Place: Cincinnati, Ohio

Time: The present, give or take a few decades

Joe Lane sat in a bar down in Over-the-Rhine. The room was filled with noise and smoke, almost suffocating him. He ordered a bottle of beer and leaned over the table he was sitting at, reading some book. It was a thriller, the type that took no intelligence to comprehend. Reading a book with one drink. A good way to relax, safe enough.

Some people walked in the bar, with coats on that were too warm for the November weather. The three of them wore black. Must be coming in from work like I am.

He sat back as he took the beer and put his feet on the table. His eyes rolled to the ceiling. The newest issue of The Weekly National had come out on newsstands today and his Mafia article was one of the featured ones. It was selling briskly. Not bad.

The coat-wearing people sat at the table behind Joe. Hushed voices came from the area. They ordered shots of whisky but did not drink them. It was suspicious, but nobody noticed. One of them was an attractive woman, an artificial blonde. She took off her coat, revealing a tight red leather dress that had come from a thrift shop.

Joe took little notice as he read of a psychotic serial killer in a little Western town.

The woman stood before him. “Hi. How’s it hangin’?”

“Fine, thank you.” Joe said as he divulged in his book again. “Ouch!”

“What is it?”

He examined his hand. “A paper-cut. Dang, it hurts.”

The woman edged closer to him, smiling. When she saw that she was having no effect on him, she resorted to her back-up plan. When Joe wasn’t looking, she slipped a drug in his drink. Tasteless and odorless, it dissolved. The woman went back to join her male friends.

Without looking, Joe took a swig of the beer and continued reading his book. In five minutes, he started feeling drunk. This struck him as odd, since he had only one gulp. The woman came to him again. She held out her hand.

Joe now felt as if he were in a dream. He took the hand and let her lead him out the door. His body felt numb, but he didn’t notice. It was a dream. It was supposed to be like this. She led him to the door and smiled. “My name’s Lea.”

He barely heard what she said, nor did he care. This was a dream, to be forgotten in the morning. One of the fat Italian men opened the door and they went outside.

“This is when the fun begins, right...” Lea continued as they walked. Joe felt as if he was half-asleep, but kept up with her. A car rolled out next to the sidewalk. He was led inside. Lea smiled.

The limousine traveled for an hour before it stopped at an empty field somewhere out in the rural areas. There were no buildings in sight. There weren’t any farms for ten miles. The road was dirt. It was a peaceful place at one in the morning.

Joe was led outside of the car, with Lea at his side. When the road was out of sight, they let him drop to the ground. It was a foggy night and the sky was pink. It was beautiful to him. He smiled.

Lea turned to one of her companions. “Now?”

The men nodded and one pulled out a black plastic bag. He revealed an array of sharp knives and surgical instruments. Lea held Joe’s hand in the air. Joe did not feel her touch it, as his body was numb. He just smiled. Whatever...

Left arm, right arm, left leg, right leg, and some parts of his chest and abdominal. Lea looked at the job. Then she bandaged him, as so he wouldn’t bleed to death. Let him wake up and starve instead.

“Good work,” one of the men said, and they left him for dead.

Joe giggled and sleepily called, “Bye-bye, Lea.”

Beep! Beep!

The alarm rang like a mother scolding her child. Joe quickly silenced it by batting it with his right hand, still covered in blankets. Why wake when the bed was so comfy at this particular moment? Five minutes, please? But he knew how five minutes could easily turn into ten or twenty, and he’d already been late for work enough. Time to haul it. Cripes...

The sheets first revealed his face: young and attractive, almost boyish. Tired blue eyes struggled to stay open as his shapely lips muttered something. Joe’s short blonde hair resembled that of a tornado victim’s. He was now physically awake(unfortunately, the mental part wouldn’t come until lunch).

He sat up and the covers abandoned him. His legs, all of his right arm and most of his left, and some parts of his lower chest were artificial. The prosthetics functioned almost as well as the originals, but Joe’s brain would always regard them as alien.

But that had been last November, almost five months ago. Since then, Joe had celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday. Big whup!

He stood up, the wooden floor cold under his feet. Joe’s limbs looked robotic with a circuit-covered surface, but had the same weight and dimensions of the real thing. He wore only a pair of navy-blue boxers as he stumbled across the hall to the bathroom. The radio was turned on and a sweet female voice said, “Good morning on this beautiful Monday, April 1st, 2024. It is now six minutes after seven. This is WKRQ, Cincinnati...”

Joe took little notice as he stripped and stepped in the tub. His shower lasted for all of fifteen minutes. Steam covered him as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him. The phone rang and the man went to his kitchen to answer it, switching off the video-phone option since he wasn’t exactly presentable at the moment.

“Joe here. Hello?” he said, leaning against the wall, using the speakers.

“It’s me,” the voice replied. It was Ken Wood, Joe’s primary source of information for research and the like.

“You have the info on Williams? I might be on to a story here.”

“Yeah. Go check your e-mail. I’m sending it right now.”

Joe pressed a button on the dining-room wall and a screen the size of a television popped up. He typed up some stuff on the keyboard below and asked, “Are you sure this is accurate?”

“Please, you know this crap is real. With me, it always is, right?”

Joe sighed. Of course. That statement included info on organized crime. It was accurate, and Joe had learned it the hard way. Still, he didn’t blame Ken. It was like somebody killing a person and having the police blame it on the gun. The gun, after all, is only a dumb object. Much like myself, perhaps...

“Oh yeah, this is good. This is great! The article that comes from this will be gold. Gold, I tell ya! Gold!” Joe exclaimed. “How do you get this dirt?”

“I have my connections, my secret codes, my...” Ken said mischievously. “Well, I’m not privileged to say.”

Joe transferred the info to the screen in his bedroom and continued talking with his friend as he dressed. He was able to hide most of his electronics under a new Armani suit. Gloves coming back in style were also a help. Everyone thought he wore them because it was stylish. In truth, Joe never payed attention to current fashion trends. He just bought expensive clothing and prayed it would make a good impression.

“Understood. Hey, how’s that girlfriend of yours? Can Stacia still stand you?”

Ken responded, “Uh... you could say that!” A long pause, then, “You went to the game last night. What happened?”

“Oh, not much. The Bengals lost, again. It’s been a bad season for them.”

“Please! It’s been a bad century for them, Joe. They’re thinking about making the team coed now, did you hear? You can’t have little women fighting those guys!”

“Really? I think it would be an improvement, actually. But then, it’s the Bengals. Anything would be an improvement.”

Ken laughed and said, “True, but I really hafta go now... you know. Bye!”

Joe pressed the button and hung up. He quickly reviewed the info as he did his hair. It was parted and slicked back, as was the fashion. Joe put his silver Rolex on his left wrist. He would have worn the gold one, but he had lost it long ago. To be specific, he had lost it on November 10, 2023. Ouch!

Then Joe walked out of the apartment building. It was located in Montgomery, a Cincinnati suburb. He could have bought a house down the road, but houses were too big for one person. Houses were for families, not bachelors. Maybe later.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Joe drove to the office downtown. Rush hour had barely started by the time he reached the city limits and was in full swing by the time he had already gotten to work. It was a quarter to eight.

The building Joe worked at was located in the center of Downtown Cincinnati. It rose ten stories higher than anything that had come before it. The Casper Building was a technological marvel, a shining example of what the twenty-first century had to offer. It was light green in color with silver lining. To Joe, it almost looked cartoonish. He parked his BMW in the garage and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. It was the floor that was completely occupied by the Cincinnati offices of The Weekly National.

The doors opened and Joe walked in. A secretary sat in a desk near the entrance, filing her nails. “Mr. Lane? I’ve a message for you. You’re scheduled to interview one of the Democratic candidates for the Primaries. Guess which.”

“Great,” Joe replied. That thing with Yvette Freedman came through, finally. He retreated to his cubicle and started working on the Williams project. Reginald Williams was a wealthy businessman who was suspected to have some illegal dealings going on. But nobody knew who or what this involved. Nobody but Ken and Joe. Now it was Joe’s job to have everyone else know too. It was a scandal and Joe loved that sort of thing. He read the info on disc and smiled, uncovering secret after secret.

By one in the afternoon, he had finished. Then he left and had lunch. Joe always ate at the trendy cafe across the street. He, however, didn’t care about trendiness. The food was good and it wasn’t as cramped as some other places. That, and the fact that it was close to work. Joe ordered some coffee and a sandwich, the usual. He had come here ever since he started working for the Weekly National, which was soon after he had graduated college.

The waiter gave it to him and Joe gave him a five. Then, as he sipped the coffee, he saw her: the girl. She was young and beautiful, like an angel. Joe remembered when she had first come in here a month ago. Her name was Michelle, the black-haired goddess of the cafe. She was about five foot eleven, and a size six at that. The standards of the day considered her the equivalent of a supermodel. Michelle was wanted and she knew it.

But Joe lacked her confidence in affairs of the heart. After all, how could he drop his pants if he couldn’t even take off his gloves? He always found ways of hiding the prosthetics in social settings(few people knew they excisted at all), but what about in other settings? Joe could just see the women running out of his room.

Apparently, he had been staring at her for a while, since he accidentally caught her eye. She smiled invitingly.

Whoa. Joe moved from the bar he had been sitting at to the woman’s table. He sat across from her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Michelle responded. “I’ve seen you here for a while. How long have you been coming here?”

“Uh, I’ve been eating at Rimbaud’s for two years now,” Joe answered calmly. “Where do you work?”

“I’m studying to be a pediatrician at UC. It’s because I love working with children. Et toi?” And you?

Joe knew no French but figured out what she was saying. “I write for The Weekly National. I was turned on to journalism in high school and did that major in college. It’s fun, discovering scandals and such. Say, are you from around here?”

“No. I’m from Florida, actually. I come from a big family, with two sisters, two brothers, and a psychotic cat. I’m glad to be away from all that.”

“Wow. I grew up in Hamilton and am an only child. It’s people like you that make me feel grateful,” Joe said. Both laughed. Hmm... things are going well.

“Yeah. Hey, what’s your number? Maybe I can call you or something.”

They exchanged phone numbers and said good-bye.

This affected Joe for the rest of the workday, as his attention was now apt to wander from the matters at hand.

The doorbell rang around six. Joe got up from where he was sitting, typing something, and called, “Who is it?”

“Just me!” Ken’s voice came from behind the door.

“Door’s open,” he said as he used a remote to unlock the apartment entrance.

Ken walked in. He was about one inch shorter than Joe, which was still very tall. His hair was close-cropped and he was almost as young as him. The African American sighed and said, “What’s with the your pad now? It looks like a wreck.”

“I’m lazy. What can I say? Sit.” Joe indicated a spot on the sofa. He was topless, wearing a pair of faded jeans with the knees worn out. Nothing he’d wear outside the home. In fact, Joe always changed clothing when greeting company. But this was Ken, not... Michelle. There was a difference.

Of course, both men knew this. Joe looked like a freak and he knew it. He remembered when he wanted to call someone when he was at the hospital, but couldn’t. So he asked a nurse to dial up a number. It wasn’t his family he was calling, but Ken. Then Ken had asked if the info had worked out for him on the phone. Joe actually found himself laughing. It was all so wonderfully retarded!

“Where’s the food? Me hungry,” Ken said as he passed him.

“What? I thought you said Stacia loved cooking. You eat there daily, don’t ya?”

“No. I go there daily. Does the girl love cooking? You bet. Does this change the taste of it? Not from where I’m standing!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “You know, when I go to Kroger’s, it’s not just so you can stuff your face. There are other reasons, too.”

“I’m sure there are, Joe. So have you finished the popcorn yet?” Ken looked through the kitchen. “Ah, you haven’t! Yum, yum! Hey, what do want do you wanna do now? I’m thinking something between clubbing--”

“Stacia would kill you,” Joe reminded him.

“or maybe we can just watch a video, if you want.” The voice was bored. Joe knew what they could have been doing if it was last year. Both men used to be athletic. They met each other while running track in high school and would still race each other. But now Joe couldn’t, not anymore. He could keep up a slow jog or a quick twenty-foot dash, but that was all his legs could do for him. It was fine for everyday life, but not what he longed for. He wanted to run, but he knew he never would.

Ken still ran when he had the time, between computer hacking and running a legitimate business on the internet. He still had to remind himself that he’d be going alone now, though. Sometimes, when running, he felt guilt for what had happened to his friend. If he hadn’t found those electronic files, if he hadn’t given them to Joe, if, if, if...

“Aw, screw it,” Joe said, smiling. “You know, if you really did feel guilty, maybe it would help if you stopped moping around my food stash. I feel like I’m gonna wake up one day and find my grub missing. Then I’m gonna see you, about fifty pounds heavier. And Stacia’ll learn what you did and she’ll hate you forever and kick your now fat butt from here to China. Then... hey, could you make me a sandwich while you’re at it?”

“Sure. Peanut butter and jelly? Okay.”

Joe sat on the couch and turned to the living-room screen. He turned it to the digital television function and watched the news. “Hey, Williams just married that rich socialite! What’s her name? Oh yeah, Bunkley. Nice looking, though real mean, I hear.”

Ken sat next to him with a plate of sandwiches and a bag of popcorn and handed him a cup of soda. “Hey, you think digging up stuff on this guy is such a good idea?”

Joe shrugged. “Morally, I’ve no clue. But it sells subscriptions, right? I mean, the police would catch on a little later, right? I just bring bad things to light. I don’t create them.”

The three-dimensional image continued, “We were able to get a few words with Williams today.” It switched over to an older woman sitting with the businessman during an interview. The man smiled as he told the world of his love for his new wife.

But Joe felt no guilt. He sold magazines, Williams laundered money. It was all a business, really. A business and nothing more. Sometimes, Joe imagined himself as a sort of hero, ending evil. Punish the bad guys with the power of the pen, mightier than the sword! Mostly, though, he just liked digging up other people’s dirt(not the most noble of intentions). Still, did it really matter? Joe knew how to write well and it was that which had given him financial success. Like many other men, he wanted things in life. To be rich, powerful, and adventurous. There were costs, of course, those that one would expect(less free time, stress at work) and those one wouldn’t(such as certain events involving the Mafia, etc.). Still, Joe thought it was worth it.

Ken turned off the television and said, “Come on, this sucks. Let’s go do something.”

Joe shrugged.

“How about snowboarding?”

“Sorry, moron. It’s April. Sigh,” Joe responded. It sounded like a fun idea, though.

“Why must that stop us? There’s this place I know across the river. Great year-round. Stacia showed me the place a few weeks ago. A lot of Olympic hopefuls practice there. The place is called the Cummings Winter Sport Center, also known as C.W.S.C.”

“What’ll the ground be like now?” Joe asked as he wandered to his bedroom and changed into good jeans and a wool pull-over.

“It’s covered with hard snow, about six inches high.”

“Kick. Hey, is it real?” he said as he pulled on a pair of tight sporting gloves.

Ken pointed to the gloves. “About as real as those, not that you can tell or anything.”

The guys walked to Joe’s car. It was a burgundy BMW, bought a year ago. The car clashed with Ken’s beat-up Toyota, parked next to it. The inside of the BMW was rich-looking but still smelled of the same thing Ken’s car reeked with: old fries from McDonald’s. The only difference was that Joe’s car also contained some dried ketchup.

Ken reached for the radio and turned to his favorite station, some oldies thing. He smiled as they cruised along the highway. “Yeah, turn on King’s Island Road. You got it...” Then a certain song came on and he smiled.

Joe laughed. “No. I’m not singing it. No, no, no...”

“Come on... you know you want to.”

He rolled his eyes and joined Ken in singing along to “Loveshack” by the B-52’s. Thank goodness the windows are closed!

After all of twenty minutes, they reached their destination. Amid the green grass, there were twenty acres of snow. It looked more unreal than it actually was. The parking lot was almost full, which surprised Joe.

“It’s year-round, remember?”

They walked to the building between them and the snow. Joe felt a little warm under the pull-over, but knew that he’d be grateful for it soon enough. Ken led him inside. The interior looked no different from that of a roller-skating rink, save for the fact that instead of a hardwood-floored area, there was a door to the hills outside.

“Yo, what do you want? We have the newest models right here for you to rent. Better control, better hold on the snow than what you’re used to!” a teenage guy said. He didn’t look like he was old enough to be working there, but nobody cared to notice.

“We’ll just rent the regular kind, thank you,” Ken said. He took the boards and paid the kid. Then he said to Joe, “I’ll race ya. Ten bucks.”

A chance to race Ken again! He couldn’t run, but he knew he could snowboard as well as anyone. “Well, I haven’t done it since last winter. But... you’re on!”

They took their equipment outside and were transported to the top of one of the slopes. As they sat, Joe said, “You’d never believe what happened today!”

“What?”

“I met the most beautiful girl at lunch. Her name’s Michelle Taylor. Her eyes are mesmerizing and... ah... she studies at UC. Wants to be a kiddie doctor. Lives in Florida. Big family. You gotta meet her.”

Ken responded, “A girl now? Hmm... I never expected! You really want her?”

“I just met her today. How should I know? Still, I just know she’s the one. She’s a goddess, I tell you. An angel, like something at the museum. Like Venus and Aphrodite...”

“Ride’s over,” Ken interrupted his friend. They got off the ski lifts and went to a bench where they could strap on their boards. “By the way,” he added, “Venus and Aphrodite are just the Greek and Roman names for the same thing.”

Joe nodded as he stuck his feet in the straps. Now he wore the appropriate boots and wasn’t hot in his pull-over. He fastened the plastic straps and stood up. “You ready?”

“For me to whip your butt? Anytime!”

Both men stood on the edge of the hill. At the count of three, both leaned forward and the race begun. The fake snow was hard and Joe used it to his advantage. He did a few tricks and used every advantage, careful to keep his balance. He’d always had a really good sense of balance, so this was easy for him.

Ken was right beside him for most of the way. But at the finishing line, it was Joe who came out ahead. He spun to a full stop and both laughed as they took off their boards.

“I guess I owe you,” Ken said, reaching into his pocket.

“Naw, that was too much fun. Keep it,” Joe said. “Hey, why don’t we do it again?”

They stayed at the C.W.S.C. until it closed sometime in the early morning.

“Natalie here has submitted her photos of the newest art exhibit at the museum. It’s good. And Joe, what’s this?” the managing editor, Mrs. Fayaway, asked.

“This is my Williams report, Mrs. Fayaway. I trust you’ll like it,” Joe replied.

It was sometime around ten in the morning on Tuesday. The Weekly National was holding a meeting of all its writers and editors. About a dozen people sat around the table. At the head of the table was Mrs. Fayaway, a woman of about sixty, the person who had founded the newsmagazine. Joe sat near the other end. Natalie Bowles sat across from him, a photographer in her early thirties. She was the second-youngest person at the table.

“My, my, this is very interesting, Joe. Tell me, are you sure it’s all legitimate? Reginald Williams could sue for libel, you know.”

“I assure, it’s all true,” Joe said.

“Alright, but I know you. This could have risks other than legal issues. Remember that one incident? It got twenty convictions for the Mafia and brought sales up by half, but I don’t think it’s worth repeating, personally.”

Joe smiled sweetly and said, “I’ve checked. This man has no connections to any significant organized crime organization whatsoever. Besides, I haven’t gone to a bar since that incident. Believe me, it’s safe.”

Mrs. Fayaway accepted the article. Of all her employees, Joe was the most headstrong and foolish. He did things without thinking of the consequences. When the revolution comes, she thought, he’ll be the one starting it.

“Now Devon, what do you have?”

Devon Brown presented his manila folder. He said, “This is a report on the American school system and how SAT scores have drastically improved since the turn of the century. I believe you’ll find it quite uplifting, Madame.”

Joe rolled his eyes when he thought nobody was looking. Brown-noser!

Natalie looked and him and giggled.

Mrs. Fayaway inspected the work and smiled. It was good, more or less. Well-researched, consistent, informative. Nothing special about it, but it would sell. “Thank you,” she said as she took the piece.

“Helen?”

Helen Dogwood handed in her article to accompany Natalie’s photographs. She was small and thin, from Nashville. Her hair was an almost white-blonde. She had a well-mannered way about her, but it wasn’t sucking up. It was just the politeness she had grown up with.

One by one, the process was repeated with the other contributors. An hour later, they all returned to their offices and cubicles. Natalie pulled Joe aside.

“When’s that Freedman interview?” she asked.

“It’s this afternoon. Are you gonna be doing the pictures for it?”

“Yup. I can’t believe it, meeting the President!”

“Not yet, mind you,” Joe corrected her. “She still has a lot of competition.”

“But think about it. She’s not the first woman running for office, but she might be the first one to make it. She’s Black, she’s female, and she’s ideal as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah, but I wonder how it would affect the country if we had a female president.”

Natalie paused. “For one week every month, we’ll be this much closer to another nuclear war.”

“I don’t want to imagine that, but somehow it seems unavoidable.”

“Well, no matter who wins, I think America’s in for a few changes.”

Joe said, “America’s always been in for a few changes. You just don’t notice most of them.”

“Hmm. Hey, wanna lunch with me today?”

“Can’t. Gotta eat at Rimbaud’s.”

“Why? You’ve dined at that place since Adam and Eve!”

“Ah, but now Adam has found Eve.”

Natalie asked, “Who?”

“Michelle Taylor. She studies medicine at UC. Hey, doesn’t your cousin also study to be a pediatrician there?”

“Yes, and I know the names of everyone in the department since I visited last week. Taylor doesn’t ring a bell, but maybe she’s new.”

Joe found this puzzling, as he had seen her at Rimbaud’s for at least a month. He made a mental note to ask Michelle about this, but then erased it. Who cares anyway?

Joe sat at a table at Rimbaud’s. It was noon, the time they had agreed to meet. The sunny sky shown brightly through the glass wall that was that made up the storefront. He ordered a glass of fruit juice and waited.

In five minutes, she showed up. Michelle’s long hair was done up in pigtail-style buns. She wore a lavender long jacket with white suede pants. She looked like a Colonial maid redone into a modern Mademoiselle. In other words, she was trendy-looking.

Joe instantly wanted her and it showed. Quickly, he took a notebook he had brought with him and hid his excitement. But he was not fast enough, as Michelle silently laughed at it.

“How are you today, Mr. Lane?” Michelle asked as they met.

“Very well, thank you,” he replied in the same formal tone. Then he edged across the table to where she was sitting. He took her in his arms and they embraced. Her body met his, suddenly wanting to take it.

They passionately kissed, mouth to mouth and then some. She did not resist, although she had reasons to, reasons Joe would never understand. There was a fire in both of them, a fire that grew with each movement, each loving touch.

Michelle stopped.

“What?”

“We’re in public, remember?”

“Oh, yeah... Dang!” Joe replied.

“Well, why can’t we go to your place then?” Michelle suggested.

The prospect delighted Joe very much, but he knew it wasn’t wise. If they went to his home, they’d eventually go beyond kissing. This should have also gone well with him, if not for the fact that taking his clothes off would scare the living Hell out of Michelle.

“I have a meeting soon. I can’t,” Joe lied. That thing with Mrs. Freedman didn’t come for two hours, at least.

“A meeting? Can’t it wait?”

“It’s with the woman who may become the President of the United States. Believe me, it can’t.”

Michelle looked disappointed. “Can we at least eat?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Joe said. “Waiter!”

The man came over and said. “Hello. I take it you both want the usual?”

“Yes,” Michelle replied.

They ate.

Around one-forty in the afternoon, Joe arrived at the local convention center. He was dressed in a new suit from Saks Fifth Avenue. Natalie sat next to him in his car. She made a last-minute check of her equipment.

They got out of the car and walked into the building. The entrance opened into a large white lobby, complete with tubelike elevators and virtual artwork on the walls. It had been remodeled two years ago, but it looked more like two minutes.

Joe and Natalie sat on some chairs in the reception area, waiting.

“Are you sure you have enough film?” Joe asked.

“Oh, yeah, plenty. I’ll just take a shot of her at that’ll be it!” Natalie paused for a moment and said, “Let me guess. You wanna be in the picture, too. Yeah, I’ll just bet preteen girls everywhere cut out those pics and pin ’em up in their bedrooms.”

Joe rolled his eyes. He’d only made that request once, when doing an article about a supermodel a year ago(and even that was only to show Ken that, yes, he had actually met her).

In fifteen minutes time, Natalie tapped his shoulder. He heard the millions of footsteps coming from the outside. She entered, surrounded by scores of advisors, bodyguards, and other types of people. But being six and a half feet tall, she rose above it all. She dominated the room. Yvette Freedman had arrived.

The two stood up. Natalie appeared to be awestruck while Joe simply acted like the professional that he was. If he was to do this the right way, he would not let himself be intimidated. Never, no way, nada.

“Hello, Mr. Lane. Hello, Ms. Bowles,” she said. With that, they shook hands. Natalie’s grip was limp while Joe’s was perfect, not squeezing the hand but not being limp either. It had power to it. Mrs. Freedman also noted that Joe’s hand was much harder than most people’s. He must work out, she thought. She wanted him to take his gloves off, but neglected to say it.

“Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Freedman. How are you doing?” Joe said.

“Fine, thank you. Shall we start?”

“I believe we shall,” Mrs. Freedman responded. She abandoned all but two of her people, perhaps to make the reporters more comfortable. Besides, the room they would be interviewing in was pretty small.

For half an hour, Joe and Mrs. Freedman talked of everything from her opinions on certain political issues to family life. Natalie was amazed at Joe’s charisma and its effect when combined with Mrs. Freedman’s. To her, they looked like old friends. She wondered how the Hell he pulled it off.

As she thought this, she took thirty shots with her camera while Joe recorded the conversation on tape. Yvette Freedman looked like a leader was supposed to, and Joe, of course, looked great. She even photographed him, although she had no real intentions of including those in the article.

Finally, it ended. They all shook hands and said good-bye.

A few minutes later, in the BMW, Natalie said, “That was good. But how the Hell...?”

Joe pulled the car out of the parking space and replied, “I wouldn’t know, but somehow, yes, I pulled it off. Don’t ask me why or you might jinx it.”

Natalie quietly laughed and they went back to the office.

At the office, Joe settled into his chair. He thought of how he had pulled that off. It came naturally to him, he figured. It was an honor, yes. But if I wasn’t worthy of it, than I wouldn’t have gotten the job, right?

This made him feel better, although it still made no sense. He worked on the article a little, and his mind wandered to other things: Michelle, snowboarding, and sex. He tried to think of ways he could combine the first and the third, but these fantasies always ended in somebody running out of his bedroom. Always, always, always... Damn you, Mafia!

Joe felt trapped at times like these. He, like any other adult, had his desires. He knew he looked attractive to the opposite sex. So why can’t I even take off my gloves for a woman? Why can’t I wake up without being some semi-cyborg, without having to depend on modern medical technology just so I live a half-way normal life? Why must I be cursed like this? Why?! Does God punish all his children like this?

Joe looked at a cup of coffee lying on his desk. It was lukewarm, unfinished since breakfast. He took a swig of it. The joy of caffeine. Ahh... He forced himself to stop thinking of all his misfortune. After all, things could be worse(although to that end, he couldn’t figure out what). He concentrated on his Freedman report, listening to the tape he had recorded. Two voices droned on as he typed. One voice old and female, the other his own.

His mind drifted to other things, stupid things. Like when he got his first computer, back when they still sat on desks(while nowadays only the keyboards sat on a desk, and even they could also be connected to the walls horizontally). He thought of how he was amazed at anything slower than the blink of an eye. Joe laughed at the stupidity of it all.

He left work around seven to eight. The sky was a dark fog, waiting to become rain. Joe walked out of the building and took a short walk around the block. He came to the downtown mall, a building that was almost as large as the one he worked in. Shoppers from the suburbs went in and out, buzzing with the latest designer gear. These women were society women, with money to burn. In a weird way, Joe almost hated it. This was not say that he had grown up poor(just the opposite: his father had bought Hamilton property cheap before the highway exit was built. When property values went up in the late 90’s, he became very wealthy). It was how people spent so much time on such a simple activity. Buy clothing, cover your butt. And yet, these people would devote an entire evening to such a thing! What was it with women?

After scratching his brain for a good answer and coming up dry, he walked on. Civilization rose up around him. Buildings so tall their top floors couldn’t be seen with the human eye lined every street. It was like New York City. Joe remembered the words people had used to describe Cincinnati in times past: “It’s the biggest small town in the country!”, “If I heard the world was going to end tomorrow, I’d run to Cincinnati-- because there, everything happens ten years later.” and “This place sucks! I wanna go back home!” (the last statement being quoted from anybody who’d ever moved here).

But things have changed, haven’t they? A century ago, Cincinnati had lost a chance at becoming a big city when it didn’t build a train station, believing that steamboats were the way to go. But with the commercialization of space travel, Cincinnati was determined not to make the same mistake. They built the world’s first spaceport and it currently transported a million travelers to resorts on the moon and some parts of Mars every year. This, of course, increased commerce. Joe remembered how his parents raved about it when he was about ten years old.

Joe thrived on change. Must be genetic. He saw the faults in everything, and he saw the solutions as well. Nothing would ever be perfect, but the drive to make something that was the very essence of humanity. Evolution was everything. He muttered, “From monkey to modern man, from green-screen to decent computer... Cinci, you’ve come a long way, baby!”

He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He figured he should probably go home or something. It was a Tuesday night, and he had to get up the next morning, unfortunately. He wondered what Ken would be doing now. Stalking some chat room without visuals, probably, unless he’s with Stacia. Then, who knows? Is he ever going to propose to her? They’ve gone out forever, and they already look like man and wife.

In this manner, Joe was extremely jealous of his friend. Ken and Stacia had a steady relationship. While Joe longed for Michelle, he knew it was impossible. If she wants me topless, the relationship will surely end. He imagined her in the nude, which wasn’t a particularly hard task. Then he imagined the circumstances in which such a thing would happen. What girl wouldn’t be repulsed? DAMN YOU, MAFIA!!!

He lazily made his way back to the parking garage and took his car home.

The next Friday, Joe drove to Michelle’s place in Clifton. It was about eight o’clock. He passed by the old apartment buildings with names that sounded like expensive hotels, the same thing he had lived in when he went to UC. It was raining hard, despite what the weatherman said. Rain fell heavily on his BMW, making things hard to hear against all the thumping. Joe checked himself before he got out of the car. He wore a green sweater with Gap jeans. Under the sweater, he wore a neatly ironed white shirt. The shoes were the modest tennis kind. It was a clean college-type of look. The tan gloves were the only part of the outfit not common on campus.

He went along the main street. Although the downtown had built up in the last century, Clifton had stubbornly stayed the same. The shops and houses that lined the boulevard had done so for years. Then he took a left onto one of the smaller streets. It was a large Victorian house was Michelle’s apartment. It’s the number, all right.

Joe parked his car on the street and walked to the door. He rang for her once and she answered. She said, “Oh, please come in.”

Michelle led him up a flight of stairs to a thick wooden door. When she opened it, Joe saw that there was only one bedroom in the place. He ventured, “Do you have any roommates?”

“No,” she replied. “My folks could afford for me to have a home all to myself. Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. What were you planning for us to do tonight? I thought a walk in the park would be good, but with the weather and all...”

“Let’s stay here then. I can fix something up in a jiffy and we’ll watch some movie on the tube. That’d be just fine, wouldn’t it?” Michelle suggested.

“That works,” Joe said. As Michelle went to reheat some soup, he wrapped his arms around her. She giggled. “Listen, that don’t come till later. Bad boy, you go find a good disc to watch, won’t ya?”

Joe went looked through her library and found little. There were only a dozen or two videos on the shelf. Still, he found something decent. So what if I’ve seen Return of the Jedi five million times already?

Ten minutes later, they both sat on the plush sofa watching it. Joe held her in his hands. She leaned on his lap, looking at his romantically. “Why don’t you ever take off those gloves, Joe? I know they’re in fashion magazines and all, but still...”

Joe remained silent, his stomach doing a belly flip.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you without those. Whether it’s those black ones you wear to work or these ones ya got now, you’re always wearing them. I don’t like it, personally.”

“I have reasons to, Michelle. That’s all I’m saying,” Joe responded.

She noticed his sudden change in mood and something told her that she should shut up and watch the movie. So she did.

Joe got up to go to the bathroom. As he returned, he leaned against the wall for a moment. Michelle saw him and smiled. He smiled back and took his hand off the wall. Without knowing it, the glove snagged and slipped off his left hand. Michelle saw this too.

Joe looked down and looked up at her. He looked down the same way he had when he had woken up in that ditch months ago. But the shock was not from fear or puzzlement, but from embarrassment. He couldn’t meet her eyes. This is not happening!

Michelle got up from her seat and slowly went to him. She said, in a very unemotional voice, “What is this?”

“I can explain,” Joe stated, his voice raising a full octave.

Michelle gently poked the hand that had been groping her only minutes ago. She hyperventilated, but tried her best to remain calm.

He continued, “It happened to me last November. They came so quick and they drugged me. Then they left me up in Boone County. The ambulance, their sirens woke me up the next day. I still don’t know why I’m not dead.”

“This hand? Is that the extent of it?” Michelle asked.

“If only. Both my arms, legs, parts of the chest,” Joe explained as if he were reciting something to a gradeschool teacher.

Michelle hesitantly took off the other glove. It too revealed a circuit-covered shape, covered with a soft clear plastic. By now, her shock was replaced by a sort of curiosity. Joe did not resist.

“Would you take off your shirt?”

“Why not?” He took off his shirt. Diagonal stripes of circuitry similar to what covered his hands ran from his lower right abdominan to the left part of his upper chest. He figured he’d bare all and she’d dump him or something. Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Michelle examined this and said, “What about the legs?”

Joe took off his pants. Now all he wore was a pair of thin briefs. He felt somewhat exposed, but said nothing. Michelle’s not screaming yet, so perhaps I should go along with this. Hmm...

“Joe,” she said as she lowered her eyes.

“Hey, I understand-”

“You’re so sexy, even now. You stand here, ashamed of a body that has withstood Hell and then some. You expect me to hate you because of some human prejudice. I’m not like other girls, Joe.”

“Whu?” Joe said. One part of him was very confused, and the other part was too relieved to care. “Could, uh, you repeat that?”

“I love you. Can’t you see that? Or are you so superficial that you judge others with standards by which you’d fail? Has your mind been so polluted with the garbage that this society has fed you that you can’t see things for what they are? So do you want me because I look like a model, something you could never be? Am I simply a mirror of your own lost dreams, to be filled only with nights of passionate lovemaking?”

Joe walked over to the couch with his pile of clothing. “Of course not!” Then he took his pair of jeans and started to put them on. He still felt as if he was being dumped.

Michelle took the jeans out of his hands. “Don’t,” she whispered in his ear. She took off her own clothing. Her body made Joe feel a lust like he had never before encountered. Tall and slim, she touched him tenderly, like an angel. Joe felt something stiffen and took her nude body in his. They entered each other and experienced ecstasy like never before. Voices from the television were muffled by shouts of pleasure.

Joe sleepily opened his eyes. The rain had let off, revealing a rainbow sky with sweet damp air. The room was flooded with sunlight. He saw a clock on top of the television. It was a little after nine. He lay naked on the sofa, Michelle strewn over his body. It was a feeling of peace, one that he hadn’t known for a long time.

Michelle awoke and said, “Damn...”

Joe grinned. “I think you’ve spoken for the both of us.”

She stood up and wrapped a bathrobe around her. “Want some breakfast? There’s some cereal left in the pantry, I think.”

Joe slipped on his underwear and shirt as he followed her.

Michelle poured cereal for them and asked, “So, how did that November incident take place, anyway? I’d like to know, if it doesn’t trouble you.”

“Well, I was in a bar. Wasn’t drunk, but somebody drugged my beer so you wouldn’t have been able to tell. This girl that looked like a prostitute over and led me to the middle of nowhere with some fat Italian guys. I don’t know their names-although the woman said hers was Lea- but I know they were from the Mafia.”

“Mafia?”

“Yeah,” Joe continued. “I wrote something bad about them in the magazine and they didn’t like it.”

“That was stupid,” Michelle remarked, almost unsympathetically.

“You’re not the first one to say that. But on the bright side, it brought up subscriptions by fifty percent and got twenty convictions for the Mafia.”

Michelle laughed. “Man, you’re a dumbass!”

“Then why do you want me so bad?”

“You’re a sexy dumbass. Happy?”

“Mmm, very,” Joe said as he stood behind her. His artificial hand brushed up against her positively real butt. Teenage shivers went up her spine.

Michelle took a gallon of milk from the fridge and set it on the counter. Joe took her in his arms and they kissed. It was kiss slower than still air, more powerful than wind.

“Dang, girl. Did I ever tell you how I long for your kisses, for your touches, for your very being. No? Well, I do.”

Michelle sighed. She had never known love like this. Where she had grown up, romance was forbidden. People were arranged according to genetics, not emotion. This was new to her. She was not meant to have ever felt it, but she did. Usually, she would have regretted such a thing. Now, however, she did not.

Joe looked in her brown eyes. There was something vaguely strange about her, as if she were holding a secret even worse than his own. They were loving eyes, trusting eyes, but they were also a little sad. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking,” Michelle said. She thought of distant places that Joe would never know of, nations he’d never fly to. She thought of her mission, the assignment only she was deserving of. She thought of a million ways her life had changed last night, but didn’t regret any of them.

Joe suspected more, but let it pass. Something about her intrigued him, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. To him, she was a seductive puzzle to be solved in its own good time. She seemed to be full of secrecy, of hurt, and of confusion. A seductive puzzle, indeed.

“Would you hold me in your arms?” Michelle asked.

“For comfort? Of course,” he responded.

Michelle relaxed in his embrace. Nothing else mattered now. There were forces too terrible to contemplate, but they weren’t here. They would conspire, these forces, and they would probably win. They would destroy things, lives, and go on to become great. Then Michelle reminded herself that they wouldn’t be here, at least not until she had finished her mission. Usually, she would have finished her mission by now. Still, things had changed, although she couldn’t quite figure out how.

Some birds chirped outside on a windowsill, with the mating calls of spring. An old willow tree brushed up against a window. The hardwood floor basked in the sunlight. Many of the neutral tones of the apartment seemed to breathe with life. Things were bright and sunny, were they not?

Joe tried to notice that and only that. He was successful. An hour passed. He decided that it was probably time to say good-bye and did so. He changed back into his full attire and drove off.

“Can you believe it? I wanted to see the game last night, but Stacia had to drag me to the ballet! I mean, what’s the fun in watching guys in tights when the Bearcats are beating someone’s ass?” Ken said.

Joe smiled in agreement and took another bite of his lunch. They were sitting in a fast food restaurant in Hamilton, about an hour from Cincinnati. Sparkling orange plastic booths lined both sides of the area while some tables occupied the space between.

“Well, think about it,” Joe suggested. “Stacia’s female. It’s members of the opposite sex running around in leotards-- and did you know that they don’t wear underwear under those things? I can see the fun in that.”

“Joe, is there something you want to tell me?”

“Gasp! Woe’s me! How did you ever guess?!” Joe sarcastically responded. “Besides, consider how many games she’s had to sit through. Do the math. It evens out.”

“You’ve got a point, but still, it’s ballet,” Ken responded. “Hey, how’s you and yours going along? Has it come to the line yet?”

“You mean the one where I take off my gloves? Yes.”

“Really? You’ve known her for only one week now. I’ve never known you to do it until at least a couple of months have gone by, like with that one girl...”

“You mean the one that broke up with me? Well, it was entirely by accident this time.”

“What?” Ken now forgot about his meal. “Did Michelle take them off for you?”

“Not at all, actually. I was leaning against a wall and it snagged. She saw it and asked me about it. So I answered her questions and bared all. That simple.”

“Sorry about that.”

“What’s there to be sad about?” Joe smiled.

Ken gave him a look of pure confusion.

“I’m serious. She saw me and said ‘Oh, you’re still sexy.’ I was about to redress myself but she grabbed it right outta my hands. Then she told me to stay in my birthday suit... and hot damn, she was great!”

“Wait, I think I didn’t hear you right. So she sees you, says you’re fine, and does you anyhow? What planet is this chick from?”

Joe laughed. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s anything around here. But who cares? I love her so much, Ken. It’s more than physical, I tell ya. It’s spiritual! All my life, I’ve always felt that I’ve lacked something, but I never knew what it was. Now I know, and it’s not lacking anymore.”

“I know that feeling. It’s like me and Stacia. When I first saw her, I knew. And now you know. I’m happy for you, Joe.”

“Thanks,” Joe said.

“Now ya gotta set off to help your mom with the remodeling, don’t you?”

“Yeah. She’s got a design consultant and all, but as long as she keeps that bedroom for me, Mother’s going to need my approval of it all. She could convert the room to a balcony and stuff its contents in the basement, for all I care.”

“Come on, you know you like that room. I’ve seen you in it even after you moved out. You’re so sentimental it’s sappy. Admit it.”

Joe finished his meal and got up from his seat. “Never!”

A few hours later, Joe found himself sitting on a park bench. His visit had gone absolutely awful. Father had a bad day with the stock market and got into a fight with timid Mother, again. Then he got drunk and Joe had to step in. As a result, he’d gotten called names such as “cyborg-ass” and “pathetic loser of a son”, but, thankfully, that was the extent of it.

Joe stretched out on the bench and put his head back. I’m not suicidal... but then again, that may not be a good thing. The sun was bright, so bright that it gave him a headache. At this moment, he hated the world and all of its sad inhabitants. In the distance, a mother took her child for a walk in a stroller, with the father hovering over both of them. Was I ever like that? Joe wondered. No, things were never that good. The servants, they were the ones who’d take me to the park. When I got older and went to school, it was them who’d help me with my homework. My parents were just there, smiling when I won an award for track, being there for graduation. The servants, those that came and went with blink of an eye, they were the ones that cared for me. My parents, they didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. But why should I ponder such a thing? My life is good enough, is it not? I have clothing, shelter, and health within reason. What more does Man need to survive?

The happy family stopped as they passed by him. The father said, “Excuse me, sir. What’s the time? We need to get to our daughter’s recital pretty soon.”

He looked at his watch. “A quarter to five. What’s she doing?”

“Little Gretta’s doing ballet. For a five year-old, she’s really good. We’re so proud!”

Joe smiled. His parents never were proud of him.

They continued down the sidewalk. He sighed. Joe knew such a mood would be only temporary. It’s always like this. Everyone thinks we have this little happy household, even Ken. The mansion, the servants and parties, all those damn fake smiles. They could fool anybody! But they never fooled me. Mother says my first word was ‘Da-da’. Bullcrap. It was, quote, ‘Help’. Were they always like this, or was there a time when they actually felt something for each other?

Twenty feet from him, a beautiful bluebird sat on a tree, singing sweetly. Joe watched it for a while. Then bird poop fell to the ground and the animal flew away.

Probably not...

People moved around with their daily activities. An older man jogged by in tacky tight pants that only looked good on bodybuilders. Two teenagers played basketball on a nearby court. A young girl walked the dog, followed by her older brother. A car rushed behind Joe, blaring out some music that sounded like a duck on crack. It was soothing, being at rest amidst the commotion.

Gradually, thoughts of his parents were replaced by thoughts of nothing whatsoever. Then, stupid thoughts entered his head. The first time he kissed a girl on the cheek, what it would be like if he met this girl as she was now, and what she might look like at any age older than seven. Next, he pondered what it would be like if he had grown up with a better family. Why bother? It’s not going to change anything now. Finally, he settled on wondering what it would be like if he was a comic-book hero. Save the world, get the girl, and look good while doing it. Wait, maybe that’s more like James Bond...

The sunset over the man-made lake in colors ranging from a hot pink and mustard yellow to the deepest purples and blues. It was mesmerizing, the one thing that still survived in nature after civilization had come about. When humanity dies out, after killing itself off with some nuclear war, this will go on. It’s amazing.

By now, the day crowd had left, leaving behind the lovers who only wanted to be alone. Joe sleepily went to his car and drove down home, passing through some farms near the highway. It was a great view.

Finally, he pulled into the parking lot at his own home. Joe didn’t know why his mother would call him over to the house, but was thankful that it only happened once every few months. Perhaps she wants me to protect her from Father, since she knows I have a much higher tolerance for that sort of thing. They should divorce so I don’t have to see them fight all the time, but that will never happen. It wouldn’t look ‘proper’. Yeah, Mother, we’re just the happiest family in the world, aren’t we?

Joe walked into his home, the only place he had ever lived where he felt safe. He had lived here since he went to college. Home, the only place where a man is king. The panel in the kitchen displayed some phone messages:

“Michelle-- XOXO’s. Call me!... Stacia-- My car keeps on making these sounds. You’re good with this, aren’t you?... Natalie-- Let’s do lunch... Ken-- I may be on to the biggest story in history! This will make you a god, believe me.”

Joe considered the messages. Call Ken first, Natalie second, Stacia third, and the best for last; if I call Michelle first, I may not have time for the others!

The telephone and visuals were turned on. “Ken, what is this you keep on talkin’ ’bout? Is this for real, or are you fluffing?”

Sincerely smiling, he replied, “I swear! I was going treasure hunting, like usual. Well, I find the database to this lab in upstate New York.”

“Gee, I never knew about your scientific side!”

“Thanks... As I was saying, it had these codes. Not the normal kind where you’ve got some stuff going on that you don’t want the public t know about, but a controversy! So it takes an hour, but I get in nonetheless. What do I find? More than you can imagine!”

Joe was skeptical, but urged him to go on.

“Human cloning. Not only do they have it, but they’ve perfected it,” Ken said.

“C’mon, get serious.”

“I am. I saw some photos. They weren’t touched at all, and I’ve seen a lot of bull in my time. This is secret, I tell you.”

He contemplated it. “What types of photos?”

“All kinds. Some were taken from a microscope, of cells and DNA. Others showed the human experiment itself. I saw photos of the embryo. I saw photos of the thing, the freak, growing up at super speeds; it aged five years in five days! I don’t know what it looks like now, though.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the medication talking?” Joe said.

“I swear on all that’s sacred. I’d e-mail this to you, but it’s way too dangerous. Better come over to my place.”

“Are you sure this is really a lab, and that you haven’t stumbled into that tabloid site again? They can cook up some pretty strange crap, ya know. I mean, it’s human cloning. If they found the cure for some cancer or a vaccine for AIDS, I’d believe you. But this?... Maybe I will go over to your place.”

Ken’s apartment was in a complex down in Blue Ash, near the local supermarket. It was larger than Joe’s, but not furnished quite as well. The building was a large square that could have passed for a hotel. The elevator went up ten floors, and Joe went up three of them. Then he walked down the halls, right, left, straight. He knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Ken’s voice called.

“It’s the Angel of Death!”

“Cool. Door’s open. Crap’s in the fridge.”

Joe walked in. He faced the back of an old cloth couch. To his right was a small kitchen, not cleaned since Ken moved in here. Past the kitchen was a hall that opened to three rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and office. The wall to his left had many pictures on it, portraits of family, friends, and Stacia. A small table was positioned near the center on the wall. On this was a bouquet of flowers Stacia had put there, a “woman’s touch.” Ken watered them to please her occasionally. The place wasn’t as decked out as Joe’s, but he suspected that it was only because his parents were rich; both men had similar incomes.

“What about that info? That’s what I came here for,” Joe asked.

“Yeah, I guess I’d better get to that,” Ken remarked. Joe followed him to the office, a sunlit room filled with paper. A little computer was the center of it. The wall around it was covered with movie posters and stuff from porn mags. The large screen lit up with the message “MAXIMUM SECURITY. PERSONAL CODE NEEDED FOR FURTHER ACCESS. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED!” Ken cracked the code. Articles written in black and white outlined cloning research in detail, with charts and codes accompanying them.

Joe gasped.

“This is the part where you say, ‘Ken, oh Ken, how could I have doubted you? You are a god and I am forever in your debt!’ Then you bow down, worship the ground I walk on, kiss my feet, and make one of those ancient god-type sacrifices.” Ken couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“Now you’re annoying me. Lemmie look at this,” Joe said. “Damn, this is the story of the century! This could change the way society works, man. Fool-proof cloning! The doctor next door could do it for infertile couples, or for people who want to live forever. What’s this? Mind-transferring? Reproduce your body, transfer your mind into it?! What the Hell?!”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve actually read all of it yet!” Ken protested.

Joe looked his friend in the eyes. “This is freaky stuff. I’m not sure if I should be doing this. Mafia is one thing, and damned if this ain’t another! If they don’t kill me, I’ll have the scientific community down my throught and up my ass.”

Ken nodded, suprised. Joe was the last person he expected to be saying this.

“But then,” he continued, “if I don’t do it, what could I have missed? If it’s ever let out to the public, the media will eat it up with a spoon. So if The Weekly National got it far ahead of anyone else, just imagine where I’ll be. An editor, maybe. A celebrity, definitely. Oh yes, can’t ya see it? Forget Freedman-- I wanna meet supermodel Jamsey! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh god help me... yeah!”

Now Joe was being himself, and this relieved Ken.

“I’m gonna print all this out now. Then I’m going to review it. Then I’m going to hand it in to Fayaway. Then she’ll print it and it will be on the cover. Then I’ll be the top writer in the country. Then, with the money from the magazine being the best-selling issue, I’ll buy myself a nice house in Indian Hill. You, of course, get a tenth of the cash.”

“Of course,” Ken said.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. “Sancho!”

“Sancho” was Stacia’s nickname for Ken, as Ken’s name for her was whatever came to mind. She glided through the door, perhaps a little giddy. Stacia was a few months Ken’s senior, but came off as a schoolgirl to most people. She was tall, extremely thin, and Jewish. A Harvard graduate who grew up in Boston, she dressed conservatively like a stereotypical intellectual. Horn-rimmed glasses and a tight bun in her dark hair finished off the look. But she still seems like some teenager!

“Hey,” Stacia remarked as Ken took her in his arms. The two kissed passionately and might have done more if it were not for the presence of a third party.

When she was finished, she responded, “Hey. Oh yeah, about those noises...”

“I’ll look into it. Personally, I think that thing’s so old that it’s time for your car to meet its maker. I mean, you bought it used and it’s older than I am. Let the thing go with dignity, please,” Joe said.

Stacia considered it for a moment. “You’re probably right. But what’ll I have to drive then? Borrowing Ken’s crap car isn’t an option, nor is taking your good one-- although I’d really like to. But hey, maybe I can afford a new one now, with this new thing and all. Yeah, did I tell ya? My band finally got a record deal!”

“Great! Congrats. So now Boy Mercury has a record deal, do they?” Ken said.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Me, Tammy, and Rhonda actually are gonna have a album in record stores with our name on it. Can you believe it? Dance music will never be the same after this, I tell you!”

Joe smiled and suggested, “So now we’re all looking forward to prosperity. I say I call over Michelle--you’ll love her-- and declare a holiday. Let’s go to the best place in town! I feel good. How about you?”

The quirky smile on his face made Stacia laugh. Joe called up Michelle and said, “It’s a double date, I guess. Want to come with? Great. I’ll meet you at your house.” Then he walked out the door. “Riverboat Place at eight. I’ll meet ya there with Michelle.”

The Riverboat Place was on a barge on the Ohio River, like many other restaurants. The main difference was that while many dining places on the river were mostly bars and family eateries, the Riverboat Place was a gourmet restaurant like the Massonette. It served wines dating back a hundred years or more to people sitting in plush chairs and designer clothing.

Ken and Stacia took a table near the freshwater breeze, talking of anything that came to mind. Ten minutes later, Joe and company strided into the room, arm in arm. They sat down and Joe made the introductions. He watched as his friends saw Michelle for the first time. Great. They love her.

“So, Joe says you go to UC. What’s it like there?” Ken asked.

“Oh, it’s very nice, really. The classes are absolutely enlightening! Sometimes I work at the local hospital, helping the doctors and all. It’s very good,” Michelle responded.

“What was it like when you and Joe met at Rimbaud’s?” Stacia said. “Was Joe all suave and all, perhaps a little overbearing? I’ve known him to do that.”

“No. Why? Did he make love to you as well?” Michelle asked, actually serious.

She received laughter as a response and assumed that she must have said something funny. So she joined in, not sure of its cause.

“Yes. How else could I date Ken for a year, before I’d even met Joe? Yeah Ken, you should never leave me and Joe in the same room. Otherwise, things could get dangerous! Yeah Joe, you know what I mean.”

The waiter came up and took their orders.

Ken sat in his seat, smiling like he was up to something. Joe looked him in the eye and said, “’fess up, man. What is it?”

“Well, Joe. I meant to wait a little while to do this, but the mood’s right, the place’s right, and the time’s right.”

“What are you getting at? If you tell me, will I have to slap you?”

Ken considered the question. “When dessert comes, you’ll find out.”

“Damnit, tell me now!”

“Fine.” To the ladies, “Uh, please excuse Joe and me.” Ken led Joe to the men’s room. Minutes later, both men walked out. Joe looked as if a pleasant shock had overcome him, which it had.

“What is it?” Stacia asked.

They remained silent.

“Well, fine, guys. You keep your secrets!” Michelle added.

As they ate, Joe said, “So Stacia, Boy Mercury has a deal now, does it?”

Michelle was confused and showed it.

“Boy Mercury is a band that I’m the lead singer for. We’re basically dance, but we’ve done some other stuff too. The band’s been around since I moved here a year and a half ago from Boston. I remember being a jobless marketing major, befriending two women at a local club. We got to talking about their idea for a band, and Tammy said that neither of them could sing. So Rhonda said it might be good if I joined and became the singer. I thought it might be fun, so I said, ‘Why not?’ We’ve been close ever since, and here we are!” Stacia explained.

“That’s cool. How many songs have you written and performed?”

“We’ve written enough songs for a million albums, but have only performed a dozen of them. They all relate to different parts of our life, too. One track is about when I met Ken, called ‘Super Hero’. Tammy wrote about her lust for some movie star with ‘What I’ll Never Have(Is What I Want the Most)’. Then Rhonda has a slew of stuff about serial murderers and psychos.”

“Is that real?”

Stacia paused. “With Rhonda, you never know.”

Michelle laughed at the joke and took a drink of the white wine. Her meal was worth whatever sum it would cost the guys and then some. It was some fish covered with more spices and fruits than one could count, and it was good. Joe took one of the fruits off of her plate and stuck it on his finger. She ate it in a sensual manner as the other couple looked on.

“Would you like some dessert now?” the waiter asked.

“Yeah,” Ken said. “Me and my girl want to share a cheesecake with one scoop of chocolate, one scoop of vanilla.”

Joe and Michelle ordered something as well.

“Cheesecake? In that way?” Stacia looked at her man romantically. “Ow, just like our first date! We walked down near the river--only a few hundred feet from here-- and you took me to that diner. Hanson’s, was it? Yeah, Hanson’s. Then you took me in your arms and--”

“And then I knew you were a forever kinda thing. I liked that dress you wore, the little pink one that ended before those beautiful legs began. Then there’s the perfume, that sweet floral scent. There’s the shoes, the plastic one that looked like they came from one of your concerts. Damn, I loved ’em anyways,” Ken continued. Then he got out of his seat and stood in front of his friends, inhaling deeply.

Then he looked at Stacia and got down on one knee. Ken took out a small gray box and opened it, revealing a diamond ring bigger than anything she had seen.

“Oh my god...” she gasped.

“Stacia,” Ken said. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes... Oh, Sancho!” She broke up in happy tears and took him in her arms.

Joe held Michelle a little closer to himself.

It was one in the morning before Joe went home. He wandered into his dark apartment. His watch said it was well into the early morning, but he wasn’t tired. Insomnia again. Damnit. This had happened countless times before. Joe had read in some medical journal that insomnia was caused by depression. It struck him as odd, since he wasn’t depressed at all, was he?

Joe went to the living room and flipped through the television guide. Nothing good was on at this hour, not even on the channels that came from the part of the world where it was lunchtime now. He considered the internet, but that seemed boring as well. Then he thought of other forms of entertainment, like a quick jog through the woods near the Old Montgomery Apartment Complex. But damn, ya need legs to jog. God, Father’s right; I am a freak of nature. I’m a miserable excuse for a human being. Lea should have just shot me, whore that she is. It’s better being dead than spending weeks in that god-forsaken hospital, not even able to crap by yourself, feed yourself, fend for yourself. Last year, I would have laughed at the idea of it. I ran every day. How could I loose that in my life? I’d never be ‘disabled’, since my body was the only thing I could depend on having. But now? I am a...Oh, Jesus...

. He tried to clear his head of the negativity. It was time to sleep, time to dream. No, not time to dream. Dreams are just an illusion created by the mind, designed to cause pleasure to some, pain to others. They amount to nothing whatsoever. Still, he went to bed. And for reasons Joe would not let himself see, he cried himself to sleep.

The wind blowed fiercely against the windows and balcony doors, its sound like that of a small train. The sky was a light gray. I wonder if there’s going to be a tornado warning today. But the people in the basement apartments aren’t being too neighborly after I left the sink running, so I’ll probably be left to the blazing rush. That should be fun...

Leaning back on the swivel chair, Joe took Ken’s disk off of the table behind him. He stuck it in the appropriate slot and waited. The monitor showed all the usual imagery, this time including the infamous text. Most of it was in some sort of scientific jargon that Joe had forgotten after tenth grade, so it was hard to read at first. Then, he got the hang of it. It started with general cloning information that everyone knew since Dolly was born, about DNA and embryos. Then, it got complicated. There were things about human embryos, about this fluid Joe had never heard of, and the combination of the two.

“I must know about this,” he quietly remarked to himself. “This is too important, too good, too wonderful for me to give up. Should I consult someone who specializes in this? No, this is a secret. It is a wonderful hidden treasure, and damned if I ain’t the best captain in the seven seas! Still, what is it worth if I can’t understand it? The only time I can ever figure out how something works is if I see it for myself, like repairing cars. To see the engine, to explore it, to feel it. Sure can’t come from some dinky manual, that feeling. To know it from the inside out, to find out what makes it go.”

This slowly gave birth to a concept, one that wasn’t new at all. It was irresponsible, perhaps a little foolish. However, if I am known to be both, then why should I change things now?

Joe tried to read the rest of the articles, but was largely unsuccessful. It was like reading Latin, which he’d flunked in eighth grade. So he stood up, wearing little more than an old muscle shirt and boxers, thinking of how he should go about this. Should I tell everyone of my new agenda, or nobody at all? Fayaway would have a cow, but what about the bills? Ah screw it, they’ll be happy to reimburse me when I get back. I’ll just tell them I’m out on business, which I guess I am. Ken? Maybe, but he might discourage it. He’s so cautious like that, and doubt and grief is the last thing anyone needs. So I tell no one, do I? Yes. It’ll be the adventure of my life, and only readers of The Weekly National may hear of it.

The phone rang. Joe answered and it was Michelle. He turned on the visual option and said, “Hey...”

Michelle gave him a broad smile. “I love you, baby. How’s it going?”

“Just fine. I’m about to--” he stopped himself. Should I tell Michelle? Well, if I’m not telling Ken, then why should she know? If anything, Ken would get really pissed if he found out that I did that.

“Yes?”

“I’m about to make myself some breakfast,” Joe lied. It was a lame excuse, he knew, but he crossed his fingers just the same.

“At noon?” Michelle asked.

“I get up late on Sundays. Is that a sin?”

“Oh yes, very sinful. Very sinful, indeed. I guess I’ll just have to punish you, bad boy. Would you like that, for me to punish you?”

Joe’s voice lowered in tone. “Yes.”

“Should I come over now?” she asked.

“Well, I’m not really dressed now...”

“All the better!”

A half hour later, Michelle arrived at his house. She glided through the door as if it were her own. Joe said, “Want something to eat?”

“I’m fine.” Michelle said. He’d forgotten to turn the screen off, so she saw it. She looked at it, studying it. “What is this?”

“Just some stuff I’ve been working with. It’s nothing, I swear.”

Michelle looked at the screen in his dining room and didn’t hear him. Joe saw that her eyes showed the pain he had seen earlier, after they’d made love. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

Same words, too. Amazing.

“Joe,” she said. “If I wasn’t what you thought I was, would you still love me?”

The question struck him as cryptic, so he just nodded.

“Would you give up your flesh for me? Kill for me? Die for me?” Michelle continued.

“Uh, of course.”

She paused. “Do you truly mean that?”

“I’ll mean whatever the Hell you want me to, even if I have no clue what you’re asking,” Joe responded.

“Sorry. Of course you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all, love. I promise,” Michelle said. Then she turned her attention to the monitor. “What will you do with this info?”

“I’ll use it for research for something I’m doing.”

“That seems safe enough, human cloning. Anything else?” Michelle asked.

“Well, I might travel to the text’s origin and do some things there as well.”

“Don’t!” Michelle protested.

“Why not? I’ll be fine. God, ya’ll worry too much. You, Ken, everybody! I’ll go on the road, reach my destination, do whatever I see fit, and go home. Easy,” Joe explained.

“Did you say the same thing about the Mafia? Were you like ‘Oh, I’ll just do a little research, a little spying, no harm’? I’ll bet you were.” The last sentence was accusing, maybe more. It made Joe angry.

“That was an isolated incident, Michelle. Besides, the people at Vandelay Laboratories are not the Mafia. They do not go around killing people.”

“How do you know? I’m worried about you.”

“Thanks, but I already have two parents.” Joe looked her in the eyes. Was she worried about him, or about something else? It was too hard to tell.

“Joe...” Michelle started sobbing a little. Her voice was meek, defeated.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Joe said.

“So you won’t go, then?”

“I can’t lie, my love. Not to you, at least. I love you too much. But this is the item that could change my life. I could be the most respected reporter in the world. I could break into the TV industry, make a million, and God knows what else. Don’t you see? This is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life.”

“Please don’t,” she responded, stronger.

“Why do you have a thing against this place anyway? It’s just a lab out in the country, nothing more. A little controversial, but not life-threatening. Listen, maybe I’ll take the long route to Backstreet and stop in New York City. Yeah, then I’ll get you something real nice from one of those boutiques. A fur coat? A cashmere sweater? Tell me and you’ve got it.”

“Your gifts mean nothing, Joe. Just stay here and it will be better than all the Chanel in the world. Just be in my arms and it will feel better than any type of fame. Just continue to stand as you are,” Michelle said.

“Why? What’s the problem? You’re talking like you have a damn good reason for me not to go. But I won’t listen to you until you tell me what it is.”

“I can’t say. Don’t think I don’t want to, but I can’t, just can’t. Let me just tell you that some things aren’t what they appear to be, okay? There are terrible people in this world, people who want to destroy for their own personal gain. You destroy reputations, but you can’t ever understand.”

“Of course I can’t understand. You haven’t told me yet!” Joe remarked.

“I’m not what you think I am, love. Hide your body under your clothes and I’ll hide my soul under my body... but screw it, you’d never believe me!” Michelle broke down in tears. They weren’t tiny tears, rather closer to a waterfall after the rain. She took hold of Joe and cried on his left shoulder. “There’s so much, so much...”

Puzzled, Joe patted her back and let the salt water wet his skin, run onto the arm, and drip on the beige carpet floor. “Listen, if you don’t wanna tell me--”

“But I do! I do! I wish I could tell you, even though you’d never forgive me for it. If you knew, I would be able to touch you now. I’d be thrown across this room, hated and scorned.”

“You’re wrong. I’ll love you no matter what. Love is blind. Is it something you did in the past? A thing you’re ashamed of? I can understand that,” Joe said, trying to calm her down and change her mood.

Michelle calmed down. “Frankly, I’m not worried about what you’ll do to me. I’m worried about what they’ll do to me.”

“They? Who?”

“Those that have hurt you and those that will. It’s those that believe in patriarchy and those for whom there is no gender line. It’s those that want your ass dead and those that want it kept alive for even worse reasons. It’s those who you know very well and those that you don’t even know exist.”

Joe pondered this for a moment. “Is this two things you’re describing, collaborating for some ugly cause?”

Michelle nodded.

“Those that have hurt me, believe in patriarchy, want my ass dead, and I know them very well?” His face turned a shade paler than the white walls around him. “Oh my god! Is this...?”

“Yes! And listen-- the other group makes ’em look like saints.”

“Okay, that is a pretty damn good reason not to go,” Joe remarked.

“Fine then,” Michelle said. “So why don’t I make you a nice hot cup of cocoa and you lounge in the living room? Does that sound good?”

“I guess,” Joe responded quietly. She has won. Now I suppose I accept the fact that the greatest opportunity of my life will be ruined by the Mafia. Hell, they’ve already crapped up everything else in my life! He took a seat on the plush rug in front of his couch, wondering how she knew all this, but not daring to ask. Michelle came over with two steaming mugs of the finest thing known to man. He took his cup and laid it on the coffee table behind him.

“Do you believe in telepathy?” Michelle asked.

“Not really.”

“If I told you that I was telepathic, would you let me try doing some of it on you?”

“Sure,” Joe responded skeptically.

“Okay. Hold out your hands, palms up.”

“But they’re not real.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just do it.”

Joe did as he was told. He felt her hands touch them, her palms down. He watched her for a minute. “Uh, sorry, but I don’t feel anything.”

Michelle didn’t acknowledge him, her face in a state of deep meditation. After a few moments, her eyes opened and she faced Joe.

“Yeah?”

“I saw some freaky stuff there, things I shouldn’t know.”

“Like...?” he urged. I wonder what she’ll make up. It’ll probably be vague and cryptic, like what you get from the carnival fortune teller.

“I saw you on some bridge. Of course you’ve traveled over it a lot, but I mean one particular incident. It was back when you were, what, thirteen? Yeah. It was three in the morning, December thirteenth...”

“Stop!”

“I’m sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable. That was awful of me, wasn’t it?”

“No, it’s not your fault. I remember what you saw. You may be the only person who knows it, too.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

Joe sighed. “Might as well. As you said, it was a late night in December, 2013. You gotta understand, life was hellish for me back then.”

“You mean the hormonal and emotional changes that one encounters along with the beginning of adolescence?”

“Not even close. I had good causes for feeling as I did. In school I was the dork that everyone spit on and beat up in the halls. I had no friends, and girls avoided me like a shark with zits. That would have been okay, though, if it wasn’t for my family. Even worse. My parents got in fights every day, Father getting drunk most of the time. They’d always been like that, only now they’d do it right in front of me, so I couldn’t pretend anymore that the screaming was something else. He’d hit her, she’d curse back. Every day, the same living Hell.”

Michelle listened as she took a quick gulp of the cocoa. It had gotten cold, but she didn’t notice.

“So one day, I came to wondering what I could do to change things,” Joe continued. “I considered running away, but I’d need at least one friend to pull that off. Then I wondered if I could move in with my aunt in California. Unfortunately, I would need Mother’s consent for that, and I didn’t know my aunt that well anyway. A month later, after I’d gotten beaten up so badly that I was bleeding, I figured out that nothing could ever change. This was my life, love it or leave it.”

“But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. See, when I decided to take my own life, I planned to do it by jumping off the bridge. They wouldn’t find my body for at least a week, and it wouldn’t be gross. I’d drown, and nobody would have to know why. Let them think someone pushed me. So I stood on the edge of the bridge, which was empty at time. The sky was so clear that night, with stars and the moon and a hint of sunrise. I jumped, and as I fell to the water, I realized that I’d never see that sunrise to its fullest. Almost unconsciously, my hand caught hold of a rope that had been hanging off that side of the bridge since they remodeled it. I was only a few feet above the water level when I wrapped my body around it and realized that I didn’t want to die. It wasn’t so much that I had a lot to live for --I didn’t-- but something else. Perhaps I feared that the Hell I was going to might be worse than my life... or maybe my life wasn’t that bad after all.”

Michelle was stunned. “I just saw you standing on a bridge, really. That was it.”

Joe blushed, but felt better for telling her. “I’ve held these secrets in my heart for over a decade, Michelle. But because of you, I’m free of them. Thank you!” He hugged her and a small droplet of water came from his happy eyes.

Michelle smiled and pondered what it would be like if she could tell him of her burdens like he had. But that would never happen, not on this Earth. Joe looked her in the eyes and sighed, like an innocent. Michelle guessed that despite his past, he probably was.

Joe took her hands in his own. His face seemed peaceful for only a second, turning quickly to the matters at hand. The Mafia? But it’s the biggest story of my life! Too bad it could be the last. Imagine the headlines... or obituaries. Damnit. I think I will ask her. He asked, “Dear, how do you know of this thing?”

“You mean telepathy?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t say.”

“Are you from the Mafia?” Joe suggested.

“No.”

“Then tell me about this other group.”

Michelle responded, “No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, I won’t ask. I’ll venture you’ve probably told me all I need to know.”

“Yes. So you aren’t going?”

“I can’t say.”

Michelle tried to think of a tactic that would work with Joe. Finally, she came up with something.

“Joe, have you ever watched that old flick The Empire Strikes Back?”

Joe nodded. Yes, I do know what you’re heading at, but I’ll let you go on.

“Well, you kinda remind me of Luke Skywalker. You know the part where he’s led to a trap in that sky-high city and ends up getting maimed? He thought he’d save somebody’s life, but just ended up foolishly risking his own.”

“I’ll remember that when everybody in the industry is kissing my ass.”

Michelle surrendered. “Fine. You’re a big boy, ruin your own life. It’s not like you’re still living with your parents so they can do it for you. Take things down to their former level. Find yourself wishing it was 2013, without any rope this time.”

Joe stood up. “You may very well be right, but I may very well be apathetic.”

“Well, I still love you, even if your skull is solid.”

“It’s nice to know we can make dumb-assed remarks at each other in such a clever fashion, don’t you think?” Joe said, trying to change the subject. Michelle was the last person he wanted to fight with.

“I do.”

Joe let out a sigh of relief. He contemplated what he should do next. Either they could continue a pleasant visit, or one of them could leave.

Choosing the latter, Michelle drove off in her car, with slight remorse but no ill feeling towards him. Joe watched her go off and wondered if he should consider her stand on the issue. For the next hour, he sat on his sofa in contemplation.

His thoughts were broken by the telephone’s beckonings. He answered with the video on, knowing that is was Ken.

“Hey, what’s up in Mushroomland?”

“Not much,” Joe said.

“Really? Well, you know that I gave you a copy of the text, don’t you?”

Joe nodded.

“This means I have the original. It contained the address of the lab. Are you going there? I’d usually tell you no, but here the good stuff outweighs the risk, doesn’t it?” Ken stated, happy at his discovery.

“I dunno.”

“What do you mean? Is there something going on here that I don’t know ’bout?”

Joe chose his words carefully. “I fear that there may be some sort of involvement in this thing... like them.”

“You mean the Mafia? Good God, if they wanted you dead they’d have done it by now. Besides, how do you know all this stuff anyway?”

“Michelle claims to know this stuff. I believe her.”

“Michelle? Her? What, does she want you to stay home? I’ll bet she does. Can’t stand losen’ her man for a few days, can she?”

This idea startled Joe. I’d never accuse her of being a liar, but then, what do I know? I’ve known Ken for eight years, her for less than eight days. Who do I trust? Ken. But then, Ken doesn’t know about me what she knows. Oh, screw it!

“Listen, you go and have fun. Buy her something nice and it’ll be fine,” Ken advised him.

“I know, but she says it so passionately, like she’s gonna die. She says it’s the Mafia and one other group, even worse. Involved with the latter, I think that’s it. Yeah, it’s like one wants me dead and the other wants who-knows-what. Either she’s one Hell of an actress, or I’m gonna be dead by the time the next issue of the magazine rolls out.”

Ken pondered this for a moment. “But this is your chance for anything you’ve ever wanted.”

“I know. So do I just go to Vandelay Laboratories and pray that she’s wrong?”

“That’s what I’d do.”

“Thanks for the advice, man. Really.”

Ken was about to say something, but Stacia entered the background and called to him. “Gotta go.” The screen went blank.

Joe walked to his computer and studied the screen. The text tempted him. He dialed up the local airport/spaceport and heard a gruff male voice say, “Delta Airlines. How may I help you?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I was wondering what flights ya got from Cincinnati to Backstreet, New York...”

Amidst the multitudes of people milling around the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Airport was Joe Lane. Unlike his peers, all he carried was a duffel bag small enough to stuff in one of the plane’s upper compartments. He entered the lobby and saw the sights around him: to the right, a gift shop. To the left, a glass wall showing the cars and taxis waiting outside. To the front, luggage handlers.

Joe again checked to see that he had brought all he needed. Clothing for a week’s time, toiletries, laptop, etc... It’s all there. So why do I feel like something’s not right? He walked toward the direction of the gate where his plane would take off. Something still struck him as odd. He joined a short line, the most natural thing in the world.

“Please stick your keys in the tray, sir,” a gruff voice said. A middle-aged man reached in his pocket and gave him the requested items. This happened with a few other people before something started to dawn on Joe.

The metal detector went off because of something some woman was wearing.

Fear started to descend upon him, undetectable to those around him. Oh my god! Joe watched as security guards worked to find the cause of the beeping. The woman had to take off all of her jewelry and accessories before it was realized the her belt buckle was the problem.

Quickly, Joe turned around and walked out of the airport, figuring that driving to New York would make for a nice little car trip. Once in his car, he sighed as he drove out of the long-term parking lot. He didn’t think to get a refund for the round-trip tickets or make some sort of arrangement with airport security(both very reasonable options, but both would only draw attention to the matter, he thought). The BMW sped down the highway in a northern direction.

It’s a sunny day, Joe. At noon so warm, at night so wonderful. See those farms, those cows? Moo-moos! He tried to make the best of circumstances, turning a car trip into an adventure. Joe pointed out the sights of rural Ohio as if he were a child. He leaned back in his seat and relaxed. It’s not so bad, really. I’ve done this a million times before.

He went past Hamilton and went towards Cleveland. The car hummed under his seat, soundly and smoothly. In Cleveland, he bought an atlas of the Northeast and Michelle’s words came back to him. “Fine. You’re a big boy, ruin your own life.” That’s what she says, but I love her so much! Who’s lying, who’s telling the truth? I trust her, I believe her, and yet it’s so implausible. Mafia? Impossible.

The laptop sat in the passenger seat and Joe decided to hook it up. With one eye on the road, the other on the screen, he got in a special program for moments like this. It was a journal that he made entries in every now and then. Since he was driving, he put it in voice-recognition mode.

“4-7-24,” Joe said. “This is the log of Joe Lane. I’m now driving to Backstreet, New York, where I plan to find out about some things for an article. It’s human cloning this time. Kick, huh? But Michelle, my love, she objects to it, telling me of the Mafia and all. I know what they can be like, but I really don’t think they’d be after me anyway. They haven’t killed me yet, and if they want to maim me, what do I have left?”

The thoughts that were brought on by this last sentence quickly silenced him. He looked down, composed himself, and went on. “This is the greatest thing of my life. I can be famous. I can be everything. Ken wants me to do it, so why shouldn’t I? Still, I have the suspicion that Michelle isn’t one to lie to my face. I know I shall do this, and I may possibly get into some trouble. But I don’t mind some scientist dork munching my ass. I’m used to tights like that.

“Well, Hell, what’s the use? I’m going, aren’t I? Yeah. There ain’t no Mafia, there ain’t no God-knows-what, there ain’t nothing there but a puny little lab two hours west of Albany! And if anyone wants to say differently, you can kiss my ass, thank you.”

With this private outburst, a declaration of recklessness, Joe’s interest quickly turned to something else: “Where’s my damn Macarena cd?!”

It was about midnight when Joe arrived at a small hotel near the northern border of Pennsylvania. The motel was painted white, although it had chipped away so much that one could not tell. It was about sixty years old but looked like twice that, if such a thing was possible. In front of old wire and metal doors were parked three cars, not including his BMW.

Some rural animal ran past Joe’s feet, probably a squirrel. He looked at the motel in a mixture of curiosity and repulsion. There were a dozen rooms, he estimated, at most. The widest space between doors meant a large room, the lobby. His feet scrunched over the gravel parking lot as he walked up to the cracked concrete stair leading to the door covered with a smashed-in screen. There was light behind this door and no closed sign next to it, so Joe assumed that the place must still be open, even if it was devoid of life.

He strided in the room, a room with garish yellow walls and matted shag carpet, a room with a glaring ceiling light, a room not touched since the late seventies. Joe stood rigidly in front of the counter and rang the bell. He waited.

Finally, an old woman came up to him. She was white and thin-haired, with a hunched back and a pink dress. The woman adjusted her plastic glasses and said, in a voice stronger than the body, “What do you want?”

“Uh, single bed, one night, please.”

“That’ll be forty, boy.”

Joe took out his wallet, planning to take out one of the credit cards. Then, for reasons he couldn’t explain at the moment, it somehow felt better to do otherwise.

The woman looked up at him. “Cash? Is your credit bad or something?”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Joe was persistent now.

“No. Hell, I’ve had my own reasons for it. But no one’s ever payed up at this place with dollar bills, ya know.”

“And now someone has.” He took the room-key and shortly after entered room 3#. Like the lobby, it was grungey. Upon inspection, Joe saw what was only a fraction of the room’s faults, including a broken shower door, a phone that wasn’t working, and a television that wasn’t even digital.

So what? I have a phone in the car, I won’t have time to watch television, and I’ll just let the shower water run on the floor. Hey, in this place that’d be an improvement!

Joe stripped down to his boxers and prepared to sleep. But sleep did not come as easily as he had hoped, so he decided to write some postcards to people back home. After putting the pile on a table, he was still restless. So he decided to read something. He searched the room for what others might have left behind, so there would be something to look at besides the Gideons Bible. There was nothing. Even the Bible was missing.

Eventually, he accepted his fate and turned off the light. The room was lit now by a streetlight from outside. The artificial ghostly light came through the thin curtains and made the room seem imaginary, like a feverish dream. Joe remained awake in his small bed but he drifted off, not quite believing where he was. For a moment much longer than a split-second, he thought he was back home. The rough covers and stiff sheets brought him back to reality. This state of mind persisted until it tired and Joe let himself fall asleep.

While sleeping, he had a dream. He stood in a grassy field, peaceful and calm. A hundred feet in the distance was a large corporate-looking building. In his hand he held a small circular silver tube. This was, in the strange dream, a nuclear bomb capable of destroying everything in a mile’s radius. Joe saw Michelle, a ghost here, come near him as he pressed the button that would make it all happen. Time stopped forever as they embraced.

The blaring sound of an alarm clock beat against Joe’s head. “Damn,” he muttered. He showered and dressed with speed, as he wanted to escape this place where any smell was questionable. Joe took his car to a diner a few miles away for breakfast, and then he was off.

Within a couple of hours, he found a hitchhiker standing on the side of the road. The man in question was about forty or fifty, but appeared ageless. Joe perceived him to be non-threatening. He stopped the car and rolled down the window. “Need a ride?”

The man, probably a farmer, replied, “Yeah.”

“Where to?”

“Brighttown. I got folks down there.”

“Hop in.” Joe opened the door and the small man stepped in. “What’s your name?”

“Bob. Bob Green. You?”

“Joe.” He denied to give Bob his last name, although a ride was nothing. Joe saw no physical threat or anything, but something bothered him about this man. But then, lots of things were bothering him lately. I must be paranoid.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lane.”

Joe tried not to swerve his car off the road. “Lane?”

“I saw it on your papers,” Bob said.

Even though he had left something with his signature on it on the dashboard, Joe knew it was a lie. Nobody can make out my signature. Still, he accepted it. Brighttown was only one hour away. With Backstreet a half hour beyond that. Joe briefly considered making conversation with the stranger, but declined to do so.

Bob gave a reassuring smile. “So, you have a woman?”

“Yes,” Joe said.

“What’s her name?”

He suspected that, somehow, this man knew the answer, but replied anyway. “Michelle.”

“What a pretty name, Michelle. Does she please you?”

“Yes. I love her very much... do you, sir, have a wife?”

The man shook his head. “I’ve never really been married. I guess I’m just not the type for that sort of thing.” He laughed. “But you seem to like Michelle. Does she love you back?”

“Very much so. It was love at first sight, really. When I return home, I’ll take her in my arms and wonder why I left in the first place.”

Bob held the Macarena cd in his hand and asked, “You like this modern music?”

Joe was startled. The Macarena had been popular years before he was born and had only recently come back in style(this time for a generation in which the Macarena was something abandoned by their parents). In no way was it new, even with the remixes.

Then a green light blinded Joe. When he blinked, he tried to figure out what had happened.

“Here’s my stop.”

Joe looked to see that he had parked his car at a grassy field. A small sign at the next intersection read “BRIGHTTOWN... 2 ML.” Dang, this place must be a lot closer than I thought.

The man walked onto the field and waved good-bye. Joe looked at his watch. 11:06. An hour had passed! Yet Joe only remembered five minutes of it. He desperately wracked his brain, working out theories as to what had gone on. Nothing makes sense. Still, he tried to rationalize this, and, not succeeding, he simply tried to forget it had ever happened and continued his journey to Backstreet.

Backstreet was a small town, if one at all. A narrow boulevard was surrounded by four or five buildings, all of them deserted. The street itself was barely paved, since there had been no need in the last ten years. The town had been supported by a factory which had since gone out of business. Grass higher than a man’s knees covered everything in sight.

Joe’s BMW drove slowly through this, a bright star in the oppressive sky. It was downcast and the world looked dead. Joe checked his roadmap. Yes, this is Backstreet, a tiny, tiny black dot on a tiny, tiny little line coming from a medium line, coming from another line, coming from a highway. This must be the wrong place. Yet his instincts told him that he was in the right place. So he parked his car in a dusty lot in front of what used to be a convenience store. Then Joe set out, walking on the old street. The wind carried an old issue of Time from the last century a feet inches from him. He picked it up. It was dated February 10, 1997. Joe leisurely read the cover article, “The Return of Star Wars”, and it appeared as if he were a ghost of another time, a time when the store behind him still sold magazines such as this. Eventually, Joe realized that many relics of the past remained here. Did everyone leave here at once? Slowly, he saw things that were decidedly out of place.

Ahead of him, to the east, there was what used to be a hair salon. Joe saw that it wasn’t locked. Maybe someone forgot, or I’m just lucky. Inside, the only thing that had changed in the last decade had been the amount of dust covering everything. Bottles of hairspray and gel products lined the shelves of the waiting area. Light from the outside revealed what could be a functioning place.

Compelled for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joe sat on one of the reception chairs. He blinked and it was 2014. Backstreet was a lively town, not the dying place one would expect. Joe was a ghostly witness to these events. A middle-aged receptionist took calls at the counter in front of him as her young daughter ran around with a doll and daisy. Suddenly, Joe was thrown into the middle of the street. Cars past through him, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter now.

The sky was bright as the world happily carried on its mission, whatever the Hell that happened to be at the time. Children, having just returned from school, crowded around an ice cream vendor on the sidewalk. Two cats chased each other as their owner rolled his eyes. Ah, the bliss I never knew!

Then, a stranger walked out of a building with a silver cylinder in his hand. Joe recognized it from his dream. The locals remained oblivious to this, to the extent that one resident even asked the stranger for the time.

Joe’s first instinct was to come up to the man and knock him unconscious. The word Delrayn came to his mind. It was a name, a foreign name. Delrayn’s face was like stone, his composure and stance doubly so. The man looked in Joe’s eyes but didn’t see him. Joe tried to get closer, but his body was more stiff than the Statue of David. He was helpless.

Delrayn held the cylinder like a joystick, his thumb heading for the red spot on the upper end of the thing. Time stopped and Joe screamed, a useless spectator to this horrid event. He clenched his eyes, not affected by the blast. Buildings and materials remained as they were, but every living thing was broken down to a molecular level.

When Joe dared to open his eyes, it was 2024 again. However, not all was well now. He felt as if he was being watched by somebody, by Delrayn. This wasn’t brought on by anything he saw or heard, but rather by a sixth sense, a sense that he couldn’t explain. Joe stood up and looked all around him. Nothing. Joe remembered that when hiding, it was best to chose a place above or below that person’s eye level since one rarely looked there. So he looked up and down. Still, nothing.

“Stop it, man,” Joe said to himself. He didn’t bother being quiet with no one to hear him. If someone is near me, embarrassment will be the least of my problems. Joe decided to go back to his car and drive for a distance. He drove around the town’s perimeters a few times, trying to find anything that might resemble the place he was looking for. No such luck. Maybe I should just go home and forget about the damn thing. The concept seemed more and more attractive as day gave in to night.

Hours later, after Joe had parked his car and fallen asleep in it, something jolted him awake. The sound resembled that of a plane landing, but softer. Maybe I’m near a small airport or something, like the one in Blue Ash. Still, he suspected that it was something more. Acting on this, Joe quietly opened the door. Not sure of when he’d see his car again, he stuck his wallet in his pocket.

Perhaps I might need slightly more that cash. Joe unlocked the glove compartment and dug through the torn maps and dried pens until he found what he wanted: a small handgun. It was powerful and accurate, a thing Joe had brought soon after the Mafia had maimed him. He always kept it in his car, although he’d never had the occasion to use it... yet. Joe put the holster on his belt and looked cautiously around him. A green mist rose somewhere in the distance.

Curious, he walked closer to object, but did this via the woods rather than the field he had occupied. Staying close to the trees, he edged his way to the thing. Joe saw a limousine parked in the clearing. A limo? What kinda Hell-place is this? Carefully keeping his distance, he saw more.

“Is the money here?” Joe heard someone say.

An androgynous voice responded, “It is as we promised, Mister Rucci. But we will only give it to you when we get what we want.”

Joe edged closer to the speakers, but could only see the one called Rucci. The other was hidden behind something. The source of the green mist was so dark that Joe could barely make out its outline against the early night sky. He couldn’t figure out what it was, although a large building seemed likely.

Mr. Rucci said, “We gave you his address, Sandah. That is all you requested. When you sent out Zayden to find the person, I took no responsibility for that and you knew it. Why, is Zayden not working for you? Listen, I know much better methods for what you want.”

“We don’t want to hurt him, sir. We want only to explore it for research.”

“Like a frog for science class?”

Sandah’s pause signaled that he(or she-- Joe wasn’t sure) didn’t understand.

“Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll succeed eventually.”

“The time is coming. We need him to complete our mission, to show our leader.”

Mr. Rucci looked at the other person long and hard. “Sandah, this is who we’ve agreed on. You don’t want an innocent, and you told me you’d be happy to do us a favor.”

“Then why must we pay you?”

“Because if you don’t...” Mr. Rucci took on a threatening tone.

“Fine. Besides, it is not as if fifteen million were a lot, compared to other things. If it pleases you, I could care less. On behalf of all of my people, I thank you for your help.”

Mr. Rucci nodded and went into his limousine, going back to civilization. Joe’s mind reeled from what he had just seen. Michelle was right. The Mafia really is involved somehow. What’s going on here? Oh Lord help me! He headed for his car, only to see that it was nowhere to be seen. I’m trapped! Now I guess I’ll have to follow this through...

Confident that both parties had left the area, Joe walked closer to the object. It was the size of a large ocean liner, black in color and oblong in shape. There’s only one thing this could be, and it’s probably not some secret government technology. But a spaceship? The possibility seemed as likely as it was ridiculous.

A door opened near the back of the ship. Joe took the opportunity and slipped in. He didn’t know why he did it, but didn’t regret it either. A strange purple form, hard to see in this light, passed by where he was hiding and exited the ship. The door closed.

What the god-damn Hell was that? Joe saw that he was in a narrow hallway with a ceiling high enough for the creature he had just seen. It was silent, save for the engine running below him. The walls were lined with tubes that resembled neon, but were something else. Shadows from the dim light that came from nowhere made objects look weirder and stranger than they were. I feel like I’ve walked into some cheap horror flick. Have I?

Joe saw an opening in the wall a few feet away from him. He went into the room. It was dark for only a few seconds. Joe stepped on something and suddenly, the room burst with light. It was a large room, as big as Joe’s whole apartment. Cylinders filled with a yellow liquid lined both sides of the room. Floating in the liquid were naked human bodies, held in a state of hibernation. Joe recognized one of them as Bob Green.

They must have cloned the man I saw today. No, that doesn’t make sense. Okay, the man I saw today was a clone, now in suspended animation. The suggestion scared him, but it also explained much, such as the green light. Lost time, strange sights, human cloning, and spaceships combined to form an explanation that Joe could kind of accept.

The center of the room contained a surgical table much like the one found in a hospital. Tubing of various colors and lengths connected instruments and other things that would make a normal person faint or vomit. Joe, with a more tolerant constitution, was simply fascinated by it. He had read of this beforehand and knew what each thing was supposed to do, more or less. The needles to draw and transfer a person’s consciousness, the straps to hold in a reluctant subject, etc. It was all there.

An opening to a smaller chamber attracted Joe. He passed by the table into this new place. Dozens of glass cases lined the wall, all filled with infants and children. Like the others, they were clones. But it was obvious that these were still developing, not used yet. Joe expected to see freaks and seriously flawed attempts at cloning, but found none. Apparently they’ve perfected it.

Foreign dialects and androgynous voices rose from the other room. Joe quickly hid near the door and watched the purple forms surround to table. Since the lights were on, he saw them clearly: everything from the waist up had a roughly human-like shape, with plum-colored skin and silver streaks on the head instead of hair. Below the waist, legs were replaced by a snake’s bottom. Joe estimated the snake part to be ten feet long, the rest of the body adding two feet. They stood at six feet, the rest of their length coiled on the floor. There were two of these creatures.

“Sssr-edao? Lombayk!” one of the creatures said. Its voice carried a slight lisp to it and was monotone, Joe noticed. He felt the gun in his holster and held it against him. He felt afraid of what he did not know and the handgun made him feel safer(although to this extent, Joe was clueless as to how a bullet would affect these beings).

“Swa, swa, swa... dungbot de liela, corrone,” the other responded. Its face turned towards Joe’s direction. Joe moved quickly to escape attention, but he didn’t move quietly. Something dropped from a shelf near Joe.

The aliens slithered to where Joe was hiding. Joe tried to find a better hiding place. A hole opened in the ceiling. He assumed it was part of some sort of ventilation system(it was) and tried to find a way to get in it. The ceiling was twelve feet high and time was lacking. Then Joe noticed the glass cases around him and saw their value as footholds. Faster than lighting, he grabbed at the bars surrounding the cases. The ceiling turned inward and for a moment, Joe hung upside-down.

It was this moment when the unearthly beasts entered the room. By the time they thought to look up, however, Joe was inside the vent. He looked down on these beings and exhaled. Then he turned around and waited until they had finished searching the room, which took about two minutes. He headed though the darkness until he found a small sphere-shaped chamber about seven feet in diameter. It was at the intersection of two pipes, including the one Joe had crawled through, each of which was four feet high. The walls of this chamber were soft and plush. A pink gas flowed through one of the pipes. Joe stood in the sphere and grew very tired. So he sat down in this secret place and decided to wait until he regained his strength. He figured a few minutes should do it, but ended up falling asleep instead.

A soft sort of music played and Joe floated in the chamber. An alien he had not seen before came through one of the shafts. Although Joe had already found out that the species was hermaphrodite(meaning that members had the parts of a male and female), this creature seemed to be purely feminine.

Her all-black eyes lazily looked at him. She laid down beside him. Joe felt sudden lust for her. Thus, he took her in his arms. Her seemingly androgynous body meshed with his.

“Take me,” she seemed to say, in no language at all. Soon, despite their different forms, they made love like two humans. Joe felt such ecstasy that he wanted this to last forever.

Nothing else mattered now. Joe freed his body and felt something that couldn’t have come from dreaming alone.

Hours later, Joe woke up, aroused and confused. The floor below him was stained, as was the glove on his right hand. His right arm had no feeling to it. Oh no. From experience, Joe had learned that moving his limbs too fast resulted in their circuitry overheating. This was why he couldn’t run and kept a vibrator under his bed.

Hmm. I can repair it by myself, but first I need the right tools. Where can I find them here? Joe looked at his limp arm and sighed. The glove’s smell bothered Joe, so he took it off. Then, if only to even out the look, he took off the other one too. The people here probably wouldn’t even notice-- and if they did, they couldn’t care less.

He headed out the tube to the left of the one which he had entered through, his arm lagging behind but causing little difficulty. The blackness covered him for what seemed to be half of the ship’s length, although with all the twists and turns, he couldn’t be sure. Joe tried to suppress thoughts of the dream, but it didn’t work. Visions of pleasure and ecstasy invaded his mind like a virus. Eventually, he gave in, even though the concept repulsed him. Why did I have such a dream? Doing one of those beasts is absolutely the last thing that could ever turn me on, right after cold showers and castration. How can this be happening? Is there something seriously wrong with me? Or does this dream have a double meaning? I can’t figure out what that could be. As far as I can see, it means that I want to get it on with E.T. over there. But wait! Could it reflect on Michelle and how I wish I was with her now, but am instead among a bunch of aliens? And that I might get so horny someday... Oh Lord, please don’t let this be a premonition!

Joe saw an intersection in the distance. The pink gas passed him. He held his breath for as long as humanly possible while he crawled through the crossing. Then, when Joe felt it was safe and couldn’t hold it any longer, he inhaled. He guessed the pink gas probably was meant to relax the species that resided on this ship. Evidently, they were more tolerant of the stuff than he was.

They must have some sort of shop here. Joe wondered where he could find some tools to help him. A screwdriver and tweezers were usually what was needed, and Joe knew what sorts of things could be used in their place. Still, he knew that even substitutes would be hard to find here. If I was back home, or even just in a civilized area, this would be easy. I have these tools in my home and they can be found easily in convenience stores. But damn, I’m not, and fantasizing won’t help.

There was a hole below Joe that revealed a small white room. There was an alien there, in the middle of the room, but it was curled up in a way that suggested sleep. He cautiously made his way across the ceiling and down the walls. The creature stirred.

Joe put his hand out in front of him as so to protect himself. The creature awoke. It curiously eyed him and said, “Hanabos?”

Joe’s blank stare caused the creature to try another method of communication: telepathy. Even if this strange being didn’t understand spoken words, he’d know what this meant.

Joe felt the message in his mind and it said, “Who are you?” Suddenly, Joe understood the alien’s language. Thus, he responded aloud, “Uh... Qua na poil?” Who should I be?

“You should be someone who isn’t an assassin or a criminal.”

Joe said, “Well, uh, who are you?”

The alien’s face softened. “I’m Kayn, first year officer here. This is my quarters, if you were wondering. You?”

“Would a stowaway count as a criminal? If not, then call me Isaiah.” And please don’t report me to anyone. Joe’s full name was Joseph Isaiah Lane. He decided to used his middle name since he wasn’t sure if Kayn would recognize his full name. Joe didn’t know who the earlier conversation involving Sandah and Rucci referred to, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Greetings, Isaiah. Tell me, if you got here, how did you go about it?”

“A door opened and I walked in.” Joe replied, relaxing. He’d found an ally.

“Why? Did you have any specific destination in mind?” Kayn asked.

“You mean like a hitchhiker? Not exactly.”

“What then?” Kayn said. “No, wait. I don’t need to know why you’re here. I just want to know what you are.”

“Why should I tell you?” Joe responded. He trusted this person, but had no idea what he would know of Sandah’s plans, if they were what Joe suspected them to be.

“Because I am curious as to your species.”

“Oh. I’m human. Do you know what a human is?”

Kayn laughed. “Of course I do. I’ve seen them cloned from skin and hair cells all my life. But you are the first real one I’ve seen.”

“Really? Tell me, how many humans do you clone, say, every week?”

“One or two. Without proper nutrition, they can’t last long without a soul in it.”

“But it’s suspended animation, isn’t it? I saw the containers,” Joe insisted. The thoughts of human bodies as disposable disturbed him slightly.

“Yes. However, there is a difference between clones and originals. This is why we are in need of a live specimen, Isaiah.”

“Can you tell me about this?” Joe asked, very interested.

“Of course. The simple plan is that we need one to do research on so we can improve our own technologies. We sent someone out to find this man, but we haven’t found him yet.”

“Who is he, if you don’t mind?”

“I’m not quite certain, actually. I believe he goes by the name of Joe Lane. Apparently, our partners, the Mafia, have been abused by him in some way or another. Among our many transactions, we’ve decided to do something mutually beneficial. We get something to show Kir--our leader-- and they get justice without moving a finger.”

Joe leaned on the wall. Kayn’s statement didn’t surprise him, but hearing it said was sad. It finished any hope of not being wanted dead. It finished Joe’s optimism. So what do I do now? Joe looked at his hand and remembered why he was here. “Um, when I landed in this room, I was kinda looking for something.”

“What were you searching for? Your purpose, your soul, your religion?”

“No. I need tools,” Joe explained.

“The tools to succeed and be happy?” Kayn asked.

Joe wasn’t sure if Kayn was really stupid like this or just acting. Still, he inhaled the recycled ship air and continued, “No. I don’t want any spiritual fulfillment of any sort. I just want plain old metal tools. Screwdrivers, tweezers, etc.”

“What are those things?”

“Do you repair mechanical things on this ship? Yes? Okay, take me to where you store the tools for that purpose. Understood?”

Finally, Kayn nodded. “Follow me.” He led Joe out of the room. Many doors led to rooms like the one Kayn lived in. Then a section of the flooring lowered Joe and him two levels, or forty feet.

Now Joe was surrounded by circuitry and machinery. Other aliens(he wished he had a word for them) looked on with hidden curiosity. A large alcove to the left revealed tables and walls covered with the strangest things he’d ever seen.

“This is what you wanted,” Kayn said as he indicated the room. It had no door and an interior that was visible to anyone who cared to look. Joe walked in and sighed. It would take a long time to find what he needed amid these piles of junk.

The tallest alien in the room came up to Kayn. “Who is this? I haven’t seen it in the cloning center. Wait! Is this that Lane guy Sandah keeps talking about...?”

“Sorry, friend. He isn’t Joe Lane and we cloned him this morning.”

“Then who inhabits this being? The log says we’re all here, non-freak. What crap are you pulling this time, Kayn? Oh help me, are you wiring one of them again? Make a clone and make it a zombie? Like you did with all the others, just so you could have sex with them?! Pervert. I know if your mate found out about it, he’d kill you just so he could legally get reassigned with someone else,” the man/woman(Joe wished he had a word for that, too) said.

“He’d never do it. My mate is with child, remember?”

“What if you impregnated one of the clones, the ‘females’, and somehow it was carried to term? What would happen then? You are young, Kayn. Young, naive, and very stupid. I give these word as sincere advice, mind you.”

Kayn lowered his eyes. “Understood. May I go now?”

The older person nodded and walked away. Joe searched for something he could use, but digging through all the stuff one-handed was hard. Without giving a reason, he gave Kayn a description of what he was looking for and asked it he could help. After an hour, Kayn declared the search fruitless. He asked, “What do you need to repair, anyway?”

Joe blushed and said, “Prosthetics, a human invention.”

“Hmm... so that explains it. I thought you were a cyborg of some sort. Well, I do know where you could find help, Isaiah. There is a device I have in my cell that can automatically fix small objects. Would you like to try it?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Joe sat on the floor in Kayn’s quarters and examined the silver box the alien had handed him. It was a hollow cube with two opposite sides missing, about ten inches in height. Kayn looked on, telling Joe how it should be used.

“Thanks for the instructions, but I need some privacy.”

“Ah, so your disfunctioning prosthetic is located in what a human calls ‘private areas’, is it? I didn’t know you could replace those,” Kayn remarked.

“You’re wrong, Kayn. You’re very wrong. For one, taking off my pants is not the only reason I’d want to be alone. Two, my thing is real. Three, it’s my right arm that has the problem.”

“Was it over-stimulated, perhaps in an incident involving your ‘thing’?” Kayn asked, seriously.

“Shut up and get out!”

Kayn was puzzled by his guest’s reaction, but followed the request. Strange, he thought, for I would have liked to see Isaiah topless.

The door closed behind Kayn and Joe set to work. He positioned his wrist in the cube and sat cross-legged next to it. He watched bolts of energy and tooling shoot from the inner walls of the cube to his right arm. Joe watched it with worry and horror. If this thing didn’t work, could it somehow hurt him?

In about fifteen minutes, Joe’s arm felt cold, as did the rest of his body. He silently gave thanks to the gods and stood up. Should I call Kayn back to this room? He probably thinks I was rude and took offense. Still, the episode down in the tool room haunted him. He tried not be judgmental since these aliens had their own definitions of sexuality. But human clones are not inflatable dolls, damnit! And the way they all have one gender, it’s just weird! Where I come from, there are guys and there are girls. It doesn’t matter if they’re straight, gay, or bi-- at least I know who I’m dealing with. Oh God, why the Hell did I get on this ship? Why, really? There’s human cloning and there’s this... Needless to say, a report on Williams and Freedman is sufficient for next week’s meeting.

Joe heard Kayn shuffling around outside. He figured he’d better, so he got up and slid open the door.

Kayn said, “So did my device work?”

He made a gesture with his right arm and snapped his fingers. Then he smiled and thanked Kayn, the...? “Hey, what do you call yourselves anyway?”

“We are called chewdis and come from all parts of the galaxy. Governed by an omniscient leader, we want to expand our empire beyond its boundaries.”

“Do you plan to take over Earth?”

Kayn was shocked. “No, not take over. Understand, we are a peaceful people. Will families ever settle here? When the time is right, maybe. But you are so isolated, human, you and your kind. You know nothing and will be scared at the prospect. One of our clones, inhabited of course, served as a scout eleven Earth-years ago. She married into the Mafia and they knew her for what she was. A valuable alliance came from this, one that will benefit both our peoples.”

“Mafia benefits no one but themselves,” Joe was tempted to say. But he kept quiet. That other chewdi was right-- Kayn is naive. Naive as Hell, god-damnit!

“We plan to settle soon, though,” he continued. “Sandah wants to gain political power and appeal to Kir. So he needs a specimen and an analysis to show our leader. Oh, if only we could find Joe Lane! We sent out someone, but he is elusive. First, we search Cincinnati. Then we find his name registered in a small motel. But there has been no sign since. Damn you, Lane! Just show yourself so this can get done already!”

Although Joe kept a straight face, he mentally laughed so hard that he was sure someone could sense it. The fact that chewdis were telepathic didn’t help things.

“Joe,” Kayn wishfully pleaded. “I don’t know who you are and I shouldn’t even care, but please come. My family’s and my life depend on you.”

The sad thing is, I don’t even feel sorry for the guy. Joe responded, in a very uncaring tone, “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find him someday.”

“Perhaps,” Kayn said. “Still, when Zayden returns to us, we will know for sure.”

Joe recognized the name from the conversation he had heard earlier. “Who is that?”

“A close friend of mine, recognized for his good work. I’ve known him for a long time. We were...” Kayn’s voice drifted off.

“Yes...?”

“We were lovers. Not anymore, though. Even if this ship is large, you can only hide things there for so long. Besides, I believe he lost interest when he learned of his new assignment to find Lane. Oh well, we’ll always have memories, won’t we?”

Joe nodded. “What was he like?”

“Taller and thinner than most people. Oh, he was unpredictable and daring, like a wild beast, a sensual beast. I never expected to love him, but those eyes held me like no black hole ever could. Know that feeling?”

“Kinda like Michelle and me, I guess. She told me not to explore Backstreet, said she knew what was going on there. Mafia, aliens--I mean chewdis--, everything. She was right of course, but here I am, nonetheless,” Joe said.

“Well, I can see Zayden returning right now. When she does, we’ll leave this planet and my mate and I will be the first to settle here.”

“But I thought you said--”

“Oh, not in our natural forms. In human form, how else?” Kayn explained.

“What about the child? Are you doing this so your mate will stay with you?”

Kayn made a sound of disgust. “So you heard what Jaccone said to me down in the shop, did you? Let me tell you, Jaccone is a filthy liar with a sick mind!”

“Oh, okay,” Joe said. He wanted to believe this, but knew it wasn’t true. Kayn has problems, this I know. For my own sense tells me so...

The door opened. “Kayn,” the messenger said. “We are going to pick up Zayden in her human form tomorrow. We need one person to bring her in from Cincinnati. Are you up for it? The job requires taking on human form.”

Kayn eagerly accepted the offer. “What will I use to travel from Backstreet to Cincinnati?”

“A very good car, sir. It is a ’23 BMW, burgundy in color. We found it near the town, but it works fine. Now we’re searching for the keys, though, and that might take a while.”

“Let me help you,” Joe suggested with a hint of sarcasm. He reached in the pocket of his jeans. Not finding what he wanted, he tried his brown leather jacket. There it was. He handed the keys to the messenger. “No, it didn’t. It only took two seconds!”

“That car was yours?” Kayn asked.

“Um, yes. So, like, don’t crap it up too much and return it to me when you’re done.”

“Oh, many thanks!” Kayn said, mentally undressing him. The idea of a steamy night involving Zayden, Isaiah, and him held a certain appeal right now.

“No problem.” Joe said.

That night, Joe slept on a platform that came from the ceiling of Kayn’s room while the latter slept below, on the floor. Joe dreamt of home, of how warm his bed was, of how hot Michelle was, and everything else that he could not have at the moment. But when Kayn returned with Zayden, he’d have the BMW and drive... where? Cincinnati was too obvious. Somewhere in New England, perhaps? Boston was a great place to visit this time of the year, he heard.

Joe awoke around noontime. He looked below his bed to see Kayn with another chewdi, probably Zayden. Then Joe thought of how Zayden had searched for him and froze. Kayn had no clue who he was, but Zayden must have at least gotten a picture of him or something. He listened and peered closely at the couple, hiding above them. It unsettled him that Zayden had a close resemblance to the chewdi in his dream, but let it pass.

“Oh my dear Zayden,” Kayn said. “How was your journey?”

“Very well.” The voice was chewdi, but Joe could have sworn to its familiarity.

Kayn held himself close to his former(?) lover and they embraced, kissing each other madly. Joe turned back to looking at the ceiling.

“Did you find Joe Lane?”

Zayden hesitated. “No.”

“What?!” Kayn backed away from him.

“He’s dead. It turns out the Mafia killed him five months ago. Can you believe it?”

Joe jolted in surprise. Perhaps this was a rumor Zayden had picked up somewhere(after all, the November incident had practically killed him), but he suspected that Zayden was lying, although he couldn’t figure out why.

“The bastards screwed us, did they? I’ll show ’em!”

It was then that Joe learned of an interesting chewdi alarm-clock system. The platform he had been sleeping on disappeared into thin air. He dropped to the floor and somehow managed to have his bum take most of the impact. Ouch. Joe sat and looked up at the couple, wishing he was anywhere but where he was.

Kayn explained, “This is Isaiah--”

“I know who he is,” Zayden said. He looked in Joe’s eyes with something he couldn’t grasp. In English, Zayden continued. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to reclaim my car if I can get out of here,” Joe responded in the chewdis’ language. Speaking English with this person seemed dangerous.

“The car was dropped off at a human friend’s place. We used a rental to get back. Both were specially equipped, which explains why the whole thing took three hours.”

“Who was your human friend?” Joe asked.

Ignoring the question, Zayden turned to Kayn. “We must end our partnership with the Mafia. They’re horrible people! If we stay with them, they can only bring us harm. So far, we’ve only wasted fifteen million. Let’s keep it at that.”

“Don’t tell me, tell Sandah. He can actually do something about it, you know. Okay, maybe we can gather some people with this. With numbers come power.”

“No. This can be between me and Sandah and--”

“Me?” Kayn asked.

Zayden was quiet. “Somebody else. A human, one I loved.”

“Don’t you still love me?” Kayn asked.

“Of course I do,” he answered. Yet Joe could see the dishonesty in Zayden’s voice.

“Fine.” Kayn smiled. “Let’s eat, then.”

“In the dining hall?”

“No, love. I’ll prepare something here if you like. Shall I dismiss Isaiah? Isaiah, you don’t mind, do you?”

“No. He stays,” Zayden demanded.

Kayn cooked some food that Joe didn’t recognize. Still, when he realized that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, he decided that even this seemed appetizing. The plates were laid down on the floor. The two chewdis sat around the food, facing each other. Joe stood acwardly in a corner.

“Sit here.” Zayden indicated a spot. Thus, Joe sat, completing the triangle. “So what plans do you have for the future?”

“Get off this ship, go back home, I suppose.”

“No you’re not.”

Kayn was startled. “What do you mean? This is not Joe Lane!”

“I know. That’s not the point. You don’t need to know.” Zayden talked as if he had a secret and was desperately afraid of Kayn learning it.

Joe ate the food quickly since he hadn’t eaten since that he went to that diner in Pennsylvania. What is Zayden up to? He’s trying to play more than one side, that’s obvious. But what’s he doing? Is there a plan, or is he just winging it? Most importantly, I must somehow be tied into this, but how?

The food was quickly finished. Zayden stared at Joe just as he had in the dream. Joe pretended the look meant something else, although he knew his intentions.

“Oh, there’s a gift I had for you,” Kayn said. “But I left it near the exit. Mind if I just leave ya’ll here for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Zayden responded. Kayn left the room, leaving them alone. Joe felt like he should take some action, so Zayden wouldn’t.

He started the small chat. “So, how was your stay on Earth?”

“Technically, we’re still on Earth. Due to engine problems, we haven’t left ground yet.” Zayden stopped with malice in his eyes. “But escape should prove quite hard for you, Joseph Isaiah Lane.”

Joe raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “So you know my name. What else do you know?”

“I know where you live, who you love, who you hate, and... I don’t feel like saying it.”

“Why do you want to break off with the mob? Wouldn’t they help in your plans, whatever they may be?” Joe changed the subject. He didn’t want to know what Zayden knew. The truth scared him.

“The Mafia hurts people. We can find better associations than that. In this deal, we are the stronger ones, mind you. If the Mafia objects to it, we can blast their ass. Simple.”

“The Mafia hurts people?” Joe’s journalistic instinct told him to delve deeper in the subject. “Who does the Mafia hurt?”

“They steal. They kill. They maim. I believe you’d be especially acquainted with the last one, wouldn’t you?”

“But wasn’t it me who hurt the Mafia? Besides, how do you know the Mafia did this? I live in Ohio. It could have been something involving farm equipment for all you know!”

Zayden gave a look of an emotion between annoyance and anger. But he remained calm as he said, “I was given the information by reliable sources.”

“But not the Mafia, surely.”

“There is more than one reliable source on this planet.” Zayden nodded and made a gesture toward Joe.

“How could I tell you any of that? I’ve never even met you before.”

Zayden bit his dark plum lip, exposing canine-type teeth.

Joe stood up. “Well, I don’t care who you are unless you’re going to kill me.”

“I probably won’t, but if circumstances forced me to... Oh Hell, I still wouldn’t.” At that moment, Zayden’s face reminded Joe of Michelle. Now, Zayden’s form seemed more feminine than asexual. Joe turned away, trying to regain his sanity.

“You want me, don’t you?” an amused voice asked.

“No, I don’t!” Joe lied. He tried to think of Michelle, his one true love. Still, he felt attraction to Zayden. He though of something unattractive, like a fat smelly old woman shaving her legs. Why isn’t that working? It usually does, damnit!

“Listen, it’s all cool, man,” Zayden said in English. “I’ve locked the door. These walls are soundproof. No one will ever know.”

As if it were his last resort, Joe started crying. He couldn’t stop, nor did he even want to. The confusion and fear he’d been avoiding for the last two days hit him with full force. “Good God, if you even exist,” he called between sobs, “get me as far from here as you can. Please, please, pretty please!”

Zayden’s four-finger hand touched him on the shoulder. Joe didn’t resist. “Why do you feel such fear? If you’re homophobic, may I remind you that I’m part female?”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, I’ve experimented in the past-- Hell, I still do sometimes. It’s... how can I feel attracted to two people at once?”

“If you fear loving two women at once, may I remind you...” Zayden stopped.

Joe turned to face Zayden. His lips loosened, his heart pounding. No reason was needed for them to embrace, to kiss. Like every other major decision in Joe’s life, it just felt right.

The two fell to the floor in a fiery passion. They made love, although it was nothing like Joe’s dream. It was better. A half hour later, as a naked Joe surrounded himself in Zayden’s caress, he murmured, “Michelle...”

“What? What did you call me?” he remarked.

“I called you Zayden.”

He considered the response. “Oh. I thought you said something else.”

For a few seconds, Joe contemplated what he’d just done. Oh well, can’t do much about it now... and more to the point, why would I want to? As soon as he thought of it, he suggested, “I love you. Let’s run away together.”

“How? What do we have?”

“Listen, Zayden,” Joe said, louder now. “I’ve got ten credit cards in my pocket and you know how the ship works!”

“What about Michelle?”

Joe quieted. Yes, what about Michelle? Then he got up and hurriedly dressed himself. Then he opened the door.

“I’ve been waiting here forever!” Kayn exclaimed as he walked in. “What’s going on here?”

“Private business, dear,” Zayden said. “Joe-- I mean Isaiah-- he must do something for me. Let him.”

By then Joe was walking through the halls. He didn’t like being alone here, but dismissed the feeling. Joe also regretted not using the vent shafts, since that was the route he was familiar with. But none of this truly bothered him and, after many wrong turns and backing-up’s, he found his destination: the cloning room.

Instinct has guided me to the ship, to the people, and now to the reason I came here in the first place. The human-cloning room looked as it did when Joe saw it. The human clones were still in the cylinders and he examined them until he found it.

Her hair mingled with the yellow liquid like Medusa’s snakes moving in every direction. The face reflected a peace that could only come from soulessness. Joe put his hand to the glass and closed his eyes.

“Michelle, why didn’t you tell me?” Joe looked at the figure above him. But this is only a form she has taken on. The soul, the soul I fell in love with is... Zayden’s. As for why she didn’t tell me, it probably because I wouldn’t have believed it. I still don’t. Then Joe cast a glance at the surgical table. Zayden on one half, he imagined, Michelle on the other. Zayden active, Michelle still. Than, with technology somewhat beyond Joe’s comprehension, the reverse. Love, how did you feel when you saw your own body, dead to the world. How did you adapt to the form I fell in love with?

Something stirred in the adjoining room. Joe headed back to Kayn’s quarters, his mind reeling. First, he felt relief in the fact that he hadn’t actually cheated on Michelle. Second, he felt revulsion at the prospect of falling in love with an alien. Third, the first two led to such confusion that, for the first time ever, Joe had to admit, “I have no clue what I am doing.”

He put on a mask of composure as he entered the room. Kayn and Zayden were sitting together very close to each other. But now Joe knew what was really going on, even if Kayn didn’t. “Did I miss anything?”

Zayden glared at him. “Where did you go?” she asked.

“You know where I went.” Joe tried to inject some false anger in his voice, but he sounded weak and humbled.

Kayn looked at the exchange and sighed. He thought, I just shouldn’t ask, should I? To save trouble, he went to the dining hall(or wherever).

“So you know?” Zayden was more embarrassed than angry.

Joe was silent for a moment. “In a way, I guess I always did.” It was a lie, but it seemed to soothe him, and that was more important than being honest.

“How much do you hate me now? Enough to kill me?”

“I don’t know. I liked you better human, but I could get used to this, I guess. Unless, of course, you really were just trying capture me...”

“Do you want to know the whole bit? It might explain a many things. “ Zayden leaned against a wall. “I joined the armed forces after my planet, Creaon, was destroyed five years ago. In quick time, I became the most celebrated officer on this ship. Recently, I was told to lure you to this ship by way of seduction. Well, I went out in the human form, with all the stuff that goes along with it, and took a plane to Cincinnati. I spent my first month observing you at Rimbaud’s. Then we started dating. I should have had you in a frozen state to present to Kir by day five. But then, I realized that I didn’t want to have that on my records. I wanted you... and I still want you, so help me God.”

Joe gave Zayden his warmest smile. “So help you God, indeed.”

The next few days were passed with relative ease. Most of the time, Joe stayed in Kayn’s room awaiting what would be done with him. Zayden tried to see if he could help he new crusade against the Mafia. Kayn continued to go about his daily activities, hoping that the ship would leave Earth soon; he missed his home planet.

“What is going on?” Kayn asked Zayden for the final time. “I see you and Isaiah all the time. Chummy? Listen, I may not have said anything, but I’ve noticed some things that seem rather suspicious.”

Zayden casually responded, “What ever gave you that idea? He’s human!”

“Thank the gods he is not in this room, Zayden. I have evidence. I’ve seen the impossible and believe me, it lives.”

“Huh?” Whenever he and Joe had made love(which was more than once by now), he’d always made sure that Kayn was safely out of the way.

“A few weeks ago, I went to Backstreet. There, I discovered a piece of Earth technology called the security camera. Out of curiosity, I took it. Then, out of a stronger curiosity, I installed it.”

Zayden felt himself start to cry.

“Don’t do that to me, fool. I have the damn tapes if you want to see them! How could you do this to me?! I know what you did. Tell me, did you ever love me as you did him? Tell me!”

“You’re smoking something, aren’t you? Or perhaps a new drug-- another Backstreet discovery!”

“Know what I’m going to do? I’m going to bring your Joe straight to Sandah. Then, I will personally kill you.” Kayn narrowed his eyes. “I swear on all I hold sacred, I shall by tomorrow have justice!”

With this, he hit Zayden hard enough to knock him down. As he lay on the floor, he was promptly beaten, but nowhere near enough to be fatal. “Why don’t you kill me now?” he asked.

“Because I want you to see Joe die first.” Kayn walked out and locked the door, searching for Joe. My mate and I thank you, he thought.

Meanwhile, Joe crawled through the tubes from the ship’s engine room to do something for Michelle. Or should I say Zayden? Screw it; she’ll always be Michelle to me. He had learned to navigate the ventilation system quite well and it let him go around the ship alone without fear of being seen. Soon, he reached Kayn’s quarters. He saw Zayden on the floor in a pool of dark pink blood and gasped. “Oh God!”

Zayden opened his eyes and looked at him. “I’m fine.”

Joe dropped fifteen feet to the floor. He examined him and asked, “What in Hell happened to you?”

He struggled to sit up. “We- we must leave this ship. Now!”

Joe was confused. Zayden explained, “It’s Kayn.”

“What about him? He knows nothing. He is naive and unobservant.”

“No, he’s not. It seems he’s known all along! He wants to kill both of us,” Zayden solemnly reported.

Joe stood up. “Then we must get out of here.” Hell, that’s what I’ve been wanting to do for the last few days!

“But Kayn locked the door. I’m trapped. You can climb in the vents like a monkey and, damnit, you should have escaped... By the way, why didn’t you?”

“You,” Joe said as he examined the lock. “Do these things only lock from the outside?”

Zayden nodded.

“Well, I’ve learned how to unlock it, and I can certainly get to the other side via the vents. What’s the problem? Oh yeah, Kayn.”

“He’ll be searching all of the ship for you, dear. I’d give you half an hour before he returns. Is that good enough?”

Joe paused. Then he responded, “Half an hour? I could do it in half a minute.”

“Then do it!”

Actually, it took Joe around two minutes to find his way through the vents and open the door, not the thirty seconds he had originally promised. By then, Zayden had healed and did not mind the delay.

“Where do we go now?” Joe asked.

“To the cloning room.” Zayden said as she led him there.

“What will happen?”

“I’ll become Michelle again. Then we’ll take your car and go wherever. Is that good?”

“Then you’ll hide until it’s safe?” Joe walked into the cloning room.

“Form one thing, I’m not hiding. For another, why would I want to come back to this dreadful place?”

“But this is your home, isn’t it?”

“My home was destroyed a long time ago,” Zayden said as he sat on the surgical table. Buttons were pressed and the body floated to his side from its container. Tubes moved as if invisible hands were controlling them. A needle went into Zayden’s head and connected him to the other body.

Joe watched in horrified fascination as the exchange took place. Zayden fell in a deep sleep and looked to be dead. After a time of no more than a few seconds, the other body breathed with life.

Michelle opened her eyes. She looked longingly at him while she briefly adjusted to her naked form. Then she slid off the table and smiled. “Where’s the car?”

Joe looked at her. “Humans wear clothes, remember?”

“Oh... yeah,” Michelle remarked. She sniffed Joe and asked, “When did you last bathe?”

“Yesterday, I think,” Joe responded.

“Well, change clothing. You stink.” Michelle remarked as she collected her clothing from a locker on the wall. On the floor she laid out khaki pants, a cotton button-up shirt, white socks, and a pair of tennis shoes.

As she changed into them, Joe observed, “Where’s the underwear?”

“Humans wear those, too? Damn! Oh well, there’s a Wal-Mart I know of a few hours from here. Besides, I could get you some gloves there, too. Is that good?”

Joe looked at his prosthetic hands. “That’ll be great.”

While an angry Kayn was probably returning to his apartment, Joe and Michelle found the BMW sitting on the grass beneath the ship. As they walked out, he squinted. It was noon and he hadn’t seen the sky in days.

Michelle saw the green field in front of her. “When I first saw this planet, I had been cooped up on the ship for months. This land was the first thing I saw. I remember I ran in it like a child, free without a care, still stumbling in the body I wasn’t quite used to.”

She inhaled the country air and, claiming that no one would see them here, ran out into the open space. “Join me!”

Joe looked at Michelle and sighed. Part of him was jealous since he wanted more than anything to run with her. Still, he accepted this and smiled at her joy.

“Oh, sorry,” Michelle apologized when she saw that he was just standing there.

“What? Oh don’t be. Be thankful that at least one of us can.” Joe checked his watch. “But we have been out here for longer than we should, so let’s get the hell outta here. What d’ya say?”

Michelle stepped in the car and Joe took his place in the driver’s seat. He drove across the field in a way that made it look like a car commercial. Then he found his bearings at Backstreet and eventually ended up on populated road. With Michelle’s instructions, he found the Wal-Mart by late afternoon.

“I’ve never been here in my life,” Joe remarked as he found a parking space. “But I feel like I’m back home now.”

“In comparison to where you’ve been, I can see that.”

The car found a space near the back of the lot. Michelle asked, “Because of those, do you have one of those handicapped parking things?”

“I do, but I only used it when I was still learning to used the prosthetics, which, for me, was only two weeks.”

“That’s quick.”

Joe gave a melancholy laugh. “I didn’t want the bastards to take my life, so I regained it ASAP. They want me dead now? They’d have a better chance sucking my--”

She sighed at his life philosophy. “To you, life means everything, doesn’t it? The need to survive, the need to continue the species? If you were a chewdi, you’d just clone yourself and switch bodies. But you’re human, and you’ll never give up such a thing, no matter how messed up it is, won’t you?”

Joe opened the door for Michelle. “I think I told you my glove size. I don’t care what color it is.”

“Oh yeah, you’re not going in, are you?” Michelle remarked as she let herself out.

Joe considered her words. Then he opened the door and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Michelle commented, “You’ll just do that, then?”

“Hell, it’s not the first time I’ve done it. And believe me, nobody notices. Just, like, don’t expect me to carry anything. Don’t mind, do ya?”

The woman shrugged and the went to the store. Joe never felt so grateful to be around other humans. He saw Michelle regard everything with the sophistication she always did. Is it general coolness, or does she feel uncomfortable here?

Michelle found some stands with gloves on them. Most of them were the winter kind and none of them were real leather. Joe pointed out something that he guessed to be decent quality, even if it was vinyl. “Yeah, the ones up to the right. No, don’t worry. They look about the right size, but damned if I’ll try ’em on in public.”

She put them in the shopping cart and went to the underwear section. “Joe,” she asked. “What size do you think I am?”

Joe laughed. “How would I know? Just try something on or whatever!”

“I should’ve known. Well, there’s the dressing room. I’ll be out soon.” Michelle grabbed cotton thongs of various colors and sizes while Joe sat in a corner and waited. He wondered if anyone knew where he and Michelle were. I read The Firm. I know how the Mafia loves to bug things. Oh no, what about the car? What about...? Aw crap! Wait. What if someone’s out there now, putting a bomb in the car? I read The Godfather, too...

Michelle emerged from the dressing room with the type of undies that one would find in a porn mag. As Joe held no objections to that type of literature, they went to one of the Wal-Mart cash registers and bought the items.

The heavyset lady who worked there processed the items and asked, “Gloves and thongs? What’s next... leather whips?”

Michelle didn’t get it and thus was not blushing like Joe was. They walked behind the store so Joe could put on his gloves in private. Then Michelle did the same with her underwear, much to his surprise.

“Let’s get to the car,” she said.

“I don’t think we should,” Joe answered while examining the fit of his peach-colored gloves. “They might know where we are.”

“What do you mean? Kayn doesn’t know what we did and Sandah could care less. Nobody notices when I’m missing anyway.”

“What if the chewdis have nothing to do with it? What if it’s the Mafia? That’s what we should be afraid of,” Joe warned.

“The Mafia? Never! Mr. Rucci is too stupid, too low-tech for such a thing.”

“Maybe against you as a chewdi, but not now. My car is more outdated than anything they have. Listen, you’re human now. Mortal, vulnerable, and all the fun things that go along with it. I don’t care if you had nuclear weapons for child’s toys, because all we have now is a dinky handgun that wouldn’t get ya anything.”

“What about my blaster. You don’t think I’d forget that, did you? How forgetful do you think I am?” Michelle said as she zipped up her pants.

Joe turned the other direction. “You forgot what underwear was, love...”

“Screw you! Well, if we are to make a clean getaway, we should probably dump the car. You’re convinced that it’s bugged.”

“How did you know? Please tell me it’s not that telepathy. My mind’s been pushed around enough as it is.”

“No. I just guessed, actually.”

Joe sighed. ‘We’ll get a rental, then. I saw a place a miles or two from here. I guess we’ll have to walk there.”

The man at the Marv’s Rent-a-Car was short and squat, losing hair and gaining weight. He eyed the couple coming through the door as annoying: young and probably poor, they’d try to bargain for the Pinto in the back lot. After a long day dealing with his arrogant boss, this was the last thing he needed.

Joe came to the counter and said, “We want the Gray Cadilac out there for a week, sir. It has all the standard stuff, right?”

The salesman regarded them with surprise. “That will cost you. A lot.”

First, he considered paying with a credit card. But credit cards can be tracked. “How much?” The man was very surprised when paid in cash.

Michelle stepped in the car and asked, “Isn’t this a bit too old-ish?”

Joe drove the car out of the lot. “Who cares if it looks like it came straight out of Miami? Believe me, BMW’s really seem cramped when you get in one of these monoliths. Check out the leg-room!”

She laughed, finally at ease. “Will we actually get away with this?”

“What do you mean? They’re gone, Zayden.”

Michelle’s face resembled that of an angered bear. In a voice so low it could barely be heard, she said, “Never call me that name... I never want to hear it again.”

“Sorry,” Joe said, ashamed of his blunder.

The woman in the passenger seat leaned back. “I hate my past, Joe. I hate that damn ship, the people on that ship, and the place that damn ship came from. I wish they’d all die! Every chewdi... I’ll separate the their flesh from their bones, their heads from their shoulders, their souls from their bodies. Then I will bomb it all in one final burst of glory.”

That’s violent... Joe saw large ads for various restaurants on road signs and felt his stomach growl.

“Mafia, they hurt my loved one. Someday I might take a fancy to red leather dresses, dye my hair blonde, and let ’er rip! Like that bible book says, ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto you’! Yeah!”

The fantasy did hold a certain appeal to Joe, but couldn’t people sue for that? After a few hours of driving, he got off an exit and went to a fast-food place. While Joe ate dinner, Michelle ate very timidly.

“Come on,” Joe urged. “It’s not poisoned and you’re not anorexic, so what’s the problem?”

Michelle leaned across the table and whispered, “I saw a man follow us in here. His car looked familiar too. I suspect he may have been following us since Wal-Mart.”

Joe raised his head to look, but Michelle pushed him down again. She continued, “Don’t let him know you suspect. Just act casual and see what he does.”

He felt for something and found it. “I’ve got my gun, and maybe today is the day I’ll use it.”

“Fool. This person is probably a trained killer. You’re not even a novice. Don’t try the odds, ’cause they’re a hundred to one.”

Joe looked at Michelle. “You don’t think I know that? Listen, I do not plan to use this. I plan find a good escape route and follow it. But if I need to defend us, you know what I’ll do.”

Michelle sighed. “We’re trapped.”

For a few moments, the table was silent. A plan formulated in Joe’s head and he said, “How about this? I’m looking to where the ladies’ room is. I saw the outside of this building and there’s this window where the girls’ room is, I estimate. So you go there and get out through the window--”

“But what’ll you do, love?” Michelle asked.

“If the man seems to pay little mind to where you went, I’ll go to the kitchen and exit through the back. We meet at the car, behind the building. Got that?”

Michelle nodded. After she finished eating, she did as she was told. She made her way past the man, praying he didn’t sense her nervousness. Michelle entered the bathroom and saw the window. The rest was up to Joe.

After a reasonable interval, Joe went past the door to the lady’s room and strided into the kitchen. He knew that, due to the way this place was set up, the mysterious man would not be able to tell that he too wasn’t taking a crap.

“Hey!” one of the cooks called to him. “Employees only! Get back where you came from!”

Joe offhandedly flicked him off and continued out the back door. He passed the drive-thru and saw Michelle’s figure in the car. If we drive out the back way and take a certain route, the bastard back there will never know...

Barely ten feet from the car, something showed in his peripheral vision. Joe turned in a casual, almost welcoming manner. It was the man, of course. Who else?

Before the opponent could draw his gun, however, Joe drew his(much to the former’s surprise). Coolly, he shot him in the head twice. Blowing the smoke off his gun, Joe went in the car and saw Michelle regard him with pure shock.

Joe put the gun back in his holster. “Just drive.”

Michelle did so. When she regained her composure, she asked, “What the hell did you just do?”

“I killed a man. That’s what I did,” Joe answered with little emotion.

“How? You said you never shot a gun before.”

“Beginner’s luck? Who knows? I’m just grateful we got out of there... although I do feel some slight guilt at taking another human’s life, even if it was the Mafia.”

“What do you mean? The more bugs we exterminate, the better,” Michelle remarked.

“But I don’t want to be a killer! I don’t want to be on the run for the rest of my life! Good God, I just want to live. Is that so much to ask of this world? To work, to love, to breathe, to exist on this Earth?” Joe found himself crying but didn’t bother controlling it.

“The will to live is strong in all species, Joe, but in humans it is especially strong. It amazes me, really.”

Joe thought of something else and his tears dried. “Do you consider yourself human? Or are you chewdi, the thing you seem to hate so much?”

“As of last month, I am human. That’s not a question you need to ask.”