you."

Grey wanted to run, but he knew better. She was one of the super-soldiers. She was dressed nicely in a white blouse with black pants. Her hair was pulled back, and a light dusting of makeup gave her a very beautiful glow. Yet despite her pleasant voice and casual appearance, Jeff was terrified afraid for his life. His hand trembled and the glass of bourbon dropped from his hand.

The woman lunged at him warning him to "Stop!" He stepped backwards sinking his soft flesh of the underside of his foot into jagged glass.

The woman covered his mouth cradling him in powerful arms and laid him on the couch.

"It's not too bad," she said examining the wound. With a quick flick of her fingers, she extracted the glass keeping Jeff's mouth covered. "The baby's sleeping," she said. "Keep your voice down."

Coolly, she untucked her shirt and ripped a small band of material off the bottom. She then wrapped the foot with the material.

"You'll want to change the bandage," she cautioned. "Your wife sees another woman's shirt around your foot, you could be in trouble."

Jeff looked at her. "You're the one from the conference room."

She looked up. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes," he said.

She held his foot comfortingly. "Do you really remember?"

He looked in her eyes his breath slowing. She looked like every other soldier created from the genetic program, and yet, there was something strangely familiar about her.

"My name is Eva," she said. "Does that help?"

He shook his head no.

Eva sighed, disappointed, but then her eyes locked onto the bag in Jeff's hand.

"You like pretzels," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"I knew someone who loved pretzels," she said. "He couldn't get enough of them. The big, chunky ones were his favorites."

"I never used to like them myself," said Jeff. "But then I..."

His voice trailed off. He looked into Eva's eyes and saw a tear. He knew what she was about to tell him.

"There was an accident," she said. "You came home one day, and you nearly died. They rushed you to the hospital. They saved your life."

He nodded, remembering it well. It was the day he had undergone the body transfer. His mind was literally moved from the damaged, crippled body to a new one created for just such an emergency. He woke up with a new body, a new lease on life, and a new, unexplainable craving for a certain salty snack.

Eva took his hand, caressing it softly. "Before this was you, this was Jay." Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke. "I loved him with all my heart."

Jeff was speechless. He looked down at his hands, the ones he had come to take for granted as his own. He had used them countless times to hold his wife and child, and yet, long before he had done so, these hands had held the tender hands of this woman. His lips likely had touched hers. He could almost see it as he looked into her tear-stained eyes.

Eva lifted his hand and kissed it softly. She then laid it back down on his leg pulling her own hands away.

Jeff was puzzled, confused. He could feel tears welling up in his own eyes as he watched this young woman mourn the loss of the man she saw in his eyes. This body had belonged to a real person completely unique and separate from himself.

He felt like a stranger in his own skin, an unwanted invader. He didn't know what to say.

Eva stood up tucking her shirt back in as she did. Jeff swallowed hard and asked, "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just came to say goodbye."

"That's all?"

She nodded. "He's not here anymore. It's time to move on."

She walked slowly toward the door. Jeff sat up wanting to say something to make her feel better--and ease his own guilty conscience.

"I wish I could bring him back."

She turned and gave a half smile. "We all have to go some time."

Upstairs, a baby began to cry. Jeff saw Eva's lip tremble as she bit into it fighting the tears once more.

"Go," she said. "Go be daddy. And be thankful every day you have to be daddy."

Dr. Jeff Grey went upstairs to fetch his crying child as Eva made her way out the back door vanishing into the night. As much as it felt like an ending, Eva knew this was just the beginning of life for her. She was no longer a prisoner as both she and Jay were born to be. She was free, and while the memory of Jay would never truly leave her, she would go on living as long as there was another breath to be had.

About the Author

John Cosper is the creator of the Fluffy film trilogy and the Clive the Zombie film series. He's the founder of Righteous Insanity, a drama, film, and writing company providing resources to ministries and churches around the world. Film credits include the award-winning shorts Bots and Tolerance and the feature film Wingman. Previous sci-fi works include the novels The Shell Collector, Space Monster, Martian Queen and Cave World and the short story collection This Would Make a Really Great Movie. He lives in Southern Indiana with his wife and two kids.

Visit his website at www.johncosper.com

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