*
It didn't take long to see the problem.
Fires on the horizon. Smoke above the city.
There stood the dark monolith of the Salmon Corporation skyscraper. All around it, buildings were burning.
'Jacob White.'
His face was on the table; a spread of photographs. Family pictures, friendly photos, corporate ID badges...
'As of this moment, he is the most wanted man in the city.'
Peter Greuze sat behind his desk, arms crossed. Natalia and I opposite.
'He did this happen?' Natalia asked, gesturing to a window. Flames were rising outside; the emergency services were desperately fighting them back. The disaster was under control, but only provisionally.
'Apparently, when one has access to all the resources of Applied, building a series of highly destructive bombs becomes depressingly easy,' Greuze deadpanned.
'But... why?' I asked weakly.
'That's where we were hoping you might have a thought or two,' Greuze replied. 'After all, the man created you.'
'Not entirely,' I snapped, harsher than intended.
'Of course,' said Greuze. 'But still, you must have some insight...'
'I'm afraid that I have absolutely no idea what might be going through Mr. White's head.'
'He must be apprehended,' stated Natalia, blankly. Greuze stared at her.
'Well...yes, that was the general gist of me calling him the most wanted man in the city.' Greuze shook his head. 'But if White has any designs at all on living, he'll be as far from Little as he can possibly get by now.'
'Perhaps not,' Natalia said. 'He may want to be close at hand for further attacks.'
'We're provisionally hoping that this'll be an isolated incident.'
'Unlikely. This kind of attack is a clear statement- an opening move, designed to get attention. A message.'
'You're very knowledgeable about terrorists this morning, Natalia.'
'I am a publicist. I understand publicity stunts, and this is one.'
'Maybe,' Greuze seemed unconvinced. 'But for now I think I'd prefer to view it as the single act of a madman. Optimism, eh Benjamin?'
I said nothing.
'Hold on.' Greuze held up a hand. He was staring at his desk, frowning. He pressed a couple of random spots on the shiny surface, and a holograph screen sprung to life before us. Modern computers can be disturbingly difficult to notice.
'Look at this,' Greuze said, as the screen started playing a video. 'It was ripped off a network news broadcast three minutes ago.'
The picture was of White.
He was standing in front of a grey backdrop- somewhere that could be anywhere. Talking directly to the camera, White looked somewhat worse for wear. Like he'd just been through a storm of soot.
'Citizens of America Little,' he said. 'By now, I'm sure you've seen the destruction outside. I am responsible. Let me assure you, this havoc was wreaked with only the greatest regret. I have done my best to target unpopulated areas at unpopulated times, but the guilt still weights heavy on my soul.'
'Huh,' Greuze muttered, looking my way. 'The bastard sounds like you.'
'It had to be done,' White continued. 'I've struck at the heart of the city, at the heart of the so-called Salmon Corporation- a holding of gangsters and criminals. Building after building filled with crook, strangling the city, breaking this great country. I have to tell you, I tried to understand it. I tried to tolerate it. I tried. But the truth is, I am sick of this world and its compromises, its lies, its immorality. This is not what our country deserves.'
Natalia also raised an eyebrow in my direction. I felt almost embarrassed.
'This was a demonstration of power- to show you all that they are vulnerable, that one man can take them on and win. Imagine what a hundred could do. I know many of you must feel the same as me, so I'm asking you to join my struggle. Together, we can make the world the better place it was supposed to be.
'A change is coming. Rest assured. This is not mere rhetoric. This is revolution.'
And then 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.
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?
r /> '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 the way back to my room. I realised that I'd just said all the things Natalia had spec
ifically told me not to.
My heart fluttered. I began to get the little queasy feeling that presages something unpleasant approaching from the immediate future.
Natalia was waiting outside my room.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
There was a warning in her eyes. She actually looked sad.
I didn't pause, I didn't stop, I didn't speak. I didn't need to see anymore.
I walked straight out of the hotel, and never look back.
Maybe I acted prematurely. Maybe if I hadn't run off, I could've smoothed things over with Greuze. I could've explained myself. Perhaps the whole situation really would have blown over. Natalia could have been wrong.
But at that moment, I was far too carried away with my own feelings. Several months of fear pent up, always expecting myself to be one step away from exposure... it was actually a relief to run away. And after I ran, there was really only one way things could go.
Two weeks later, I came across a newspaper. It had my face on the front page, next to Jacob White's. Wanted, the headline screeched. Terrorist Suspects.
The article went on to detail just how many people I was apparently responsible for murdering.
Being a fugitive is a lot more glamorous when you're doing it on TV. It's not much fun to go through in real life. For one thing, the personal hygiene is appalling. There aren't many opportunities to shower. I'm sure you don't need me to go into any more detail than that.
The food situation is a little depressing, too. You have to beg, borrow and steal whatever scraps you can get hold of. So on the plus side, I was finally losing a little bit of weight. Just as well; I needed all the help I could get in making my profile less recognisable.
I kept my face hidden. I wore baggy clothes and coats closer to cloaks. I stayed in the shadows wherever I could, and made a point of moving only at night. I felt like a rat.
It was not a good time for my ego; I felt my sense of self getting smaller and smaller. But my reasoning kept me on track. This is what you need to do if you want to stay alive. You made your own bed, now you have to sleep in it.
Fortunately, the folks of Large were a generally kind and simple lot, well-disposed to beggars and not particularly observant. Small towns like Louisian lay scattered all over the Oil Fields; the main train line branched between them. Generally the train carriages were rusty and in ill-repaired, easy enough to sneak a ride on. The conductors didn't seem to mind.
Complacency came easily after a couple of weeks without capture. People were so good at ignoring me that I began to think of myself as invisible.
I went out during the day.
It was to steal some food, if I recall correctly. I was in the town of Orr, and a festival was being held; a little county fair with epic designs. Home-made floats made their way through the main street, accompanied by ticker tape and thrown confetti. Bars and pubs were crammed full, people spilling out onto the street. There were stalls everywhere offering snacks both delicious and gross. Bees buzzed around in the summer heat, robbing children of sugar and ice-cream.
In the background, local bands were providing local music. A general air of glee permeated all. Orr was roughly twice as big as Louisian, and twice again as poor. The people here didn't have many nice clothes, nor much jewellery. Still, what little they owned was out in force today. Diamonds were polished, necklaces on show. Shiny shoes clattered against toe-tipped heels.
I'd been sleeping in an alley, between a dumpster and a bale of hay. Don't ask me why there was hay- these southern towns can be quaint like that. The festival sounds woke me up, and the smell of roasting meat lured me out. There were stands grilling legs of swine and oxen bellies over beds of charcoal. The smoke was intoxicating.
Now think about this, I scolded myself. You've already eaten today, you don't need to go risking anything on another meal...
By the time I completed that thought I was already in the street, hood pulled over my head, hunched and skulking toward a snack stand.
Great.
A bunch of people twirled past me, dancing. A float drifted by, bearing scantily clad mascots. Bucket-bearers hung alongside the parade, asking the audience for loose change. I immediately felt a sense of rivalry- demanding loose change from strangers was my lookout, damn it.
I should be moving on soon, I decided. The festival would be attracting all sorts of strangers and all sorts of attention- I needed to go somewhere quieter. Midnight would bring a late train that I could scramble aboard.
I managed to pick-pocket someone next to the snack-stand. Smart men make good thieves, as long as they're desperate. I grabbed a hot-dog, threw the vendor some change and vanished from sight in the space of two seconds. I had my eye set on a dark alley, where I could consume my prize in peace.
At that moment, I happened to look up. If I'd been ten seconds later, I might have missed them.
I saw a group of people who looked out of place. Expensive clothes: suits, ties and sunglasses all in black. Burly to a tee, these men had the look of predators. They were pushing the crowd aside; making room for someone else. Their commanding officer, I assumed. Quite a lot of attention was being thrown their way. Said crowd was evidently impressed...
Their commander stepped forward. A tall man in an even taller hat. His clothes fit perfectly, and he had a brilliant bushy beard that I knew to be a fake. We never got the hang of growing hair.
It was Abraham Lincoln. Or at least his perfect reproduction.
People were pointing- parents and children in equal awe. Here was another page from the history books.
Why would they send him?
But there wasn't time to think. Lincoln's gaze was searching the crowd, and I knew who he was looking for. The Corporation had followed me this far.
I started to run, and was spotted at once.
I heard footsteps on my tail- I knew it was the men in black. For a second, I thought the crowd might provide me with some cover, or at least slow my pursuers down with its sheer density. Unfortunately the crowd parted eagerly, awed by Abraham Lincoln's hat. Stupid, easily impressed yokels...
My chest began to tighten. Out of shape, fat boy. Didn't lose that much weight after all.
I ducked between floats. Streamers flew in my face, dancers diving all around me. I let my cloak fall away; it was only slowing me down. The important people had already noticed me.
'Hey! Hey! Stop him!' I rushed past the hot-dog stall, and took a moment to kick it over. Sizzling meat spilled onto the street, charcoal mingling with tinsel. Irate yells came from the vendor himself, followed by a loud crash.
I glanced over my shoulder. Three of the burly bodyguards were still right behind me. Abraham Lincoln was walking at a steady pace, as if he had all the time in the world. Something told me that this man was probably a bastard.
I bolted around a corner, almost ploughing into a small family.
'Mommy, is that Benjamin Franklin?'
'No!' I yelled.
I passed a bar. The saloon-like doors were swinging, half open.
'Psst, this way.'
I ignored the mysterious whisperings.
'I said Pssst!'
Rough hands reached out to grab me. I was pulled into the bar.
The doors clicked shut.
The bar was a dump.
The walls were mouldy, the furniture cheap. A few people sat around a slime green table playing poker. Aside from them, the place was empty.
'Um. Hello.' I said vaguely.
The hands that had grabbed me belonged to a little man. By little I do not mean small. This man was not small, he was dense. Like a pebble with a boulder's mass; there wasn't a lot of him, but what there was came made from p
ure muscle. His fingers had sinews.
'This way, Mr. Franklin,' the dense man sad. 'Hurry!'
I was dragged bodily down a long flight of stairs. The dark maw of a basement consumed me. More stairs followed- a narrow stone path, reaching forever underground.
'Quickly!' I was constantly told. 'Faster!' Finally, I had enough of being yanked along.
'Young man,' I said sternly. 'I assure you I am quite capable of getting to whatever pace is appropriate for the moment under my own power. Now will you please let go of me.'
'Oh. Right. Sorry, sir,' the dense man mumbled, letting go.
'What's your name?' I asked.
'Daniel.'
From upstairs, there came a loud thump. It was the sound of a door being kicked down, followed by angry voices. Clearly my pursuers were right above.
'Well Daniel,' I said, 'I think we should get wherever we're going as fast as possible.'
Daniel led me on. 'Don't worry,' he whispered. 'The basement door is hidden. They'll never find it.'
'Hey- what's behind this door?' Came a voice from above, followed by the sound of splintering wood.
Daniel winced. 'Don't worry, don't worry,' he repeated insistently. 'This door is also hidden.'
What door? I started to ask, as Daniel took a perfectly ordinary looking chunk of brick wall and wrenched it aside to reveal a dark corridor beyond. Oh.
'This way, this way!' Daniel slammed the secret door shut behind us. A minute later, I heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the wall.
'Shhh,' Daniel said for good measure.
Eventually, the sounds of searching died down. 'There's nothing here!' Irate voices called. 'Just an empty basement.'
Footsteps going up the stairs.
'Come, come.' Daniel ushered. I followed.
The corridor seemed to get progressively narrower as we went along. I fought the claustrophobia, and tried not to feel trapped.
I had to breathe in to fit.
Finally, we came to the end- a room that looked like a monk's secret sanctum. Candles everywhere, pools of orange flickering around my shadow.
There were lots of people.
The people all had a certain look around them; a kind of shell-shocked reverence. Something about them said cultists. I was immediately unnerved.
And yet... they looked at me with awe. Disciples before their messiah. All eyes wide... it only took a second for me to realise why. My picture was everywhere; all over the walls. Posters, portraits, easel-sketches. Books about my life-
(Books about Ben Franklin's life).
-Texts and tombs of ancient history. There was also a pool-table in the middle of the room, which sort of spoiled the ambience. I suppose that's what this place had been used for before.
'Oh my,' someone muttered.
'Is that really him?' Somebody else asked.
The crowd started moving towards me- instinctively, I backed off. The crowd froze, like startled deer.
'It's all right,' Daniel whispered. 'It's all right, Mr. Franklin. You can trust these people. We're your friends, Mr. Franklin. We're your followers.'
They sat me down. They brought me food- meat and potatoes. After the second course I began to feel slightly at ease, although I couldn't help being disturbed by the way they just stared at me. I tried not to judge. They were being kind.
Daniel took it upon himself to explain a few things.
Firstly, that cloak of mine had fooled absolutely no one. My profile was far too recognisable; everyone in Large had known precisely which homeless person I was, but the people were too reverent to turn me in, so they pretended not to notice.
Those few throwing me pennies were trying to be polite. And the reason Lincoln and his goons had shown up? Well, not everybody was full of respect.
But there were some who went further than simply turning a blind eye to me.
Large and Little were not great friends; few in the south harboured love for the north. They were slaved to each other only by economic necessity. Blowing up a few city buildings, not many Southerners saw that as any great crime. Given the thoroughly earned reputation of the Salmon Corp, many quietly viewed it as a triumph.
Natalia had been right. History did hold great sway over the south. They were far more willing to back heroes from the past than the dirty pragmatists of the present.
These people saw me not as a terrorist, but as a freedom fighter.
I didn't entirely agree with that assessment.
'You and Mr. White,' Daniel was saying. 'The two of you showed us the way. You showed us that we don't have to get trodden on. That we can change things-'
'That,' I interrupted quickly, 'is all very well and good, but I don't think you should go around equating White's opinions to my own.'
'What do you mean?' Daniel blinked.
'I mean, I am not on that man's side,' I said firmly. 'Just because we agree on some minor particulars of philosophy does not make me his accomplice.'
'But... the two of you...' Daniel shook his head. 'You're the ones that'll lead us.'
I smiled tolerantly. 'Says who?'
'Says me.'
I turned around.
Jacob White was standing behind me.
'Hello, Ben.'
I sat in stock silence while White had a word with his flock. He told Daniel that he and I wanted to be alone, to discuss leaderly things. The followers dispersed one by one, each stopping for a reverent look back.
In the end it was just White and me, alone in the candle-lit room.
'Well,' said White. 'This is certainly cosy.'
'What have you been telling these people about me?' I demanded bluntly.
'Many grand things. None of them true, all of them prudent.' White sat down. 'I do hope you will come around to seeing things my way.'
'We're not on the same side.'
'We ought to be.'
I looked White carefully up and down, and found him totally unreadable. He didn't seem like a madman.
He did look like he might have put on a little bit of weight- bulking up around the arms and shoulders. Part of me felt an instant stab of annoyance. I didn't like him taking liberties with my former shell.
'What is it you want to do, exactly?' I demanded. 'This isn't 1775 anymore. Revolutions don't change the world and one man can't make a difference.'
'Funny.' White tilted his head to one side. 'That's what they said back then.'
'You're going to get people killed.'
'I already have.'
When he admitted that, he did it with clear melancholy. At least I could be sure that this man understood his crimes.
'Think about what you're doing,' I implored. 'I may be wearing this skin, but you're the real Benjamin Franklin. Don't you remember all those wise old words you wrote? Tranquillity, peace and enlightenment? Be worthy of the man history remembers.'
White looked up at me, quite slowly. And he smiled, quite thinly.
'The real Benjamin Franklin,' he said, 'died. Those wise old words were the product of a different time. And the man history remembers is not the man who really lived.'
White stood. I'd touched a nerve. 'Your story books aren't right. They're a cleaner history than what was real, and you're a cleaner portrayal than what ever was. Did you think you were imitating a great man?' He sneered at me. 'Is that what lent your impression credence? You're merely playing up to a fantasy. Not a very convincing one, at that.'
I tried to interrupt, but White wouldn't have it.
'I'm not interested in who we were,' the man snapped. 'I'm not interested in the past- that's a wallowing ground for decadent minds. I'm interested in fixing today's world, and there is nobod
y else here willing to do it. So yes, I'm going to get my hands dirty and I will consider myself properly damned for it. I've lived through such damning times before, and I know that they are sometimes necessary.'
'Doesn't sound like you need my help,' I snorted, also standing up. 'You already have your sheep.'
'And I'll have more, but you could carry greater sway down here. Your face is that of an icon. Besides, deep down I really do think you agree with me.'
'I think otherwise.'
'Hmph.' White ground his teeth. 'I doubt it. This world has betrayed you just as utterly as it has me.'
I began backing toward the door.
'My band grows every day,' White intoned. 'Soon enough, you'll be swallowed up by us whether you like it or not.'
'No.'
'Go on then. Run for that door.' White gestured dismissively. 'See if you enjoy spending more time as a fugitive, sorting through garbage. I am offering you the chance to earn a place in history.'
I admit, I was tempted by his offer. White had a scary, magnetic conviction.
Then I remembered something.
'You killed Derry.'
'Excuse me?' White stared blankly.
'You killed my friend. Might have been the first thing you did.'
'The girl with the moustache?' White looked at the floor. 'Dressed as a harlot? That was an accident. I was confused, and she wanted to put me back in my box.'
'You stole the body you're wearing.'
'You first.'
'You burned down my house.'
'Once again, this is dwelling on the past,' White waved. 'It doesn't interest me.'
'You killed Derry.' I repeated it, because I felt a terrible shame for almost forgetting her.
'I tire of this conversation,' White said. 'You can go now. Come back when you change your mind.'
I yanked the door open, and ran upstairs as fast as I could.
In the bar, Daniel and his crew were waiting for me. 'Mr. Franklin?' They asked. 'How was it, Mr. Franklin? Did you make decisions? Is something wrong?'
'Get away from me,' I muttered, pushing them aside. The crowd came closer, and I bellowed: 'Get away from me!'
I needed some air. I stumbled out onto the streets- festival still whirling all around. Suddenly, every third person I saw seemed to look like Jacob White.
I had to get space.
Blindly I fled, right into the arms of Abraham Lincoln.
Lincoln backed me into a corner. I was in a narrow street with my spine pressed against a brick wall; nowhere to go. Behind the distant ticker-tap parade, the sun was setting.
Just me and him. No guards. They must have been off searching somewhere else.
I considered charging, trying to wrestle my way free- then I noticed the bulge in the other man's sleeve. He was wearing a Gauntlet. I wouldn't get ten paces.
Reluctantly, I raised my hands. Surrender- the ugly option.
'They'll want me alive,' I told my captor tersely. At least as first.
Lincoln smiled. 'They don't want you at all, except in pieces,' he said. 'But I have other ideas.'
I blinked. Quite shocked.
I'll be the one they send.
Shocked, because Abraham Lincoln was speaking with the strongest Russian accent I'd ever heard.
At Gauntlet-point, Lincoln marched me to a nearby cafe. He walked the whole way with a smile.
The cafe boasted wire tables and chequered clothes. Narrow windows offered a good view of the street festivities. The moment we stepped inside every customer looked up, and every customer gaped.
'If you would all excuse us for a moment,' said Abraham politely, in a perfectly American accent. 'My friend and I require some privacy.'
Even the manager rushed outside to give us room to talk.
Lincoln and I sat down.
'Natalia?' I finally asked. 'Is that you?'
Lincoln glared. 'Of course it's me, you fool,' came the Russian accent once again. 'I told you it would be.'
'But... how?' I goggled. 'I mean, why? I mean... explain...'
Natalia/Lincoln crossed his/her arms. 'Publicity.'
'Publicity?'
'Publicity.' Lincoln removed his great hat, making a small show of dusting it off. 'My idea. Fire with fire. The only way to beat one historical icon is with another.'
Understanding dawned. 'You want to create a pre-emptive counter revolution.'
'No.' Lincoln's eyes narrowed. 'I just want to steal all of your fans.'
'So you're not just here to bring me in?'
'Well,' Lincoln shrugged, 'I am supposed to kill you on sight. But that's a secondary objective compared to fixing the damage you've done.'
I fidgeted slightly. 'I can't help noticing that you haven't... killed me on sight.'
'Yet.'
I fidgeted slightly more.
'Greuze wanted to send this body complete with historical mind- his obsession with authenticity borders on a fetish. Fortunately, I was able to persuade him otherwise.' Natalia/Lincoln offered a wry smile. 'After all, White was the one responsible for programming the Sims. No matter how perfect his creations seem, it's probably not a good idea to trust them.'
'Probably,' I echoed dryly.
'So instead we decided to transfer my consciousness into this body and use it as a puppet. Greuze didn't like the idea, but he accepted it as practical.'
'Desperate times?'
'Exactly.' Lincoln said. 'I have to say, it has been a very bizarre experience.'
'I'm sure.'
'I am not enjoying having a penis.'
'Um...'
'Among other things. This body is so different to mine... it sends different signals. The senses work in different ways. Subtle, but...' Lincoln's head shook. 'My skin is too thick. It makes everything altogether foreign. The sooner I get this experience over with, the better.'
'Perhaps you should give up and go home?' I suggested hopefully.
'Well, then I wouldn't be paid my vast sums of money.'
'Natalia.' I frowned. 'Or...Abraham or... whatever... Are you actually going to be killing me or arresting me or something? Because if not, this conversation is beginning to get a little existentialist for my taste.'
'Nonsense. Ben Franklin was a natural existentialist.'
'Ben Franklin disagrees,' I said.
'And no, I'm not going to kill you. Possibly.'
'That's very generous of you.'
Outside, a particularly large float drifted by. It depicted George Washington wrestling a lion.
'I have a better view of things than Greuze,' said Natalia. 'I know you and White aren't working together.'
'You can be sure of that?' Stop hurting your own defence!
'No. But since you have proven exponentially easier to track and catch than White, I severely doubt you're using the same underground network. Besides, I don't find you... impossible to trust.'
'I'm flattered.'
'Even so, I have to assume White has at least tried to recruit you.'
'Assume away.'
'We can't find him, Benjamin,' Lincoln/Natalia said. It was clearly a difficult admission. 'He's too well hidden, he has too many supporters, and short of actually invading Large...'
'You want me to flush him out of hiding.'
Lincoln shrugged. 'You're the closest thing we have to bait.'
'And am I to assume that you have something to offer me in return, besides the simple courtesy of not killing me.'
'No, that's more or less all I'm going to offer you in return.'
'Ah.'
'This is not an easy olive branch for me to extend,' Lincol
n said pointedly. 'And trust me when I say, it's the absolute best you're going to get.'
'Oh, I believe you.'
'Now obviously you're about to reject me outright.'
'Excuse me?' I blinked. I'd been exactly one heartbeat away from agreeing to the deal then and there.
'I've studied you, Mr. Franklin. Your psyche-profile's pretty transparent. It makes you very predictable.'
'I'm... sure it does.'
'You are not a man happy to betray even his enemies. And I'm sure you don't enjoy the thought of deceit on our behalf.'
Belatedly, I realised what my problem with the scheme ought to be. 'And you're going to kill White. That'll make me an accessory to murder.'
'Exactly,' Lincoln nodded. 'But think of it this way, Ben- White's already sponsored more minor attacks. When he's ready for a major strike, how many innocents do you suppose are going to suffer? To quote one of your contemporaries; "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." '
'Your argument is... compelling. Do I have time to think about it?'
'Of course,' Lincoln said.
'Thank you.'
'You have eleven seconds.'
I sighed. 'Fair enough.'
Just for the sake of appearance, I let eight seconds pass. Lincoln actually counted then down. Bitch.
'All right,' I said. 'You've got a deal.'
I didn't go straight back to Daniel's bar.
Instead I spent the rest of the night wandering around, lost in both thought and in reality. Orr's roads were rather windy.
The festivities had died down; the streets were empting out. Rubbish lay everywhere- discarded debris and detritus, a carpet of party streamers. I kicked my way along the dirt.
You have to earn your place in history.
The worst part was... I could see White's point. I could kind of agree with it. And I could see Lincoln's point, and I could agree with that. And on some fundamental level, I didn't like either of them.
Stuck in the middle. An undignified place to be.
I tried to get into character. I tried to ask myself what the real Franklin would do... but the truth was, I didn't have a clue. Perhaps I never had.
Maybe he'd do something wise and epic and principled. Or maybe he'd be stupid and get himself killed. Somehow, living up to his standards didn't seem so important anymore. I suppose that was probably White's influence, his words still chipping away in the back of my head. He was just a man, like any other.
Of course he was. But possibly the reality of the man didn't matter, when I had such better fantasies to imitate.
I tried asking myself what I would do. Still no answers.
Your psyche profile makes you easy to predict...
Maybe I didn't know exactly what Ben Franklin would do, but I had a good idea of what he wouldn't.
'Why do you follow White?'
I was asking Daniel- we were alone in his bar. The little man had let me in at the crack of dawn. Outside, gold rings were ribbing the sky.
Daniel shrugged. 'Because I think he's smarter than me.'
'Can I get a drink?'
Daniel nodded, fetching me a glass of tonic water.
'A drink with alcohol in it.'
Daniel nodded, fetching me a glass of beer.
'Thank you.' The liquid tasted... awful. I sipped again. 'Is that the only reason?'
'It's the best reason,' Daniel said. 'That's what we want from our leaders, isn't it? For them to be smarter than us.'
I considered. 'Do you think I'd make a good leader?'
'Is that a trick question, sir?' Daniel smiled wryly.
I decided to take that as a yes.
'Because I can assure you I am very much smarter than you. And to be honest, I don't have a clue.' I locked gazes with my drink. 'I've spent my whole life inventing things for other people's reasons. I've never had to deal with the consequences before. I've been a tool. Tools don't have to take responsibility.'
'Well sir. I don't think that's quite true.'
I smiled vaguely. 'If it was, would you think of me differently Daniel? If I turned out not to be the man you thought, if it had all been a fraud, I'm pretty sure that would constitute an unforgivable lie.'
'Inasmuch as I understand what you're saying,' Daniel said cautiously, 'I suppose I'd agree.'
Somehow, that wasn't the answer I'd hoped for.
'But that's what's so good about you and Mr. White, sir.' Daniel grinned. 'You're honest. You're a bit of a dream.'
'Oh?' My glass was drained. I tipped it upside down.
'Until you came along, everyone had pretty much accepted that the people in charge were always going to be liars and frauds and dirty politicians, cause it's been that way forever,' Daniel grinned. 'But then you showed us ideals weren't just for fairy tales and like. People would stand up for the truth. Be heroic.'
'You think I'm heroic?' I scoffed.
'The government's trying to kill you,' Daniel reasoned. 'So either you're a hero or a monster. And since I agree with you, I go for the former.'
'Hmph.' I sat in silence for a long moment. 'Is White still here?'
'He's reachable.'
'Get him for me, Daniel,' I said. 'Tell him the real Ben Franklin is ready to talk.'
White and I met down in the basement, over a game of chess.
I wasn't playing. White was beating himself.
'I just met with representatives of the Salmon Corp,' I told him. 'In exchange for my life, they want me to draw you out into a trap.'
'And you agreed?'
'They were heavily armed.'
'I see,' White was excessively calm, apparently focused solely on the game board. 'And yet you're telling me because...'
'I don't trust them to hold up their end of the deal. I think as soon as they get you, they'll come for me. My only chance is to turn this around on them.'
'A reasonable supposition,' White mused. 'But what makes you think I won't prove just as untrustworthy?'
'You at least have a gentleman's honour.' I hoped.
White chuckled. 'Unfortunately, you may be correct,' he said. 'I can't really trust you, you know. I was aware of your meeting- Ben Franklin and Abraham Lincoln walk into a bar, somebody notices. And I'd like to put faith in you, but...who knows? Maybe they told you to tell me all this.'
'Maybe. All I can do is promise you they didn't.'
'Hmmm.' White stroked his chin- a little half-stubble had developed there. Absently, I realised that the man was trying to grow a beard.
'Lincoln is a real problem,' White finally said. 'His sheer prestige carries enough influence to threaten me. It's the only real weapon the Corp has.'
'I suppose you sabotaged all of the other personality Sims?'
White smiled thinly. 'Let's just say I have some Easter Eggs waiting in the Corporation, but this one is apparently walking free of my influence, so it will have to be dealt with the old fashioned way. I suppose that's where you come in.'
'Just remember, I'm not doing this because I want to join you.' I said. 'I'm doing it because it's necessary.'
'Good old fashioned pragmatism,' White nodded. 'Very well. Trust or not, I suppose we will have to rely on each other all the same.'
'On Gentlemen's honour?'
'Exactly,' he nodded. 'On Gentlemen's honour.'
As far as White was aware, the plan was this:
At eleven-fifteen every night, a train departs Louisian. It travels all the way up to the centre of Little, deposits its passengers on the doorstep of the Salmon Corporation, then winds all the way back down.
There are seven stops. Each stop lasts for a total of three minutes. The train its
elf is relatively old, and only just in service. Very few people travel on it; its principal purpose is as an artefact of tradition.
I would lure Lincoln onto this train with the promise of capturing White. Lincoln would come with back-up, of course- but I'd warn him not to bring too many people, for fear of giving the game away. At most, half-a-dozen soldiers would suffice.
White would be waiting for Lincoln with twice as many of his own men, and then some.
The trap was elegant.
As far as White was aware.
'I can give you White.'
This I told to Lincoln/Natalia, sitting in a quiet corner of another empty cafe.
'He trusts you?'
'Sort of,' I said. 'He wants "Abraham Lincoln" dead, and he's willing to rely on me to do it.'
Lincoln nodded. 'Best we could hope for.'
'I should warn you,' I said. 'He'll be prepared for the possibility I'm double-crossing him.'
'Of course he will. He's not a moron.'
'If he's expecting a trap, he might just decide not to show up. He wants you dead, but that doesn't need him- it only needs some henchmen and a bomb.'
'No. He's got to do it himself,' Lincoln said fiercely. 'It's all about symbolism. If White is seen to kill me in person, righteously and with witnesses, that puts him up as a legend by default. If he does it by proxy it's cowardly.'
I raised a brow. 'You know, sometimes I wonder- what the hell kind of publicist are you?'
Lincoln gave a demure shrug. 'A dangerous one.'
As far as Lincoln was aware, the plan was this:
At eleven-fifteen every night, a train departs Louisian. It travels all the way up to the centre of Little, deposits its passengers on the doorstep of the Salmon Corporation, then winds all the way back down.
There are seven stops. Each stop lasts for a total of three minutes. The train itself is relatively old, and only just in service. Very few people travel on it; its principal purpose is as an artefact of tradition.
Lincoln was to board the train at the third stop, on the border of Large and Little. White would already be on the train, lured by the promise of ambushing Lincoln. He would have only a few men- I'd warned him not to bring too many in the interests of stealth. Lincoln would arrive with a few dozen more. And that would be that.
And the actual plan?
Thanks to my (mis)information, both groups would have the exact same number of soldiers. At the third stop they would clash. Both sides trapped in a narrow space on a fast moving train, with no choice but to fight. Hopefully, they'd kill each other.
At some point, I'd get off the train and continue on my way.
Betraying everybody equally- the one thing Benjamin Franklin certainly wouldn't have done.
It was a simple plan.
As far as I was aware.
White and I waited together at Louisian Saint Train Station. I don't know where the "Saint," part comes from. It's just there.
I checked my watch. Eleven O'clock.
It was dark and cold. The moon was heavy, pouring silver down on the wooden platform and its little snake of rusty tracks. There were a couple of other passengers nearby, cradling luggage- they weren't with us. White's people were already aboard, waiting. White himself was carrying a suitcase, presumably to help him blend in.
I checked my watch again. The time was still the same.
White cleared his throat. 'You know,' he said, 'I really do find this whole business distasteful.'
'I'm sure.'
A thunderous roar grew in the night; metal screeching and scratching. Twin lights in the distance, getting rapidly closer. A great steel snake pulling into view, all black and blue and green. It was made up to look as much like an old-fashioned steam train as possible.
The engine hissed, the train stopped. Doors cracked open, and conductors waited patiently to be shown tickets.
White looked at me. 'All aboard,' he said.
The train's interior was rickety. The walls rattled, and the windows let cold air in. Everything did it's best to give the impression of being made from mahogany and padded leather. The train tried for baroque, and ended up looking antique.
Carriage after carriage split into isle after isle of uncomfortable, shell-like seat. The back half of the train was filled with private cabins- theoretically for the richer crowd. Since the train was mostly empty, White and I helped ourselves to one such cabin.
We slid the door shut and sat. The train lurched on.
'I didn't see many of your people about,' I said to White.
'They're mostly hidden in the front and back carriages,' he replied.
'And the driver's seat?'
White nodded. Reaching into his pockets, he extracted what seemed to be a small sandwich. I watched with mild disgust as he greedily (not to mention messily) tucked in.
'It's going to be a long journey.' White said defensively, off my expression. 'Would you like some?' He offered a morsel.
'...No. Thank you.' I stood. 'I think I'm going to try and find the bathroom.'
'Suit yourself,' White shrugged.
I made my way to the front of the train, occasionally stumbling as the whole thing juddered. Landscape raced by the windows, shrouded in darkness.
I wasn't looking for a bathroom. I headed straight for the front of the train, the cockpit- the driver's den. On the way, I did pass an increasing number of individuals I recognised from Daniel's hideout.
Every door on the train was unlocked- locks out of service, I guess- and there in the driver's seat, I found Daniel himself.
The cockpit was small and cramped with consoles. There were levers, knobs and blinking lights everywhere. Daniel sat buried by the lights, occasionally pressing things. An unconscious man lay beside him, tied up half-naked on the floor. Daniel was wearing an ill-fitting train-conductor's uniform.
'Hello, Mr. Franklin,' he greeted me cheerfully.
'Daniel,' I raised a brow. 'I didn't know you could drive a train.'
'I can't, but the computer can.' Daniel said. 'Mr. White said he'd feel better with one of us in the pilot's chair. I can always shake the driver awake in a real emergency.'
Unless that emergency is coming towards you at several hundred miles an hour and you don't notice until there's nothing to be done about it...
'Yes, well,' I smiled thinly. 'Carry on.'
With a grinding din, the train slowed to a temporary halt. Stop one, I supposed. That was fast.
'Don't worry, Mr. Franklin,' Daniel said. 'I can handle things up here.'
I took that as a polite dismissal, and worked my way out of the cockpit just as the train began to move again.
Abraham Lincoln was sitting in a seat.
He was surrounded by ordinary-looking people with ordinary-looking expressions wearing ordinary-looking clothes. In fact these people seemed so ordinary that I knew they just had to be cops.
Lincoln was reading a book, apparently engrossed. He didn't see me. I darted past as quickly as possible, keeping my head firmly down. A couple of those ordinary folks tossed me glances, but they didn't say anything. Presumably they wanted to maintain the pretext of disguise.
'Lincoln's here,' I said to White, as soon as I found our cabin. 'Now.'
'Hmm?' White looked up.
'Lincoln's here.'
'Oh.' White checked his watch. 'That is rather ahead of schedule.'
'Aren't you going to do something?' I demanded. White was altogether too calm.
'No.'
'No?!'
White's expression became one of strained tolerance. 'If they came aboard ahead of schedule, it implies a change to their plan- a change you weren't told abo
ut.' White crossed his arms. 'Apparently their trust in you isn't complete.'
'Something unforeseen must've happened.'
'Or they are simply being prudent. There's really no way for me to know, and I certainly don't want to act without a better idea of the situation.' White bit his lip, thinking. 'They haven't come for me yet, so they're being just as cautious as I.'
'We should try to take them now,' I said, firmly. White just stared.
'Go and talk to them,' he said. 'Find out what you can and report back here.'
I bristled. 'You're giving me orders now?'
'I have been for some time. You've only just noticed that they weren't suggestions.'
I couldn't think of any witty retorts. 'I'll find out what the problem is,' I mumbled instead, leaving the cabin.
A sonic boom struck through the train as it hit a tunnel. Darkness followed greater darkness, and emerged on the other side as moonlight.
I reached Lincoln's seat. A dozen undercover cops fried me with their collective gaze.
Lincoln looked up. 'Hello, Ben.'
'You're early,' I said, trying to sound more surprised than accusational.
Lincoln shrugged. 'Didn't see the point in waiting.'
'Apparently you do,' I countered. 'Since you're just sitting here.'
A spark of annoyance lit Lincoln's eyes; the smallest hint of Natalia's Russian fire. I couldn't help noticing the way he sat cross legged in his chair... just a tad feminine.
'Maybe I wouldn't be,' he said. 'If you hadn't misinformed me.'
I looked as blank as possible. 'What are you talking about?'
'You said White would bring only a handful of men.'
'I said roughly a handful.'
'You failed to mention,' Lincoln twitched, 'the four or five dozen of his followers hidden at the front and back of this train.'
I adopted a dumbfounded expression. 'That's impossible,' I said. 'I saw him get aboard myself. He had only his private guards- I told you, he wants to make this quiet.'
'Clearly he changed his mind,' Lincoln said flatly. 'And I don't want to risk a fire fight with what appear to be horribly equal numbers.'
'So what're you going to do?' I demanded. 'Sit here and wait for him to die of natural causes?'
'Obviously not,' Lincoln snapped. 'I have reinforcements waiting on the other side of the border. All I have to do is let this train reach its third stop.'
'White knows you're aboard. What if he strikes first?'
Natalia/Lincoln began fiddling with his/her top-hat. 'Blood spills.'
'All right,' I nodded, starting to walk away. Absently, Lincoln gestured to one of the policemen. Burly hands restrained me.
'Where do you think you're going?'
'Back to White,' I protested. 'To try and make sure blood isn't spilled.'
'You know, Ben,' Lincoln said, 'I'm really not sure why I should continue trusting you.'
'Nata-' I caught my tongue. 'I mean, please. I didn't know about this, I swear. If I'm missing for too long, White's going to realise something is up.'
'All right.' Lincoln reluctantly released me. I started to slink away.
'That isn't the way you came,' one of the policemen observed.
'I need to use the bathroom first,' I shot back, quickly darting out of sight.
Once again, I chose the cockpit over the toilet.
'Daniel!' I hissed, slamming the door shut behind me. 'Daniel!'
Daniel looked around, surprised by my urgency. 'Yes sir, Mr. Franklin?'
'Wake that driver up. You're going to need to ask for his help. And by ask, I mean demand.'