Progenitor
He saw stars. Clear and far above him, separated only by an endless expanse of cold. There was no sound.
Shouldn't he be in pain?
Albert Heinrich lie on his back, staring into the night sky. Around him was nothing but flat earth, stretching every direction and unbroken in its monotony. Where was he? Where was his team? They had been fighting against monsters unimaginable and innumerable, wave after wave sent by that damn priestess, for survival, for humanity. Had he fallen from the floating island?
Had they won?
He turned his head, looking for any sign of his teammates. There was no pain, his injuries gone. Hadn't he been injured? The tail of his red scarf lay twisted in the dirt beside him; he was still wearing the blue uniform.
Just then the droning sound of rockets, a flash of light and a body landing on hard earth.
"Hey! You alright?"
Albert whipped his head around to see a familiar redhead squat down beside him, a look of worry crossing his hawk-like features.
"Jet!" Albert said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Relief flooded through him. Whatever had happened, whatever was to happen, he wasn't alone.
Jet stared at him, mouth agape in surprise. "Wow, you must be an old'un. Nobody calls us 'Jets' anymore. Two-Gustav-2344 at'yer service. You were lucky I was passing by an' saw you."
"What?" Albert rolled to his knees and grabbed the other man by the shoulders, "What are you talking about? What the hell is going on? Where is everybody?"
"Easy, Meister," the Jet doppelganger said, voice soft, "Look, I dunno what you were doing earlier but you're too far from the city for this to be a drunk prank. Whoever left you out here meant business, it's dangerous after dark for non-flyers. I know you didn't call for me but I can take you back to the city an' drop you off at the police station, okay? You should report who did this to you."
Albert's arms fell lifeless from the other man's shoulders and he stared down at the dirt. "You're not Jet, are you?" He didn't know how that was possible, but even Jet knew better than to pull such a prank. The other cyborg wasn't wearing a uniform, just a bright yellow jacket with a black-and-white checkered pattern across the shoulders and some worn slacks, the boots were a style Albert didn't recognize.
The man hesitated, as though unsure how to answer. "I'm a Jet, Gustav class. Are…are you hurt, Meister? Maybe drugged? I'll take you to the hospital first, if you want."
"No!" Albert cried. They would see what he was, realize he wasn't human…
"Okay," the false Jet held up his hands in placation, "but I need to take you back, we'll figure out what to do from there, right?"
Albert could only nod, his mind spinning. He was alone with no idea where he was or what had happened. This could be a trap, using Jet's image to lure him somewhere, but then wouldn't the other cyborg pretend to be his friend? With no other information, going with the false Jet was his only option. Either that or staying out here.
With practiced ease, the Jet swept his arm behind Albert's knees while the other supported his back and lifted him. Albert habitually swung his arm around the other cyborgs neck for support.
"Frequent flyer, I see," the Jet smirked, then took off.
Albert's artificial stomach lurched and then steadied as the aerial cyborg ascended, swung around, and flew westward. The farther they flew the more Albert realized he truly had no choice but to go with this man; there was nothing but flat wasteland no matter how far they traveled. Instead he turned to the other cyborg, like Jet in every way.
"What do I call you?" he said loudly over the rushing wind.
"Gustav," the Jet regarded him with confusion, "I'm a Gustav class. Transporter, mostly of goods but I can do people as well. Orleans just don't go out this far especially at night."
What? "Okay, Gustav, and where are we going?"
Another confused look. "The city."
"Does this city have a name?"
"Just…the City. The only one worth going to. Were you raised in a shed?"
Albert glared at him, and Gustav suddenly looked afraid. He ducked his head.
"Beg pardon, Meister, no offense meant."
Jet or not, the submissive look didn't belong on that face. "It's alright," Albert said, disturbed, "Let's just say I'm not from around here, so if you could fill me in on some things I'd be grateful. And stop with that 'meister' business."
"It's policy, can't change that," Gustav's smile returned as he realized he wasn't in trouble, "but I'll tell you what I can. I'm just a Gustav, though."
Whatever that meant. "Tell me about this city."
"The City of the Fours, the most technologically advanced of all the factions an' the only city worth going to!"
"What country are we in?"
"Country?"
Albert was beyond frustrated now, but he was trying not to take it out on the aerial cyborg. "Where on Earth are we?" He still snarled the question.
Gustav grew frightened again, like he'd prefer nothing more than to drop Albert here and now. "I don't know! The wastes outside the city, there is nothing else! I'm just a Gustav! I transport things over short distances I rarely go out this far but our Typhon squad had a food transport from the coast so the boss sent me out it was just a small package to an outlying colony that's all!"
"I'm sorry," Albert blurted before Gustav started rambling again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just…" so lost.
"Are you from the colonies?" Gustav's voice was so low Albert almost didn't hear him.
"No. I don't know what's going on."
"We're almost there."
Light began to shine on the horizon, the dull, warm glow of millions of city lights, though the originating pinpricks Albert always associated with urban life could yet be seen. When the city finally came into view he could see why. It lay behind an enormous wall over which only a few skyscrapers could be seen. Gustav flew over the wall with no difficulty and then the city shone brightly beneath them, lights and streets and multistoried buildings that rose higher the farther inward they were from the wall, culminating in the skyscrapers that lit the night and blocked out the stars.
Albert missed the first time Gustav tried to get his attention, his focus entirely on the brilliant city and the lights of multiple rockets above it.
Cyborgs. Flying cyborgs.
"You sure you don't want to go to the hospital, Meister? Or the police?"
"I'm sure."
"Where to, then?"
"I don't know."
Gustav kicked his feet out, coming to a halt and making a sharp turn to descend, and barely missed another cyborg coming up behind him.
"Asshole!" the other cyborg shouted as he passed.
"Keep your eyes open, you fucking tugboat!" Gustav snarled after him, his grip on Albert tightening.
Albert stared after the retreating cyborg, eyes wide. That was Jet. Another cyborg that looked just like Jet. What the hell was going on?
"Damn Typhons, think they own the skies," Gustav muttered as he descended.
They landed on the roof of a five story building not too far from the wall in a residential area. Aside from the Jets flying around, Albert had seen a few standing about on rooftops here and there, as though waiting. Gustav set him on his feet and then jumped back, perched like a bird on the edge of the building.
"They're Jets…" Albert murmured, staring upwards as streaks of light passed overhead, "So many Jets."
"Twos."
He glanced at Gustav. "What?"
"'Jet' is the old term. We're called Twos."
A disturbing thought began to worm its way into Albert's mind and he didn't like it at all. "You said your name was Two-Gustav-something?"
"Two-Gustav-2344."
"And this is the city of the Fours?"
"Yep."
He didn't want to ask, suspecting he knew the answer, but, "Four whats?"
Gustav stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "You're a Four. Most of the population is Fours. City of the Fours. You really don't remember anything, do you?"
Albert moved to the edge of the building and peered down to the streets where people were milling about, some walking, intent on their destination, others stood in groups, chatting, while one or two stood on the corner waiting for something. Using his cybernetic vision Albert zoomed in on their features.
He only saw himself. They had different hairstyles and clothes but they were the image of Cyborg 004.
Albert stepped back and turned away, blocking out the view, and his legs went weak. He slumped to the ground and leaned against the short wall.
"My god…" he whispered.
Gustav peered down at him, worried. "You okay?"
"No, I'm not. They all look like me. Why do they look like me?"
Hopping off the wall, Gustav crouched in front of him. "Hey, it's okay. I don't know why you can't remember, but of course they look like you. They're Fours! All Fours look alike, just like all Twos look alike. How else is it supposed to be?"
Albert buried his face in his hands, "I don't know what's happened!"
Gustav shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know how to help you, Meister. You won't let me take you to the hospital an' I've gotta get back to the station, but I don't feel right leaving you like this."
"The station?" Albert said, mind numb.
"Yeah, I'm on the clock right now. Don't worry about pay, I won't charge you since you didn't call for me an' I was heading back anyway."
Charge him? Albert eyes fell on Gustav's yellow jacket with the checkered pattern and he understood. "You're a taxi."
"Yep, an' I'm guessing you don't have any money on you anyway. Whoever dumped you out there probably took your wallet."
Everybody looked like him, except for Jets who were taxis. The Jets were taxis.
Albert wanted to cry.
"I don't know what to do for you," Gustav repeated.
"Wake me up." He was unconscious. Some monster got him and he was lying on the battlefield dreaming about a city of doppelgangers and Jet taxis. That was the only logical explanation.
Lips pursed in concern, Gustav stood and stepped around Albert. He put two fingers to his lips and let out a long, high whistle. A moment, and then two short whistles came from the other side of the building. Gustav reached down and pulled Albert to his feet.
"There's a couple'a Twos right over there, maybe they got an idea 'bout how to help you."
"Great, more taxis," Albert muttered.
Gustav glared at him, "We're not all taxis." He walked ahead to the corner of the ramshackle sheds and the stairway entrance. Albert hurried after him.
"What'cha got?" Gustav called to where the two whistles had originated.
"York and Noam," came the reply in a voice that was, yet again, unmistakably Jet's.
"Wow, a York!" Gustav said with awe, turning back to Albert, "I didn't know there were any of those left! Come on."
They came around the corner to find two Twos reclining against the low wall of the building, smoking. The first wore a heavy jacket and jeans, an eye patch over his right eye, and had noticeable scars on his cheek and over the bridge of his nose. The second had black hair and wore a sleeveless tunic, showing a vertical row of golden tattooed letters down each arm. It looked like Latin, but Albert guessed it was nonsense considering his translator couldn't make anything of it.
"Evenin'," Gustav began, "I'm Gustav-2344 and this is…" he trailed off, realizing he didn't know Albert's name.
"Meister," Eyepatch said by way of greeting before Albert could speak up. Oh damn, they were all doing it.
Black Hair offered a cigarette, "Wanna fag?"
Declining with a hand wave, Albert said, "Look, I'm sorry to bother you but there's been a mix-up and I need some information. Mainly where I am and what's going on."
Eyepatch tossed away the butt of his cigarette and stood full height, arms crossed over his chest. He appeared taller than the other two despite the fact they were all the same size.
"Beg pardon, Meister, but why come to a couple of Twos for that? We aren't the information type."
"I found him in the wastes," Gustav added, "I think he hit his head or something. He's got no memory of anything."
"That's not what happened!" Albert hissed, "I was with my friends, I must have blacked out and I woke up out there," he gestured beyond the wall, "My memory's fine I just don't know how I got here, much less where here is."
"You didn't know you were a Four," Gustav muttered.
Eyepatch regarded him a moment. "Meister, what is your name, if I may ask?"
"Albert Heinrich."
Black Hair snort loudly in derision. "Sure, and I'm Jet Link."
Albert's attention snapped to the third cyborg. "You know Jet?"
Licking his lips, Black Hair said nothing, but Albert picked up a thought on his internal receiver, short and sharp: Is he fucking kidding?
Albert was about to give an angry response when Eyepatch said, "We know of him. All of us do. He was our progenitor, the origin of our race."
"Your race?" Despite the number of Jets he'd seen and the Fours below, Albert's mind just couldn't make that connection.
"We're clones. All of us are made from Jet Link, just as the Fours are from Albert Heinrich."
"Clones," Albert repeated, mind spinning. He gazed out over the building, knowing that down below were a bunch of replicas living out their lives as though nothing was amiss. It did explain a few things, but, "Where are the people? The humans, I mean."
"Humans died out ages ago," Gustav said glibly as though discussing casual gossip, "Plague or something. Only cyborgs survived."
"Can't rebuild society with only nine cyborgs now can you?" Eyepatch added with a smirk.
One question answered, but a dozen more made in its wake. Why was cloning still required? Albert hardly liked to think of Francoise as a brood mare but surely a set of her clones would take an interest in a few of the men enough that a viable -if somewhat limited- gene pool could be established. Moreover, why were they all cyborgs? They weren't born that way. Did the plague still exist that survival relied on cybornization? But that didn't make any sense either; cybornization stunted growth and so far he'd seen only adults. If the plague persisted it would claim children too, else the human children would have survived.
Oh God. Humans were gone. Humanity had been wiped out ages ago.
Ages ago.
"I'm in the future," Albert whispered, horror creeping through his being and clinging like ice even to his mechanical parts. Somehow he'd been sent to the future. It was possible, Joe had done it, after all. Joe had also found a way back, and Albert intended to do the same. As soon as he stopped shaking.
"Meister?" Gustav said, lifting his hand as though intending to place it on Albert's shoulder before he caught himself and let it drop.
"I'm okay." He was trapped in the future in a city of his own clones and a bunch of Jet taxis, why wouldn't he be alright? Taking a deep breath, he stood and regarded the three Jet clones. These men were the closest things he had to allies right now and he should work to maintain that. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your names."
Eyepatch glanced over at Black Hair who shrugged and then back to Albert. "Twos don't have names. We're known by our class identification and the last four of our serial number if we need to separate ourselves from each other."
"What? Why?"
"It's just easier," Black Hair snapped and tossed away the butt of his cigarette. He'd smoked it nearly all the way down to the filter.
"We're made and cybernetically altered to perform specific tasks as needed by the city," Eyepatch explained, "I'm York, retired fighter class. At'yer service."
"Noam class," Black Hair sighed, "Entertainment. Guess what I do." His voice was flat and he pulled out another cigarette.
"Will you slow down?" York hissed at him, "Your lungs are real enough."
Noam stuck his tongue out at York when the other man turned back to Albert and lit his cigarette defiantly.
"And you're all clones?" Albert whispered, moving to the edge of the building and gazing at the skyscrapers in the distance, "All of you?" There had to be at least a million people in this city.
"Yes, just like you," York said.
"Not like me. I'm not a clone, I had a father, I had a mother."
York and Noam glanced at each other but it was Gustav who voiced their confusion.
"What's a 'mother'?"
Albert turned and stared at the Twos. "What?"
"A mother, what is it?"
"The…She's the woman who gave birth to me. Raised me."
"Okay," Noam began, curious despite himself, "and what's a woman? Is that some class I haven't heard of?"
"You're joking."
"Noams don't really do the joking thing," York said.
Frustrated, Albert rubbed at his temple with his metallic fingers. "A woman, a female." When the Twos continued to regard him with confusion, he couldn't help but gape. "You're all men?" That explained the need for cloning, but what had happened to Francoise and her clones?
"Of course!" York said, almost affronted, "We may be cyborgs, but that doesn't mean we aren't men."
"No, no. I mean, you're all one sex? Do you have defined genders or is it even an issue?"
Gustav scratched his head. "Maybe you're a professor at the university? You talk smart like one."
"I've never heard any professor talk about something called gen-derr and I've slept with a few," Noam said, "he sure talks a lot like one, though."
"No!" Albert cried, "I'm not a professor and I'm not a clone! I don't belong here and I just need to find my way back," oh god he was shaking again, "Please."
York stared at him intently, his one good eye almost piercing. "Not a clone, huh? You really do believe you're the Progenitor, don't you?"
"No, not your Progenitor, so to speak. Look, I know it sounds crazy but I'm from the past. I don't know what happened but I've been sent here from long before any of this," he made a large sweeping gesture over the city and beyond, "back when there were still humans and only nine of us."
Sliding his hands into his pockets, York kicked at a loose bit of concrete and stared out at the towering skyscrapers. When he finally spoke he sounded sad. "It doesn't matter what we think; we're just Twos. You're gonna have to convince someone over there that your crazy story is true."
"And what chance do I have of that?"
"I don't know. Information and politics are beyond me. I'm just a York."
Albert's shoulders slumped; he felt so tired. "You all keep saying that."
"It's all we can say."
It seemed as though the world had shrunk and Albert and York were the only ones in it, and York was desperately trying to tell him something important. "I don't understand."
York sighed and the illusion shattered. "It's getting late. I assume you have nowhere to go or else you wouldn't be here with us."
"Oh shit!" Gustav cried, pulling at a chunk of his red hair, "It's late! I've gotta get back to the station! I can't get fired! Can you guys, uh…?" he pointed at Albert and looked to York, who nodded. Relieved but in no less of a rush, Gustav grabbed Albert's hand with both of his and shook fervently. "Good luck Herr Fake-Progenitor, I still think you should get your head looked at."
"Um, yeah, thanks for rescuing me," Albert said, trying to free his hand.
"All the time! Nice meeting you," Gustav added to York and Noam and then, jumping back from Albert, he took off, searing across the sky and disrupting a few other flyers in his haste.
"Reckless," Albert muttered as he watched Gustav disappear in the distance, almost affectionately.
"Yeah, they're all like that," York said.
"Hm?"
"Gustavs. They also tend to have short attention spans, but they're loyal. Look, Meister, if you've got nowhere to go I guess I could offer you my place for the night. It's not much but I got a couch."
Albert stared at him. He was suddenly very, very tired, but, "I don't want to intrude."
"It's no problem. I mean, I've got a roommate but I don't think he'll care."
Albert nodded, "I'm grateful."
He didn't know what he said, but York's head whipped around and he stared at Albert, eye wide. He swallowed and turned to the other Two. "Noam, you got a place tonight?"
Noam took one last drag of his cigarette then dropped it, snuffing it out with a bare foot. "Yeah, I got a client in a half-hour, but if that don't last long I know a Matthias down near the Sky Bazaar whose always got a spare cot."
"Just don't get eaten by rats down there."
"Quit worrying, old man," Noam said, though not without a little affection. He turned to leave, passing by Albert where he barely paused for a glance. "Meister," he said by way of farewell, coldness creeping back into his voice.
It was then Albert noticed Noam had blue eyes. A black-haired, blue-eyed Jet. It looked odd, a purposely cold combination compared to Jet's red hair and brown eyes that betrayed the warm personality beneath his thug bluster. Albert wait until Noam vanished down the stairs before he turned back to York.
"Friendly, isn't he?"
York shrugged. "Noams are conditioned to be indifferent, so they can come across as a bit unfriendly."
Alarms went off in Albert's head. "Conditioned?"
"Yeah. I think the school's changed though, because a lot of the newer generations are more approachable," York explained, not understanding the worry in Albert's voice.
"No, I meant…"
"Don't worry about it," York stressed. His voice was soft and once again carried that sad tone. Before Albert could say anything else, he clapped his hands together and said loudly, "Well! If we don't dawdle we'll be home in time for dinner! Mustang makes a great stew." York turned to leave and Albert followed.
"Mustang?"
"My roommate."
"Okay, but Mustang?"
"The Mustangs are the newer fighter class that phased out mine. He can come off as a bit brusque but I think you'll like him. Come on."
His boots clopping loudly on the steps, York vanished into the dark of the stairway. Albert paused and looked out over the bright city one more time. This was the future he and his team had been fighting for. Humanity long gone, cyborg clones, and Jets with stupid names. Behind him lay the wall and beyond that endless flat wastes. He hoped his team wasn't out there too, looking for him.
Funny, that often he and the others would separate for years at a time and be alright. He would miss his friends, yes, but everyone had their lives and just the knowledge that there were others like them that they could count on was enough. Here it had barely been a few hours and yet he missed them all terribly. He hoped they were all right, wherever, whenever they were.
York called to him and Albert followed him down into the dark.