Chapter 8
"Beloved sweetheart bastard. Not a day since then
I haven't wished him dead. Prayed for it
so hard I've green pebbles for eyes,
ropes on the back of my hands I could strangle with."
From Havisham by Carol Ann Duffy
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Yuna had seen the woman as well and her heart sank, then flared up in her breast with indignant rage, ripping through her like a scalpel through a strip of cloth. This was her Reb. How much more would she have to endure? First him falling to his knees for that Beka woman, and now Aurora was back. And she could tell just by the way the fierce glint in his eyes slowly softened, melting like chocolate over a hot stove, and the way he whispered her name like a prayer, that he remembered her too. Then the moment was slashed by Reb's cry of pain, and Yuna dashed forward to grab him as his knees buckled and…
Soft lips that smile the way she played with her hair when she was thinking the way she pursed her lips when she was upset or angry and wanted to hide the tears in her eyes lifting her head to look at him, the corners of her mouth curving up mischievously as she cupped his cheek in her hand and oh God why did you have to go please come back darling, lover, friend I can't bear this…
'Reb!' Lise cried, dashing forward to help Yuna support his limp, twitching body. She slapped him viciously across the cheek, leaving a splash of crimson flush on his smooth skin; terrified for the same reason that all the others were watching Reb with wide eyes that flickered from their captain to the astonished crew of the Andromeda. Whatever her motives, the blow seemed to stir him. He gave a spine-wrenching jerk then sat up again, one hand cupping his cheek in wonder, as if an angel had just kissed him right there.
'Reb, was that a pr…' Zak caught himself just in time, looking at Dylan nervously. Lise looked at him gratefully.
'He just fell down,' she proclaimed, standing up and looking first at Beka, then Tyr and then Dylan defiantly in the eyes, but avoiding Aurora's wide-eyed curious gaze. 'He God damn well fell down, that's all. It happens.'
Trance watched the scene in shock, at the effect her arrival had had on Harper. But was… was it Harper at all? She looked at him carefully, not just with normal eyes but with her special eyes that saw who a person really was. No, somehow, although this stranger looked like Harper, he was not Harper. Not the Harper she knew. She surveyed with a mixture of confusion and excitement as he clambered painfully to his feet and looked at her, mouth quivering.
'Aurora…' he breathed again, then taking her by surprise he darted forward. He placed his hands on the small of her back and pulled her in close to him, his hips pushing into hers, and he kissed her fully on the lips, passionately, his lips parting as he tried to taste her, feel the old familiar sensation of her warm skin on his mouth, his tongue, sample the moistness of her mouth. Despite herself, and perhaps it was his emotions spilling over into her like a virus, Trance did not push him away, ask him what the hell he was doing. She allowed him to kiss her, and when he broke away to breathe she looked into those ice-blue eyes and what she saw there disturbed her.
'OK, break it up!' Yuna said suddenly, moving forward and pushing Aurora away from Reb firmly by the shoulders. Her eyes glittered like sunlight on a new penny, and shot at her, 'what are you doing here? And what the hell is up with your skin, oh sunny-complexioned one, or did you contract jaundice since we last saw you?'
'Excuse me?' Trance cried, insulted. 'Do I know you?'
'Actually, Trance, I was about to ask the same thing,' Dylan said, looking her up and down suspiciously.
'I swear, Dylan, I don't know what Harper thought he was doing, or who these people are…'
'Harper!' Reb spat bitterly, looking at the golden girl pleadingly. 'Why does it always come back to him? Look, it's me, Reb Anderson. Your boyfriend, remember?'
Trance was about to protest when Beka snorted, rolling her eyes. 'Am I the only one around here with the brains to see what's going on around here?' When the statement was met with blank expressions, she sighed and started ticking items off on her fingers. 'Harper in this universe, Reb in theirs. Trance in this universe…'
'Aurora in ours,' Gret said in awe, not taking her eyes off of Reb's past girlfriend. Trance wriggled under their collective gaze like a vampire in daylight. She wasn't comfortable with this much attention.
'Look, can someone please tell me what is going on?' she demanded, getting flustered despite herself. Everyone started talking at once, each giving a perfectly coherent account of events, which combined sounded like a lot of garbled nonsense. She shook her head impatiently and held up a hand to stem the flow of noise. 'One at a time! I think I'd better hear it from just one person.' And though the statement was heard by all in the room, Trance only had eyes for one of them. Reb stared back, confused eyes silently begging her to tell him what was going on. Not only that, but he wanted to tell her everything. In the short time they watched each other, Trance understood this, and she lifted her head and said, 'can I please talk to Harper, I mean… Reb, in private.' It wasn't a question, and the others filed out of the room in awkward silence. Trance turned to Reb.
'It's OK, they're gone, tell me everything.'
'Aurora…' he mumbled once more, and tears cascaded from his eyes. He bowed his head, ashamed, but Trance gently took his chin in a golden hand and looked into his stinging eyes.
'No,' she said softly. 'No.'
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'Reb, you're lying to me,' Trance said quietly, watching him as he turned his head away.
'No… I'm not…'
'There is a fine line between lying and holding back the truth that I generally choose to ignore,' she said firmly. 'Tell me what Dylan wanted to know, tell me what you're afraid of telling me.'
He pressed his lips together and blinked determinedly several times to prevent more salty tears leaking from his eyes. He was still trying to get over the fact that his mind was playing tricks on him; Aurora was not Aurora at all, but this strange prophetess called Trance Gemini, who knew what he was feeling without him ever having to say it 'I…' he couldn't. To tell was to betray his crew, to invite danger where it was not wanted.
'Reb, I won't hurt you, I can't hurt you' Trance told him, knowing that it was a lie.
He thought about it, nodded, and stared fiercely at her as he began to tell his story.
"The first successful clone took place in the late 20th century. It was a sheep, called Dolly. Stupid name, I know, for something that was to become so powerful. Had there been no worries, no issues, the process might have been sped up considerably, but there were flaws. The sheep died too early, living only for four years, like some kind of defect, some kind of ageing disease, was written into Dolly's DNA. People were frightened, some of them were fighting for animal rights, but more were worried about where this research could lead. Human cloning, it was on everyone's minds and lips. It was the topic of myriad essays, discussions, debates, and protests. How could they even begin to imagine such a thing? Especially with this defect, the four-year life span. Many were willing to volunteer; scientists were falling over themselves to try out this new discovery. But it was many years before it actually happened.
"You see, religious activists were terrified of the consequences of this. Cloning some may have called it, but it was equal to playing God. With this technology, humans would be able to do what was described in the Bible as a miracle: resurrection, eternal life. Suddenly, we would no longer have to fear death, because copies could be made, with memories and personalities printed into the minds of the clones. The churches hated this; they feared God's wrath. In the late 21st century, when the first successful human clone took place, the religious stepped up their attack."
Reb stopped, shook his head, placed it in his hands and was quiet for a while. After a few minutes he drew in a harsh, ragged breath, and carried on with fear and disgust in his voice.
"This new group called themselves the Angels of Death, because they saw what they did as being God's work. They were made up of religious fanatics who were not afraid to kill for what they called 'righteous reasons'. I suppose they were the same as witch-hunters in many respects.
"There were, at the time, ten subjects, ten clones. They were hidden in a secret underground research lab in Scotland, but I don't know the exact location. The Angels of Death did, though. Late one night, in the middle of winter, they cut off all the power to the lab, broke in, killed the guards, which was something considering there was practically an army of them in there. Used semi-automatic machine guns, so I hear. But the clones were not so lucky.
"The Angels of Death dragged them out, naked, bleeding and helpless, out onto the moors above the research lab. They… they built a fire, a huge bonfire, like witch-hunters used to build for witches. Then they made the clones kneel down in front of the fire and beg for forgiveness. This they did, but it did them no good. As soon as they repented, they were bound hand and foot and thrown onto the fire…"
Here Reb stopped, unable to go on. He was gripping the table so hard it seemed about to break apart under his grip, crumble into dust. He didn't need to carry on, anyway. Trance was trembling as the images created by his words flashed through her mind. She heard the screams of the clones, the rancid stench of burning flesh tickling her nose, sticking to her tongue. She shuddered, breathing hard, staring at him with all the air of a mute being tortured. Finally, he told the last part of his story.
"The police and the army went after the Angels, of course. But the story was already all over the media. The clones' bodies had been found, and the entrance to the lab was thrown wide open, and when people saw what had happened, they were angry. There was a lynch mob who tracked the Angels down to where they were hiding in a cave not far from the scene of the massacre. They didn't struggle as the people caught them; the were certain to the last that they had done the right thing, and nothing the people did to try and make them change their minds worked. There was torture, red-hot pokers and whips, even iron maidens and thumbscrews and racks, anything they could find. The Angels were tortured and beaten within an inch of their lives, and finally that last inch was breached. The Angels were wiped out.
"After a few years the clone research was started up again, the scientists sure that the Angels were gone. Maybe they were right, or maybe the Angels are still out there somewhere. Either way, though the leaders were gone some of the ideas remained. As time passed, people began to relax, cloning was accepted as part of modern technology. And when the Pandora virus hit, it was needed more than ever. But still, the Angels' spirits terrify the clones, every one of them. Every time someone who knew nothing of the cloning was told, the reaction could not be anticipated. That's why, to this day, clones are terrified of telling people who they really are, or rather, who they really were. Because cloning, in a way, devalues human life, makes death seem like a bad dream that can be cured with just a few strands of DNA."
Reb looked up at Trance. 'Do you know why I'm telling you this?' he asked, knowing that she did, but needed to hear it. 'I'm not the first Reb Anderson. I'm a clone, so are the others. We were chosen. We're the best of humankind to resurrect humankind, each with our own skills. And for all we knew, you and your crew could be potential Angels.'
Before Trance could even begin to think of a response adequate to comfort him, the hatch slid open with a bang, and a sweaty, delighted Seamus Harper burst into the room.
'Right, so what's this big secret, then?'
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