Aubrey A. Human Writer

I wrote a highly experimental speculative fiction novel involving wormholes, parallel universes, time-travel and genetic manipulation to achieve immortality.

Recycled Star Kids

by:Aubrey A. Human

Chapter One

Unknown date and location…

Strapped and cuffed to a metal examining slab not unlike the frigid surface of an Arctic ice block, Makani flickered into consciousness again. Days of torturous sensory deprivation rendered her grasp on reality moot. Two of her sadistic captors whispered at each other in a corner of the room, plotting what treachery they’d deliver next if she didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. Previous attempts included: electric shock, simulated drowning, sunlight deprivation and the song: Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” blaring in endless loops on loudspeakers.
Since her capture, Makani had been tortured and interrogated. The agents wanted to know the usual info such as for whom she worked for; if she had contacts within the terrorist organization; names of members in her immediate circle; when was the next attack and where, etc…

Nothing of value escaped Makani’s lips. The agents already knew of her affiliation with the Dead Americans before their black, windowless van pulled up to her apartment complex the night of her capture. They’d planted bugs everywhere her organization met. Undercover agents undoubtedly attended several of their public meetings. Intelligence gathering blew like an easy breeze over the slightest hint that you might be planning dissidence once the Public Safety Surveillance Act passed. Just tell your police chief that you think so-and-so might be a terrorist. Then, kidnapping and torture become situationally acceptable.

Makani prepared for death. At least it would be easier to keep the secrets that would unravel the nubile society currently being built, she thought. That new world she and her friends dreamt about. Where they weren’t held in remote buildings in the desert, location not found on GPS systems. People would treat each other better and work to advance society. Evolve beyond tribal warfare over wealth, power and prestige.
Makani attempted to maintain some composure. Steeped in stressful situations such as imprisonment and torture, the wandering mind induces trickery in the desire to escape, if only mentally. Innate defense to protect one from going mad. She had to see her capture as an opportunity to discover what these agents already knew, what they expected from her and what they planned next.

Despite strength and tenacity, Makani drifted into abysmal depression and thoughts circling past failures and rejections. Maybe it was the cadence of the bearded agent’s voice or the aroma of his scented deodorant that made her think of that one-night-stand back in ’98.
He was gorgeous; her idolized version of the perfect mate. Makani always had a thing for beards, and stocky, tallish men. The embodiment of masculinity that lit her on fire. He was the kind of a man you’d expect to see living in the wilderness, able to survive deserts, forests and mountains. A man that could hunt, fish and subsist solely by his own hands and knowledge of the natural world.

They had met at a campground. She and her brother, Elu had brought a few friends to watch the Perseid Meteor Showers. Typical story: Man likes a girl, woos and fucks a girl then a switch goes off and she ceases to exist. The morning segued awkward kiss-turned-hug and they politely parted ways as the newly acquainted might. Makani knew that once the passionate night ended, sunrise would return the suffocating loneliness and despair of everyday life. She’d tried reasoning away the pain of twisted rejection that began with acceptance. What had she done wrong to be so disposable?

One of the agents shined a flashlight in Makani’s eyes as she pushed the memory of that one hot night of lust into a foggy corner of her mind. Usually, a blindfold broke her vision, even in the dark and windowless rooms that they shuffled her back and forth in. Nothing covered her eyes now and for the first time, Makani stared into the face of the non-bearded agent. The woman wore the most familiar face Makani knew: her own.

“How the fuck do you look like me?” she spat, grinding her voice into a searing bruise. Makani held her breath. This might not be a CIA operation, as she previously guessed. They had no cloning tech, did they?

“I am your clone, duh,” the woman replied.

“But I thought human cloning trials were still a failure,” Makani said. She was well aware of current cloning capabilities on this planet. Deciding to play the ignorance card, Makani continued to extract information.

“Maybe on this Earth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cut the games, I’m sick of your bullshit. Tell us.”

“Tell you what?” Makani asked with a cocky and confident attitude.

“Where is the wormhole?” At this, Makani’s eyes widened enough to betray her own thoughts.

“Wormhole?” she asked, a mixture of disbelief and awkward laughter added to legitimize her claim to ignorance. “You mean an interdimensional portal like on SciFi shows or something?”

Makani turned away from her living reflection, whom now examined which tool in her torture chest would delight her interest most. Knives drew too much blood and she didn’t feel in the mood to maneuver around the mess. Pliers could pry fingernails but it held a special disgust for the agent, as she was once tortured herself in this manner.

“I saw recognition on your face at the mention of the wormhole. I know you have information I need.”

“I won’t talk,” Makani said.

“I’d hate to ruin those hands. Don’t you play the violin?” the clone taunted, eyes finding a small, medieval device used by the Inquisition to squeeze fingers until the bones crushed and the flesh mangled into crooked angles. The swelling afterwards, perpetuated gruesome agony. Many lost use of their hands afterwards; forced into a lifetime of struggle to grasp the simplest doorknob or pick up a fork. To hold a violin bow would be impossible.

Fear of never drawing one across those beautiful strings again irritated Makani’s stomach. If she’d had a proper meal today, it wouldn’t have been a dry heave.
The device’s simple design consisted of three prongs and two brackets to place fingers between. A screw on the middle prong provided necessary pressure. Iron thumbscrews were so outdated, the clone thought as she sighed.

“Let’s go for a modern fad,” decided the clone. She grabbed a bucket of water and dipped a towel in. Draping the saturated towel over Makani’s face, the clone poured water over her nose and mouth. Makani tried to scream but air transformed into a rare jewel dropped in an underwater cave too narrow to swim through. She kicked her legs and flailed her arms the fractional distance allowed by the straps and cuffs. Her lungs burned and choked for oxygen.

This was drowning. This was how death felt. Makani knew because one of her lives had ended when a ship sank and no rescue teams arrived. Those final moments spent in the cabin of her ship as it flooded all air out, reignited in her mind. The fear, the regrets and sorrow accompanied her once more.
Just as Makani thought her lungs would fail and her consciousness dimmed, the bucket of water emptied and the clone agent pulled the soaked towel away. Makani consumed breaths of stale air in insatiable gulps.

“Fucking bitch! I’ll never tell you anything,” Makani choked, spitting mouthfuls of water at her in desperate retaliation. The clone wiped the moisture away, tucking annoyance beneath a blank stare.

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that. Which is why I’m forced to take the next step in the interrogation process. And it will be painful for both of us. We had to buy the older model off a Tonglid smuggler and it doesn’t have pain receptor neutralizers.”

“No…” Makani whispered. If they knew about the Tonglids, then they had an Uploader. This clone was going to copy all of Makani’s memories into her own brain as though two computers transferring files from one to the other; the end game to this torture charade. What better way to divulge information from Makani than  to impersonate her?

“Yes. Your friends won’t know the difference between us.”