Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III (5 page)

Leo’s luncheon business meeting associate got up from the
bar to accompany him to the private, sound-security dining area at the back of
the restaurant. It was his special table, made of a solid, Amazon teak tree. His
personal assistant had already pre-ordered. They’d be having a Bollinger Blanc
de Noirs, with some foie gras on toast, followed by some nice creamy lobster
bisque, and a lamb and cilantro open-faced on sour dough, shipped fresh daily from
San Fran on the push tunnel. The table was already set with the champagne on ice,
and a giant slab of force-fed goose liver and truffle pate, set on a platter at
center.

He ushered her to her seat, old-time gentleman style, and
sat in his own chair, his back to the wall, old-time mafia style. Leo found
that chauvinism usually worked on female business clients.

“I presented my research on facial regeneration there once,
during The International Bioregenerative and Cosmetic Association national
meeting. I believe that was about three years ago. It’s such a nasty place, so
damp and wet. You must have been glad for the transfer to Las Vegas. Although I
imagine it’s brutally hot there. Do you go out much?” Leo was noticing her dark
skin color. Either she’d been in the sun doing field work, or she had natural
or artificial melanin-enhancement. Either way, the effect was rather dramatic.
She was quite beautiful, in a Nubian sort of way.

“I never go out in that area. It’s much too dangerous for
humans. We use robots for outside work, as per the worker efficiency protocol.
And in case you are interested, I had the melanin enhancement procedure. Dark
skin is quite popular in Las Vegas at present. It’s a fad. When it’s not
anymore, I’ll get the change to another color. Our algorithms suggest that could
be purple-toned. But, I know your time is valuable Mr. Songtain, so let me get
down to business,” Ms. Turner said as she sipped some champagne and tasted the
foie gras.

His legal snake, Max had just arrived; he always shadowed
him on a business deal. Max pulled out a very top of the line databot device
and spoke into it in code. This had all started back about fifteen or twenty
years ago, right after the Kyoto industrial espionage episode, when a group
from the competing company infiltrated a clone lab and blew it up. Ms. Turner,
the lovely and very efficient business assistant to the Las Vegas casino client,
likewise produced and fired-up her databot, coding in a language he did not
understand.

“What language was that? I am not familiar, and I can code
in twenty.” Leo was curious, and careful. He touched his ear, and his more
up-to-date translator device would now recalculate what she said, as extra
security.

“I am so sorry. I thought we could speak in High Imperial
Chinese. It’s a fashionable code language at present in Las Vegas. If you
prefer, I can use another code, perhaps a Euro-tone such as Nordic.”

“No, of course, I understand that. I just can’t read it.”
Leo lied. Of course, he didn’t speak High Imperial Chinese. But now, with his updated
translator tuned in, her code-speak would be immediately translated. Everyone
now spoke in a code when in public places. It was an essential security measure
because competing industries had almost invisible minuscule spybots, those
nano-drones, everywhere. In public, most businesses utilized very complex codes,
which were only broken once each member of a negotiating team was back at their
private, secured quarters. It was a nuisance, because sometimes you found you’d
agreed to something you had not foreseen.

Leo once accidentally agreed to purchase one hundred billion
vouchers worth of farmed tilapia, and it arrived on his doorstep, or rather the
lobby of the Opus. That day, a bunch of Aberdeen tunnel low-dwelling sewer
workers had dinner, on Leo Songtain, and he started to carry the newest
generation translator and instant decoder, from then on. Plus, he now always
negotiated in the presence of Max.

Speaking of which, the snake had arrived, in full Hong Kong negotiation
business suit attire, accompanied by a drop dead gorgeous, tall blond, steely-eyed
assistant, in four inch high heels, and a jade green skirt the size of a table
napkin. She introduced herself as Irma.

“Sorry I’m late folks. Traffic on the up-top was terrible
and my muni-car was stuck behind a load of flu-dead turkeys,” Max deadpanned;
he actually never rode in anything but a personal limo. “It seems we will have
a shortage of turkeys this Thanksgiving for the world market holiday season. I
can’t understand the chimeric nature of that virus. You’d think we’d have a
cure by now. Maybe we should drop another engineered version of the virus on
that riff raff outside, like back at the start of the WME pandemic.” Max attempted
to joke, as he removed his databot device, ran a hand through his oiled hair,
and set his device to meeting mode. When he completed device activation, he
glanced with black, beady eyes at the person with whom he’d be negotiating. He
thought it would be too easy; she looked dumb, harmless, and female.

“Mr. Songtain, we should begin, don’t you think?” The
dark-skinned beauty managed to look polite, impatient, intelligent,
business-like, and sexy, all at the same time. Leo wondered how old she was,
and what it would be like to fuck her. The visitor only smiled…seemingly
unaware of his dirty little mind.

“Yes well, we have planned this little meeting to discuss
your client’s desire to purchase our latest lot of clone soldiers. First as
full disclosure, I want to make you aware that this batch did not originate
from one of my client’s labs.” Max was referring to Leo, of course. They did
not want the buyer thinking they’d made the clones at Stemworm, Inc. It was now
highly illegal and punishable by death to make human clones of any sort, by
direct command of the High College of Cardinals of the World Ecumenical Evangelical
Division, Inc. (
WEED, for short
).The newly acquired batch of twenty-two
clone soldiers had been found hiding off shore from the tip of South America,
on an island appropriately named
Deceit
, one of the Hermite group.

“Yes, of course I am aware of their origin. My client would
not be interested in a business procurement of illegal status. My client is
only interested in legal, fully tagged, and controllable clones, for use as
security in his casino. Have they been controlled?” Ms. Turner raised a
perfectly manicured, satin-skinned hand to her shoulder-length, purple/black
hair, slipping a strand behind her ear. Leo found this small gesture to be
highly erotic. He was suddenly very intrigued by this woman, maybe even madly
in lust with her.

“For security, each clone soldier has been implanted with a
fast-action controlled stem cell device, similar to what is being designed for
normal human workers, to implement the worker productivity manifesto; but in
this case, with a sonic brain blaster, should total elimination be desired.
They were initially savage-like when first caught. They tried to escape of all
things! But the WME Clonal Control Division took care of the problem with a
conditioning protocol. As you are aware, these escaped clone soldiers were deemed
too dangerous for human use, and were initially simply culled on contact. It
was such a waste of economic potential. They are now caught, modified for
control purposes, and sold on the open market as security units. We estimate
that perhaps only several hundred remain available for purchase on the entire planet.
As you know, with current prohibitions on human cloning, and with the general
distaste for security robots, once captured and modified for control purposes,
they will go at premium on the open market.” Max finished his irritable
bowel-causing legal sermon, sipped some champagne, and continued.

“What is your client’s initial bid, Ms. Turner?” Max Peabody
changed tact quickly. It was a legalese maneuver he’d picked up in his first
position at Botsch and Vladmiri, in New York, a fast action legal group dealing
in pharmaceutical stocks. Leo did not speak. He never did at these
negotiations. He and Max had already worked out the deal before the meeting;
knew what their bottom line was.

“My client is prepared to begin at eight hundred million vouchers,”
Ms. Turner responded with efficiency, while listening to her bot-com device. The
client she represented was on the other end, on a closed and coded wave. She
spoke efficiently into her databot, in an entirely different code language,
smiled, and closed communication.

“That is a rather unacceptable offer, Ms. Turner. This batch
would go for at least ten times that price on the open market. How serious is
your client’s offer? We do not have time for idle chit chat, young lady,” Max
stammered. He was indignant with this crude attempt at bargaining under market.
He usually did not respond so sharply to a client offer. It would upset the feng
shui of the restaurant.

“I am sorry. I think you have misunderstood my client’s offer,
Mr. Songtain,” Ms. Turner now spoke directly and in clear Mandarin to Leo,
those wondrous eyes directed solely at him. “My client’s offer was per clone,
obviously. Your legal counselor, who spoke in haste, may wish to take some
relaxation time at one of your lovely hotel spas.”

Leo melted. He was thinking the same thing, only with Ms.
Turner, and naked. He shook his head to get his brain back on track, and
finished his champagne and lobster bisque. The personal waiter collected the
dishes and brought out the lamb sandwiches, along with a Rhone.

“Well, in that case. I have spoken too rashly. I sincerely
apologize to your client. The offer is quite within our boundaries. I believe
we can complete this transaction at present. I will draw up the bill of transfer
immediately. How does your client wish to deal the economics, Ms. Turner?” Max
asked, trying to make up for his curtness; though everyone knew he’d never be
able to go for sincerity.

His assistant, Irma remained motionless and mute the entire
time, her eyes examining the hand painted floor tiles. She had not eaten
anything. After all, she was only an assistant, for window dressing, not a
primary.

“It will be by direct transfer, account to account, half now,
and balance at delivery; immediate of course, and in gold-backed vouchers.
Would that suffice?” Ms. Turner extended her palm, touched Max’s to complete
the transaction, then closed her databot device, and prepared to leave the
meeting without eating her lamb on sourdough, obviously still annoyed by the
counselor’s lack of good karma. Leo was miffed at Max for possibly screwing his
chances of getting this little dessert on his plate.

“That would be delightful, Ms. Turner. But, why the rush, I
would like to give you a tour of my hotel, and perhaps a tour of the finer life
in Hong Kong. May I take you to dinner tonight?” Leo broke with business
negotiation protocol by speaking directly with the client’s assistant, rather
than through Max. Max would be livid, but Leo really did not want this one
getting away from him. He had some vivid images of her luscious tongue washing
his entire body, very slowly.

“No, thank you Mr. Songtain, my client is a very busy
individual and requires my return immediately upon completion. I am sorry,
perhaps another time, when I am not working. Here is my card.” She palmed her
ID onto Leo’s outstretched and now sweaty hand. He immediately had a massive hard
on. There was just something about this woman that drove him even crazier than
Roxanne Smoot did. Ms. Turner was gone too quickly. By the next day, he could
not even remember what she looked like; very strange indeed, LIKE A MIND-FUCK.

                                                             
                          
5

“DID YOU DO A MIND-FUCK ON HIM, MOM?” Gimlet was in a Tokyo
train station waiting for her ride to University, and was on her bot-com to her
mother, Dina. She’d been busy studying for her final exams. Her brain felt
murky, like she’d tried to stuff too much info inside. She couldn’t wait to be
finished, wanted to party for days in the tunnels beneath Roppongi.

“I wish you wouldn’t swear like that. I know you get it from
your dad. But he’s misusing rebel-speak and doesn’t swear on purpose, Gimlet. You
shouldn’t copy him.”

Dina was stuffed into a security-hut, half way between the
Songtain Hotel and the Hong Kong Central Hover Station. Security-huts, built to
look like old fashioned London phone booths, can now be found on every street corner
in Hong Kong. She’d walked to this one after her lunch with Leo and that
horrible legal counselor, Max; she needed to be out in the open, despite the 120
degree temperature and 90% humidity outside the transit tunnels. Her lunch had
gone as expected. It was so easy to gently manipulate Leo’s mind. And, as per Roxanne’s
suggestion to Dorian, she’d planted a vid/audio on Leo’s hand when she palmed
her fake ID.

“Sorry mom, I’ll try to clean up my language.” Gimlet
frowned into her bot-com. Like most her age she could not see what the deal was
with the word,
fuck
. It was such an old time word. I mean, if you went
anyplace in the world and said, “Ok, well then, fuck it,” absolutely everyone,
from saints to bio-engineers would know exactly what you meant.

“Have you finished your exams yet, Gimlet?” Dina interrupted
her daughter’s thoughts.

“I finished my thirds; only one more exam to go, then
vacation! I’m so fried. I never thought it would be this hard, Mom. I mean, it
took great self-control not to use my mutant brain junk. You’d be proud of me.”
Gimlet referred to her ability to read minds, a trait she’d inherited from her
mother, Dina. She’d promised both her parents she would not use her mind
reading abilities when taking University exams.

“I am always proud of you, Gim. But yes, I did
mind-fuck
Leo Songtain. I probably didn’t need to, but I just didn’t want to take the
chance. I don’t want to have to come back here soon. I hate these away trips.
It drives your dad nuts when I leave Donner Pass. He gets paranoid, like
something will happen to me. Anyway it was a success. He’ll sell us the clone
soldiers. They’ll be delivered to the Las Vegas hover-dock by next week.” Dina,
spoke into her personal bot-com even though she was in a security-hut. She knew
that no one would be able to hack her wave, but she did not want to appear unusual
to any bystanders, or to the dozens of nano spy drones flying all over Hong
Kong.