The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (23 page)

***

Chris led Hauser and Steiner to the corridor, outside the lab.

“Mr. Hauser?” asked Chris.

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to tell you something,” said Chris.

“Sure.”

“These artificial intelligences, or
clones
, are more than just my work subjects, they’re like my family,” Chris explained. “I’d die for any one of them.”

“Don’t worry, son,” said Hauser, clasping his hand on Chris’ shoulder. “The clone is in the best hands in the world. He’ll have the same protection as the President of the United States. You have my promise.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said Chris, smiling, shaking his hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Hauser replied.

Chris returned to Twelve and Sanders in the lab.

“They’re gone, Sanders,” said Chris.

“Good. I have to go take care of some errands but stay with him and keep an eye on him,” Sanders stated, leaving the lab. “Let me know if there are any last-minute changes.”

“I will,” Chris replied.

The lab door closed behind Sanders.

“So, how do you feel?” asked Chris.

“Different,” Twelve answered.

“Come over here,” said Chris, leading him to a mirror.

Twelve stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. He felt his cheeks, nose, and chin and ran his fingers through his bangs and salt and pepper sides.

“I got to say, it’s amazing,” said Chris, watching him.

“Who is this person that I look like, Chris?” asked Twelve.

“He’s very important in the human world,” Chris replied.

“Is he friendly?” asked Twelve.

“The majority of the people seem to like him,” Chris responded. “It’s how he made office but I don’t him personally.”

“Made office?” asked Twelve.

“Yeah, he was voted in by popularity,” Chris answered.

“So, if a man is popular he becomes a leader?” Twelve asked.

“There is a little more to it than that but you’re on the right track,” Chris replied.

***

An hour later, Chris sat at his desk, typing something on his laptop while Twelve, the cloned President Greenfield, sat in a chair next to him, wearing a dark Armani suit.

“Well, you’re almost out of here,” said Chris.

“What will they have me do, Chris?” asked Twelve.

“If I had to guess, bullet-guard duty,” Chris answered.
“Or something else that’s just as mindless and stupid,”
he mumbled.

“Bullet-guard duty, Mr. Chris? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You know, because you’re going to be protecting the real president from getting sh—”

Chris stopped talking, realizing Twelve looked perplexed.

“You know what? Forget it,” said Chris, continuing his typing.

“What document are you writing?” asked Twelve.

“Sanders wanted me to fill out these legal release forms for you, since, from now on, you’ll be under the jurisdiction of the Secret Service,” Chris replied. “Basically, because I handled all of your field training on weapons and tactics strategy.”

“I see. You must feel important with so much responsibility mantled on you,” stated Twelve.

“Maybe a little,” Chris responded, glancing at him with another smile.

Twelve stood, closing his eyes, rubbing his forehead like he was in pain, staggering.

“Hey, you all right?” asked Chris, catching him before he fell over. “Let’s sit you back down,” he added, helping Twelve back to his chair.

“Thank you, Chris,” Twelve stated.

“What was all that about?” Chris asked.

“I saw something, Chris,” said Twelve.

“You saw something? Like in your mind?” asked Chris.

“I think so,” Twelve answered.

“What was it? What did you see?” asked Chris.

“There were people in a room, crying and suffering, and then I saw men lying dead on a street somewhere,” Twelve replied. “It was painful in my head,” he added, pointing to his temple.

“Hmm, I wonder if you’re sharing memories with the host,” said Chris.

“I don’t understand,” said Twelve.

“You know what? I’ll tell Sanders about it. We may need to keep you around for a while before you go to D.C.,” Chris responded.

“Whatever you think is best, Chris,” Twelve stated.

***

The next morning, Sanders sat at his desk, typing. Chris came into the lab, walking toward him with concern.

“Chris, you’re here earlier than usual,” said Sanders.

“We got to talk,” Chris answered.

“What’s up?” asked Sanders.

“There is problem with Twelve,” Chris stated.

“Oh? Do explain,” Sanders answered.

“We can’t let him go to D.C.,” Chris replied.

Sanders chuckled, continuing his typing.

“I’m being serious,” said Chris.

“And you’re basing this on—”

“The fact that Twelve is having flashbacks, dreams or visions, or something,” Chris answered.

“Dreams?” asked Sanders.

“He was having some type of day mare that upset him to the point he almost fell over,” Chris answered. “He told me saw dead people in the street and others crying. He needs to stay behind until we find out what’s wrong with him.”

“That is absolutely out of the question, Chris,” stated Sanders, typing. “Don’t you see a problem if we let him leave?” asked Chris.

Sanders took off his glasses, staring at Chris, offended.

“What if Greenfield was involved with something dirty and Twelve develops a guilty conscience over it?” Chris asked. “What if it makes him suicidal? What then?”

“That is ridiculous,” said Sanders.

“How do you know?” asked Chris.

“Because he’s a clone, a look-alike, a replica, and nothing more,” Sanders answered. “He doesn’t share memories with his host.”

“Maybe you didn’t intend it to be that way but it’s like that now,” Chris stated.

“Chris, you have no scientific proof of that, nor are you basing that on any tests, theories or hypotheses, furthermore I’m going to have to insist that you remember your place around here,” Sanders stated. “The clone is leaving this morning.”

“My place? I’ve trained these A.I.s the past two months, working with them every day, up to twelve hours, teaching them everything I can,” said Chris.

“And you’ll be well-compensated,” Sanders replied, glaring.

“I don’t give a damn about the money,” Chris stated.

“Maybe you should,” said Sanders, typing.

“I care about them,” Chris added.

“Well, that’s not my problem,” Sanders responded. “I gave you a responsibility and an opportunity within this elite program and that’s all I asked of—”

“I can’t believe all you care about is a damn paycheck, Sanders,” Chris interrupted.

“Don’t cut me off, Michaels, I intend to—”

“You’re just like everybody el—”

“Enough, Chris!” Sanders shouted, slamming his fist, standing.

The room was quiet as they glared at each other. Chris looked at Sanders with disdain and hated him more as the seconds ticked by.

“I want you out of my lab and out of my program,” said Sanders in a sharp tone.

“You’re firing me?”

“I didn’t have to bring you in on this,” said Sanders. “Wickenburg brought you to me on a lucky second chance when you should have been laid off, after Siddoway’s department turned upside down. Don’t you forget I’m the brains around here. I’m the one with a PhD in bio-engineering and this is my discovery, not yours!”

“Well, excuse me for applying decency to my employment, your highness!” Chris replied in a sharp voice.

“I want your resignation on my desk by the end of the day,” Sanders stated.

“Those clones are better than us, Sanders!” Chris yelled. “And it baffles me that they know more about people and humanity despite your imposed subjugation!”

“I’ve heard enough, now leave!” said Sanders.

“You know what you are? You’re a cheap used car salesman in a lab coat, Sanders,” Chris stated. “A low-life pawn broker.”

“Get out!” Sanders shouted. “Get out of here, Michaels! Before I call security!”

Chris walked away, shoving the lab doors open, pissed-off.

CHAPTER SEVEN
SIDDOWAY RETURNS

A few minutes later, Siddoway pulled into the vast parking lot of the Red Phoenix in his car, glaring at the building that sat a short distance away with resentment. He noticed the security booths that were posted near the front entrance. He needed a plan to get into the facility and fast.

“How dare they?” he mumbled in an ireful tone, clenching his teeth, gripping his steering wheel like he was going to leave finger marks in the vinyl around it.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face as his heated thoughts of revenge tormented him.

“Twenty-five years of work and reputation gone… GONE!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the steering wheel, breathing heavily. “I have nothing left!”

He looked down at his side, placing his hand over the leather pouch, caressing it with his hand.

“Nothing but you,” he added in a calmer tone, petting the pouch. “Nothing but you and my little arrangement in Mexico with Ahkmed, that is.”

He looked up, gazing out the windshield.

“The world is just a cruel place, isn’t it?” he said as though he was talking to somebody. “One day you can have everything then, in one swift stroke, it’s all taken from you.”

He began to weep then wiped his tears from his face.

“It’s silly to cry, isn’t it? When the world turns against you, you might as well be a damn criminal,” he babbled, taking out an eight ounce metal hip flask and taking a long swig. “Mmm. Strong whiskey.”

He threw the flask on the passenger floor like a clutz.

“Yeah, that’s it. Might as well be a damn criminal. Who cares, huh? Who the hell cares anymore?”

He rubbed his wedding ring with a gentle touch, staring at the Red Phoenix building again.

“Will you come to me?” he asked in a soft voice.

The phantasma drifted out of its pouch, swirled around Siddoway’s forearm then formed its usual misty display above his right palm. Siddoway gazed at the wondrous light’s bluish vaporous movements as it hovered over his palm.

“You and I can do this,” he muttered, desperate. “We have to do this. We’re not going to let them get away with what they did to me either, are we? No sir. We’ll make them pay. All of them will pay.”

Siddoway noticed Daryl, Dean and Gene, three male employees, walking towards a vehicle not far from him. All of them were wearing a civilian red-white uniform with a Red Phoenix logo over the left breast and ball caps. Their ID badges hung around their necks. They joked back and forth like typical guys, chuckling at one another. He remembered how all three of them applied to be his lab assistant but didn’t have the aptitude.

“There it is,” he mumbled. “There’s my chance. They won’t even see me coming,” he added, picking up his XD Three-Thousand off the passenger seat and turning it on as the light hovered.

He watched the employees head towards a parked Suburban, his weapon revving quietly.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to make some history,” Siddoway mumbled, opening his door.

He moved towards them as they were just about to get into the Suburban, carrying his XD, his pouch with the apparition inside it strapped around a shoulder, and a duffle bag around his other shoulder.

“Dr. Siddoway?” said Gene, noticing him.

“Are you back at the Phoenix?” Dean asked in a friendly tone.

“One of you give me your clothes and ID badge,” Siddoway replied in a shaky voice, trying to sound in control.

“What?” Daryl asked.

“What is this, a joke?” asked Dean.

Gene moved to the rear of the Suburban, noticing Siddoway, concerned.

“Look, I’m in no mood to screw around!” said Siddoway, sounding unstable. “One of you strip and hand them over.”

The three employees glanced at each other, realizing he was serious.

“Dean! Take off your damn uniform and give it to me!” Siddoway said, aiming his XD at him, shaking.

Dean staring at him not budging.

“Whoa guys, look at him. He’s out of his freaking mind,” said Gene.

“Let’s just do what he says,” Daryl stated.

“Don’t do it. Just hold tight,” said Gene. “Don’t give him what he wants.”

Siddoway’s eyes shifted to Gene who was moving towards him with his hand up like a calming hostage negotiator.

“Look, Dr. Siddoway, whatever happened to you here was messed up,” said Gene. “But I’m sorry; we’re not just going to hand you over—”

Siddoway extended his other hand swiftly towards Gene, causing thin purple, pink and green lightning bolts to shoot out from his pouch, striking Gene, throwing him over several vehicles. Gene’s body smashed a driver window on one car, broke an antenna on another then crushed a windshield on a third car where he laid face-down, motionless.

“Holy shit!” said Daryl as he and Dean sprinted across the parking lot.

Siddoway extended his hand towards them as they fled, causing more lightning streaks to fly after them. Dean was thrown harshly against the side of a pickup, causing a dent in the rear cab door, his head shattering the passenger window where he collapsed. Daryl was lifted up fifteen feet in the air then dumped on top of another parked car where he dented the roof, bounced off, hitting the side of another vehicle, falling to the pavement unconscious.

Siddoway stood in a victorious silence, breathing heavily, lowering his hand, amazed at the power the vapor gave him. His breathing calmed down.

“Whoo,” he uttered, running his fingers through his greasy hair, walking through the parking lot.

He looked around, darting his eyes to see if anyone watched the violent lightning show but he was alone.

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it, gentlemen?” said Siddoway mawkishly in an eerie calm voice, walking up to the rear passenger who was out cold, lying on his back.

He crouched down, put on the employee’s sunglasses and ball cap.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” said Siddoway, standing.

***

Chris barged through a locker room door, making the door slam against the wall as he carried an empty box. He walked to an aisle of lockers and threw the box on the bench.

“Shit!” he shouted, kicking the empty box off the bench, pacing the floor back and forth, his hands on his hips.

***

Siddoway approached the first security post, wearing the employee’s civilian uniform, feeling nervous, drawing closer to the guard at the post. He knew he still had to play it cool to enter the building in order to achieve his objective.

“ID please?” asked the security guard, extending a hand.

Siddoway held up the ID that hung around his neck that he’d robbed off the employee, looking away to aid his disguise.

“Thank you,” said the security guard. “What’s all this stuff you’re bringing in?”

“I got to take it to the tenth floor,” Siddoway replied.

“What’s it for?” asked the guard.

“Experiment,” Siddoway answered.

“You’re going to need to show me what you have in the duffle bag, sir,” said the guard.

Siddoway stared back at the guard. He knew showing him the control box for a nuclear bomb wasn’t a good idea.

“Sir? Your duffle bag please,” said the guard.

“Okay, fine,” said Siddoway, unzipping his duffle bag, showing the guard a metallic board with a digital display on the top, along with a numeric key bad.

“What kind of experiment is this thing for?” asked the guard.

“Holograms,” Siddoway responded.

“Holograms, huh?” asked the guard.

“Yeah, you know; a three-dimensional image brought on by lasers, interference, diffraction and light intensity,” Siddoway answered, enjoying the guard becoming more confused by the second. “You know what my favorite hologram is—”

“—Okay, okay, okay,” the guard interrupted. “Go on in before you give me brain damage.”

“Thank you,” said Siddoway in polite voice.

The first gate opened for him.

“Oh, how the ignorant fools play their part in the grand scheme of things,” Siddoway mumbled, sounding amused, walking to the entrance doors of the facility.

A set of double glass doors opened to a team of four more armed guards, standing at a metal detector Entry Scan. One of them manned an x-ray scanning machine with conveyor belt like at an airport.

“Put your duffle bag, pouch and anything metal on the rollers then walk into the Entry Scan, please,” said a guard, manning the x-ray console.

Siddoway set his duffle bag and pouch that contained the blue mist on the roller belt, watching them drift slowly towards the x-ray port tunnel. He knew the guards wouldn’t permit the control box into the building without clearance. The other two guards watched Siddoway approach the one-man scanning device as though he was just another employee coming back from a break.

“Step into the scanner, sir. Raise your hands and cross your wrists,” said the second guard in a dull voice.

Siddoway glanced at the x-ray machine, noticing the duffle bag and pouch were just about to enter the tunnel that would expose him. It was time for him to act!

“You know what? How about we just take the scanner out of the equation entirely shall we, gentlemen?” said Siddoway, flipping his XD up swiftly from underneath his jacket, firing it at the ten-foot Entry Scan frame, causing it to disappear in a cloud of vapory smoke.

Siddoway fired again at the x-ray scanning machine, making it disappear, exposing his duffle bag and pouch. He fired at three cameras that were mounted up on the walls. They vanished in a mist of dark vapors.

“What the hell?” said the x-ray guard, scared.

“Gun!” cried the second guard as he and the others went for their holstered pistols.

Siddoway raised his arms, the XD hanging across his waist in its sling. Four streaks of pink, green and purple lightning flew out of his pouch, striking all four of the guards at the same time, causing them to drop to the floor unconscious, their guns clanking on the tile floor. He looked around the vast, quiet lobby. No one saw anything.

He pulled the three guards into an empty office next to the security checkpoint, turned the lights out, locked the door then hurried to the elevators down the corridor. He darted his eyes in both directions, hoping no one would come around a corner and recognize him. The elevator door opened. He hit level fifteen and kept watch on the lobby below through the glass wall of the elevator as it ascended to the fifteenth floor.

“There’s no turning back now,” he muttered, letting out a deep breath and wiping more sweat from the side of his face.

***

Hauser and Steiner arrived at Sanders’ lab dressed in nice suits. Steiner adjusted his glasses, slicked back his wet hair with his fingers, carrying his briefcase with him. Twelve stood next to a desk, having a patient, calm demeanor, also dressed in a suit and tie.