Standard Rescue, part 1

Standard Rescue, part 1
Saturday, August 27, 2016 by Susan Lyttek

OK, this week and next week’s post are parts one and two of a short story. However, this is not just any short story. It is an unpublished sci-fi piece that just happens to be Gary’s favorite of the things I’ve written. I will keep trying to publish it, but in the meantime, I’m offering this as a tribute to my hubby who likes some of the strange ways my writer’s imagination works on the printed page.

ENJOY!

Standard Rescue

I saw my dead face beneath the water.

“I was the hit?” I asked. Then I crumpled.

Fortunately, Sean caught me. In spite of my ever-increasing stomach, my darling’s quite good at catching me.

“Dearheart. Julie,” he said, waking me. “We have to get to work.”

The Colony hadn’t wanted me on this rescue. I argued—stubbornly. “Sean and I are the best rescuers, Myrtle. I may be six months along, but I can still carry my weight. I’ll soon be out of commission, but I can do this job.”

“OK, Julie,” she conceded. “But be careful.” She held up a hand to stop my assurances. “This may not be a standard rescue.”

Sean and I descended to the clone, my doppelganger. Even the rounding stomach and my favorite waterproof lipstick—Fire Engine Red—were accurate. For over four years, our misguided Good Samaritan created increasingly accurate RACs—Reduced Acuity Clones. I blinked as I watched the water from the stream gurgle over my vacant azure eyes.

“Julie?”

“Yeah?”

“We could go back, send another team.”

“No. She might not have enough time.”

We climbed down into the stream. I engaged physical autopilot while my mind raced. I slipped trying to unhook the body’s blouse from a rock. Sean’s eyes panicked as he pulled me up from the water, but the baby and I were ok. Why had they wanted me killed? The legs were banged and scratched from the trip around the park. A formal hit at the courthouse for me? Why?

Finally, we freed her. Sean and I hoisted the RAC and carried it fifteen paces downstream. Then I clamped the legs into a vice with my left arm while Sean settled the head on his shoulder. As we headed up the bank, the derriere would rest on my upper back. Every movement timed. We built five minutes extra into our routine, but my little fainting episode had used most of that. Breathing hard, I contracted my muscles as Sean took the last step up. Then, we ran. Twenty dangerous yards to the closest dropdoor. We lifted the concealed manhole and sent the body into waiting arms.

The water should have kept it cool enough. Our scientists would be able to regenerate. I wondered if they’d change the face. I’d rather not adjust to having a twin.

“Julie?”

I grabbed his hand and we ran for the trees. The park sparkled in spring. Unfortunately, the fragrant blooms did not camouflage our presence as well as leaves. The baby kicked—hard. Mom, it said, you’ve been doing too much. I agreed. Next time, I’d listen. We had to hide for ten minutes until the guard passed and we could get to a walk-in door.

Sean climbed into our tree. I turned and got ready for him to help me up.

“Julie?” It wasn’t Sean. “Julie Standish?”

I turned to find the man who signed the death warrants.

“Mayor Gravitt!” I punctuated the greeting with my biggest smile. “It’s Julie McDougal now.” Perhaps my wet clothes could work in my favor. “And forever.”

He cleared his throat. Superstition ate at him like maggots on a corpse. “You know we don’t recognize ceremonies conducted by your little group.”

Even with all the proper paperwork, I thought.

He eyed my growing belly. “You never showed for any of the three abortion appointments we scheduled.”

I had avoided being topside on those days. A girl I knew had been forced at gunpoint into the clinic. The horror changed her.

“No, and I never will now, will I?”

He crumpled. I imagined I did a fair Jonah imitation—the reeds in my hair an extra touch. “Why not?”

“You saw me die, didn’t you?” He witnessed most hits.

“You’re a g-ghost?”

I wanted to respond truthfully, yet convince him. “I am a person of the Holy Ghost.” Knowing nothing of our faith, the word “ghost” in any sentence might persuade him.

It did. He stumbled away complaining about being haunted.

I sighed with relief, preparing again to climb and hide.

“Bravo!” The owner of another voice strode towards us; the shadows gave way to features. Jason Gravitt. Mayor’s son, Chief Executioner, and the man the Mind picked as my genetic match and mate.

I forced myself not to look at Sean. If he could escape, hope remained for us both.

Share This Blog: