Living History - Ben Essex (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

the image cut to black.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

‘You know,’ Greuze said, pointedly. ‘I really don’t feel comfortable around people who enjoy making speeches.’

‘What do we do?’ Natalia asked.

‘Nothing,’ Greuze shrugged. ‘Man’s a crackpot. Half the city’s chasing him. He’ll be dead in six hours, and so will his revolution. In the meantime, I suggest we all try getting some sleep.’

‘You’re not worried at all?’ I asked.

‘Allow me to be blunt, Mr. Franklin,’ said Greuze. ‘You get to be a preachy idealist because you have us behind you-paying bills and hiring bodyguards. Plus, your antiquity gives you a certain acceptability. People find you tolerably quaint. White has none of these things. He’s a corpse. The only concerning question is whether his death be a fitting end to the injustice he has caused.’

‘I see.’

‘Stay in the city for a while,’ Greuze ordered me. ‘I’d rather not have you out in the field during this crises.’

‘Thank you, but if it’s all the same to you, I would rather not be here.’ I glanced at the window. ‘Not with this outside.’

Not with my own house burning. I know it is, White. You bastard.

‘Fair enough,’ Greuze shrugged. ‘But you’ll have to at least stay here the day. Your room is ready.’

I nodded, and started to leave. So did my partner.

‘Oh, Natalia,’ Greuze called. ‘Stay a moment, will you?’

She did so. I didn’t get to hear that part of the conversation; the door closed in my face.

That was probably for the best. I already had too many things to think about.

I didn’t go straight to my room. There was something I had to see first.

I headed for the lab.

On the way down, I couldn’t help feeling the atmosphere. Inside the Salmon Corporation never felt relaxed-but rarely were things wound this tight. Every third person I past seemed to be shivering a little; suits clung to their portfolios, while scientists hugged clipboards. It felt as if the entire place was supercharged, choked full of some bizarre, intoxicating cross between anger, fear… and guilt. There was definitely a bit of guilt mixed in there, too.

Well. Guilt I could relate to.

I reached the lab.

My security clearance was shaky at best, but the guards knew who I was. They also knew whose office I’d just come from. A little bluster, a little charm… it can get you a long way.

Really, I only needed a quick peek.

The moment I entered the clone chamber, strange memories assailed me. Crawling out of that salt-water tank at an ungodly hour of the morning, stumbling to Derry’s…

The lab looked just the same as it had that night; tubes filled with fleshy bodies. This time, however, there were staff about; ladies and gentlemen in white coats, cradling test-tubes and flow charts. They saw me coming, and stopped to stare.

I found what I was looking for.

Apparently, White really had given Greuze all the data he needed. Every tube contained a body, and every body was a famous figure from history. Most of them were only just recognisable; a few were still mere chunks of meat. But one, one quite near to me… one was unmistakable.

Abraham Lincoln, perfectly recreated. His test tube bore a plaque reading: Model Number Two. I assumed I was Model Number One, so apparently they weren’t doing things in any particular order.

A lab-tech approached, tentatively. ‘Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?’

‘How long until he’s ready?’ I asked, pointing at Lincoln.

‘Our programmers are still working his personality Sim,’ the lab-tech beamed. ‘They’ll be ready in a week or two.’

A week. ‘There’s been no sign of error?’

‘No sir. Everything’s going perfectly.’

What are they doing right that I did wrong? Maybe my mistake really was just a freak accident.

I looked at the next tube along. The creature inside barley had a face but somehow, instinctively, I recognised it.

I knew it was to be my twin.

Your speeches are inflammatory.

And no-one is indispensable.

And Natalia, could you stay a moment?

‘It was all easy, when we got down to it,’ the Lab-tech was gibbering. ‘We’ll have the whole line ready in a month. Sir? Is something wrong?’

‘No. Nothing at all,’ I lied.

On the way back to my room, I bumped into Natalia.

‘There you are,’ she said sharply. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

We were alone in a corridor. I tried to pass Natalia, but she wouldn’t let me.

‘Listen,’ she hissed, ‘Franklin, I said like you-but that’s not enough to endanger myself, do you understand?’

Catching her glare, I nodded slowly.

‘Greuze is starting to worry. You sound too much like White. Given events, he’s beginning to think you might be a corrupt copy-and even if you’re not, you’re fast on the road to becoming a nuisance.’

My heart caught in my chest. ‘What does… what’s he going to do?’

‘Nothing, for now. Greuze still hopes this might blow over, and you were expensive.’

‘But…’

‘You have to lay low.’ She took a step toward me, for emphasis. ‘You have to be less… loud.’

I nodded, images of the lab still fresh in my mind. ‘Less loud. Less… I can do that.’

‘Good. Good.’ Natalia glared. ‘They really didn’t want you to be an inspiration, Ben. You were supposed to just stand there and be hopelessly authentic. Be under no illusions, if you trouble them, the Corporation will kill you. They’ll send someone to do it quietly.’

She started to walk away. ‘Natalia!’ I called. ‘If you think that’s going to happen, if you hear them give the order… will you warn me?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘If it happens, I’ll be the one they send.’

The next morning, I woke up quite early and went to see Greuze.

‘I want to help the investigation,’ I told him. ‘But I’m not sure how. Maybe if I look around White’s apartment… if there’s anything left of White’s apartment… I might get a hunch or two.’

A little reluctantly, Greuze gave me permission to go and poke around. I was to be accompanied by a full contingent of bodyguards, of course.

White hadn’t just blown up my apartment on his way out; he reduced the entire neighbourhood to rubble. Dinosaurs poked around the remains; twitchy little scavengers, fighting over scraps. I spent a good hour combing the debris, keeping every appearance of a man searching for evidence. In actual fact, I was just trying to find something that might have survived. An ornament, a book, a scrap of tablecloth-anything of my home.

Only ash, and ruin, and rubble.

And that was officially it. The last echo of my old life, blown away. I might have gotten carried away with being Franklin… but still, in the back of my head, there had always been this house to return to. Some time, some place, in the distant future-when things were right and normal again-I could come back.

That pile of twisted wreckage told me, in no uncertain terms: There is no Normal Again.

There never will be.

The helicopter had been drafted into military service, so we took a train back down to Large. There’s precisely one monorail line linking the city to its southern cousin-one length of track weaving a path through the entire country. Ancient and ill-maintained, it starts off shiny and gets rapidly creakier as it approaches the border.

Natalia and I shared a windowless cabin.

The whole journey took thirty-six hours. It was conducted in silence.

‘Attention, ladies and gentlemen. This is an automated announcement. Passengers on the 01.30 train to Orr, Large State are reminded that we are entering a Dinosaur-Infested zone. Cautionary dining car procedures are to be followed for the remainder of the journey. Please throw away your meals and begin dental flossing immediately.’

*

We stopped again in Louisian, under the Oil Fields. The town had grown somewhat in my absence. For one, a ramshackle Benjamin Franklin Museum had sprung out of nowhere. I passed a shop selling postcards, and was only moderately surprised to find my face on several.

Natalia didn’t comment, though her expression was even more dour than usual.

They asked if I would give another speech-my last had been so inspirational. I politely declined. They asked again, and again, and I declined with somewhat greater force. Laryngitis, I said.

So my duties were restricted to parading around in public and the occasional wave. Possibly an autograph. It should’ve been a breeze-easiest job in the world. Honestly, though, it didn’t feel right at all. I felt like I was betraying something.

The memory of the man whose heart and body you literally stole? I asked myself, sardonically.

Most days were spent indoors, pretending to be reading a book. My last afternoon in Louisian was supposed to be no different-but the hotel room was small and claustrophobic, and I was utterly bored. There was a broken down old TV in the corner, showing the same news report on a loop, over and over again. Jacob White was still at large.

I decided to go for a walk-a harmless poke around town. I called upon the Benjamin Franklin Museum. If all else failed, I could always make myself an exhibit.

The museum was filled with inaccurate biographical details and poorly-shot photographs. Dioramas populated by waxwork dummies. There were history textbooks left lying around, like scattered treasure.

Apparently, certain local business had also decided to take advantage of my presence. The Ben Franklin Burger had been released by a local street vendor, who’d set up shop in the museum. The burger made me sick to the stomach, but for some reason I felt bizarrely proud of it.

I spent quite some time pottering around, allowing my head to swell. In retrospect that was a mistake, because the moment I stepped outside a crowd was waiting.

‘Oh,’ I said, meekly. ‘Um. Hello.’

There were perhaps two dozen people, all clustered around the museum entrance. Some had microphones; some had notepads. They edged toward me. I backed into the doorway, unnerved. Cameras flashed. A barrage of questions shot forth.

‘Please,’ I tried raising my hands. ‘Please, if you’ll just let me pass… I’m very tired…’

‘Just a few words, Mr. Franklin-’

‘What’s it like to be back in Louisian?’

‘What do you say about the North/South Divide?’

‘What is your opinion of the bombings?’

‘If you’ll just…’

‘What do you think of Jacob White?’

‘I really don’t think I can comment on-‘

‘Some have said that you and Mr. White appear to have very similar opinions, would you agree with that?’

‘My opinions are my own.’

‘So you don’t endorse White’s actions?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You believe our society is in no need of change?’

‘I didn’t say that, I-‘

‘Then what are you saying, Mr. Franklin?’

‘Pardon?’ Stressed and harangued, I found myself stopped short.

‘You claim to disagree with White, but your actual statements are almost identical. Precisely what are your views? Precisely what are you saying?’

I knew that that would be a bad question to answer. I knew that the reporter was baiting me. I knew I should say nothing; the back part of my brain told me this, again and again.

Unfortunately, it had been several months since I’d last listened to common sense.

I felt myself open my mouth. I heard myself starting to speak. I can’t recall the exact words, but I’m pretty sure they were along familiar lines. Old values versus new, old virtues and new injustices. In-character stuff. Several times, I told myself to stop… but I was carried away, and the words just kept spilling out.

I answered questions for half an hour or so. My senses returned to me on