Bitter Dreams
by Kuwanger

High above the Earth explosions roared in flashes of light.  Without the air
to fuel them, the jet fighters seemed out of place.  But these were special
modified fighters, moved forward in the vacuum of space by ionized waste.  The
explosions were yet more of their futile missile launches toward the large
black alien ship, blown apart by the many drones that zoomed around them in a
dance that always ended the same.  For when they got too close to the ship,
the drones would target them, and they would be forced to retreat--at least,
those fighters not blown up in the attack.

Back on Earth, Jenna returned back to her cell.  She was stationed in the NYC
cell, along with the other members, Melissa, Jake, and Ark.  Their only
connection to the other cells, as means of security, was their AI robot which
the group simply called Leader.  As Jenna got on the subway, she remembered
the speech from her superiors about the importance of the cells.  "They[, the
aliens,] want to wipe out the army and enslave the people.  So long as there's
resistance, they'll not move in for the kill."

And so it had been going on for several years now.  Was it 3 or 4?  It didn't
matter, so long as the regular people didn't know.  But Jenna intrinsically
knew that in the end her side would win.  With all the battles and all the
fighting, members of her cell would always return safe.  To her it was the
omen that destiny was on their side.  She just needed to keep fighting and
keeping holding out.  The Leader kept reporting that new weapon breakthroughs
were just around the corner, and then their side would have the upper hand.

But something happened this time on her way back to the safe house that lead
to the cell's homebase.  A man in a trenchcoat and rimmed hat look towards
her, and there seemed a moment of shock and recognition in his face.  He
approached her and introduced himself.

"Hello, my name is Frank Drevingsten.  I work for the government."

"You don't say.  What part of it would that be?" she asked as if only
half-interested.

"Well, the FBI actually.  And I really need to talk to you."

Was the alien trying to infiltrate her cell in disguise?  She was certainly
going to find out and take of this man, one way or another.  Her orders were
clear:  anyone who knew anything and approached her was not to be trusted or
let to live; the Leader was the only gateway to the truth.  "Perhaps over some
coffee, then?"

"Coffee, yes.  That will do fine.  At the next stop."

She nodded her head in agreement, and turned the other way, attempting her
best to act like they never spoke.  When the next stop arrived, she calmly
stood up, stepped out of the subway car, and walked up and outside.  Once on
the street level, she casually walked down the street finally spotting a small
restuarant on a corner a few blocks away.  Stepping inside, she found a seat
and ordered a black coffee.

The man stepped in a few moments later and joined her in her booth.  He calmly
waited for the waitress to return and order himself a Mountain Dew.  After he
was sure the waitress was out of ear shot, he began to lay out the situation.

"You..."

"You didn't order a coffee."

"I don't really like coffee.  I'd just end up putting cream and sugar in it,
so why bother with it?"

"So, you like your caffeine sweet."

"I like sweet and sour things.  But, enough about me.  You're not who you
think you are."

"Oh, now that's a new one."

"I'm not being sarcastic.  I've seen you before.  Well, I've seen your body
before."

The waitress returned with Frank's drink and asked if they wanted anything
else.  Frank shook his head, and Jenna simple starred into empty space.  The
waitress walked off, moving off to a better table to serve.

"Are you with the government or just trying out new pick-up lines?" asked
Jenna.

"You're one of a group in a cell.  Your group is composed of a handful of
members, I'm not sure how many.  And there's one like you in every major city
in the world."

"I see.  So, lots of bad black dye jobs then, around the globe?"

"That's your natural color.  At least, that's how you're factory shipped.
You're being churned out about as quickly as the fighters."

"Listen.  I don't know what you think you know, but I've been living in this
area for 20 years.  And I know there's only one of me.  My father and mother
made me, and this is my natural color."

"You're a replacement.  Your last copy was killed in the last battle.  I know
because you were dropped off on the sidewalk by a government van.  When you
come back unharmed, you walk the whole way to the subway."

Clearly this guy, whoever he was, needed to be eliminated.  But how would she
do it this time?  The standard practice was to first verify whether the person
was part of the government.  Government personnel were easier to take care of,
since all it took was a less than gentle push in front of a truck or subway
and the government on the inside would rattle off some excuse on why such a
tragedy occurred.  But for the normal people, it was best to hire a hitman to
kill, plant drugs, and remove their id--the last part being a large part of
the deal, given the black market on having the real thing.

Jenna needed to get back soon to her cell, to write up her report and make
further suggestions; she knew it was all just busy work until the big guns
were deployed, but the last thing she wanted was to be cut out of the program
this late in for not dotting some i's or crossing some t's.  She crossed her
fingers that Frank was another one from the government.

"So you say you're from the government.  You one of the guys who dropped me
off?"

"No, I'm one of the guys who knows something is up.  The FBI has lost one too
many agents to 'accidents' to not realize that someone higher up is involved.
I'm one of a handful out trying to track down the street-level hoodlums
involved.  I think I've found one."

Jenna smiled widely and slumped back in her seat.  "Oh, I'm so sorry about
to hear about those agents.  Were some of them your friends?"  Her sickly
sweet voice ended with a white row of teeth.

"I'm actually much too new to the FBI to have known any of them.  But thanks
for that show of warmth.  My point is, I know who to watch, and I know if you
don't cooperate I can just wait for your next double."

"But you've not even shown me a badge.  Am I to really believe the FBI is
so paranoid to think there's clones running around fighting space battles and
killing off FBI agents?"

"Oh, space battles..."

Shit!  Oh well, he wasn't going to live to tell about it.

He continued, "I'm sure you'll be happen to know I haven't told the FBI
anything yet.  I'll even got a bit further and lay it out flat, as one way or
another you won't have a chance to communicate it to your superiors:  we're
effectively on radio silence.  We're simply marked as rogue agents.  At least,
that's what the FBI has in their reports."

"Oh, do tell." she taunted.

"We're on our own, so we don't tip off the one's involved until we catch them
with their pants around their ankles.  So the FBI's been hiring detectives
left and right and letting them turn rogue as silently as possible.  I just
happen to be one of those 'kooky' conspiracy theorists.  I guess it wasn't so
kooky after all."

"So you've found your prize, you crazy man you.  I must be the feather to your
cap.  Should we put the handcuffs on me now or later?"

"Neither, actually.  You see, we're going to perform a little experiment.  As
far as I'm aware, not a one of you clones has gone missing for very long while
strolling about on Earth.  It seems your implanted martial arts training has
served your model well."

"Model?!"

"If you can think of another word for it, I'm all ears.  My point is, you only
die while in battles.  So if you turn up missing, they'll need to scrub your
whole cell and hunt you down.  They need the simple continuity that can be
preprogrammed so you feel like you've been developing memories for the last
three years.  If something traumatic were to happen, that'd throw you out of
sink with every other double, and there'd be way too much risk that you or the
others would wise up."

"So, we're supposed to wait for your fanciful death squad to show up with guns
blazing?"

"Actually, I've no idea how they plan to disguise it.  Maybe they'll call it a
drug bust and another pair of doubles would be carted away.  You know they'll
have to have someone alive in case the cameras catch a face.  They wouldn't
want people to see a dead woman walked down the street a few weeks later."

"Well, this is very imaginative, but I must take my leave.  Perhaps I could
have your card.  I have a friend who has connections with some publishers.  Or
perhaps they could recommend you to a psychiatrist?"

"No, not yet.  With all the agents that have been killed, it's clear the
government worker deaths are covered higher up.  But there's no striking
pattern to the civilian deaths.  So, so long as you can't verify I'm a
government worker, you can't risk trying to push forth a quick 'accident' on
me.  And that's necessary for now, for I have something to show you in
storage."

"Oh, so now you're going to show me evidence?  Perhaps some pictures of me in
other cities?  Or a chunk of these fighters you speak of."

"Even better:  I have a chunk of you."

To be continued...