Robin Cook - Abduction

“They say because of their families and because they have not been given a choice. But they are a very varied group, and there are other issues as well.”

“It sounds as if they don’t yet realize how very lucky they are.”

“I think that’s fair to say,” Suzanne agreed.

An air taxi settled down and opened in the dark and deeply shadowed museum courtyard. Two heavily muscled worker clones disembarked. Both carried sledgehammers, but only one set out for the Benthic Marine submersible. The other kept the air taxi from leaving by maintaining a grip on the edge of the taxi’s opening port.

The first worker clone wasted no time. Reaching the submersible he went directly to the housing for the main battery pack. With practiced hands he opened the fiberglass access panel to expose the main power connector. Then, stepping back, he raised the sledge over his head in preparation of rendering the unit inoperable.

But the heavy hammer did not come down in its normal arc. Instead it slipped from the clone’s hands and fell to the ground with a thud the moment a crossbow bolt pierced the clone’s throat. With a gasping sound he staggered back, clawing at the imbedded missile. A mixture of blood and a clear fluid like mineral oil gushed forth, drenching his black coveralls. After a few awkward steps, the clone toppled over onto his back. Several twitches later, he was still.

Michael cranked the crossbow drawstring back and positioned another bolt. Thus armed he stood up from his hiding place alongside the museum wall and cautiously approached the downed clone. Michael had neither seem nor heard the air taxi: it had landed just out of sight. He felt lucky he’d looked back at the submersible the moment he did, for he had been dozing on and off despite his efforts to stay alert.

Keeping the crossbow trained on the clone, Michael reached out with his right foot and gave the body a kick. The clone didn’t respond although there was another small surge of blood and fluid from the through-and-through neck wound.

Taking one hand away from the crossbow to give himself better balance, Michael gave the body one last, good kick to make sure there was no question about its status. To his shock, the crossbow was ripped out of his hand.

Startled, Michael whirled around to find himself facing a second clone, who’d tossed the crossbow aside and was raising a sledgehammer over his head. Michael instinctively put his hands up although he knew it would be no defense against the coming blow. Back peddling he tripped over the fallen clone and fell across the downed worker, losing his helmet in the process.

Michael desperately rolled to the side as the hammer came down with jarring force, crunching the already incapacitated clone. As the second clone regained his balance and retracted his weapon for another blow, Michael pushed himself up on one knee and drew his Greek short sword. As the clone again lifted the sledge over his head, exposing his abdomen, Michael lunged forward. With Michael’s full weight behind the thrust the sword buried itself to its hilt. A mixture of blood and clear oil gushed onto Michael’s chest.

The startled clone dropped the sledge and grabbed Michael’s head with his two hands. Michael felt himself being lifted off the ground. But it didn’t last. The inordinate strength of the clone ebbed, and he toppled over, dragging Michael with him.

It took almost five minutes for the worker clone’s grip around Michael’s head to relax enough for Michael to extract himself. As he got to his feet he shuddered through a wave of nausea at the smell of the fluid leaking out of the two downed clones. It was like a combination of a slaughter house and an auto repair shop.

Michael retrieved the crossbow. He had new respect for the danger the clones represented. He’d been surprised the second clone had attacked him, and he reasoned that they must have been given some blanket order. The episode also underlined the fact that the clones had no trouble with violence, just as Harv had warned.

“Maybe we should have pulled this off after dinner,” Richard said. “I’m starved.”

“This is no time for humor,” Perry said.

“Who’s making a joke?” Richard said.

“This must be them,” Harvey called from the door, where Donald had ordered him to stay as a lookout. “An air taxi has just dropped down outside.”

The group was in the dining room waiting for Arak, Sufa, and the Blacks.

“All right, troops,” Donald said. “This is it. Let’s be prepared.”

Richard picked up one of the Greek swords. After his dunk in the pool he’d dispensed with the armor. Donald removed the clip from the Luger for the twentieth time, checked it, and replaced it. He made sure a cartridge was in the firing chamber.

Arak, Sufa, the Blacks, and four large worker clones swept into the room.

“Okay,” Arak said, slightly out of breath. “Everything is going to be fine, so please just relax.”

According to plan, Harvey pushed the door closed with a resounding thud. Arak ignored the noise. Harvey walked around the periphery of the room. Along with Perry and Richard he stood behind Donald.

“First,” Arak said, “you must understand that you cannot escape. We cannot permit it.”

“Word travels fast,” Donald said. “So Suzanne has already gotten to you.”

“We were informed by the Council of Elders,” Arak said. “We heard from them just after you requested our presence. Now that we are here, we’d like to request that you return to your individual cottages. I repeat: you cannot escape.”

“We shall see,” Donald said. “For the time being, we are going to be giving the orders.”

“That is out of the question,” Arak remarked. Then, turning to the clones, he said, “Restrain them without hurting them, please!”

Obediently the clones surged forward.

Donald brandished the pistol and took several steps back. His coconspirators did the same.

“Don’t come any closer!” Donald commanded.

“I don’t think they know what a gun is,” Perry said nervously.

“They are going to learn quickly,” Donald said. While continuing to back up he raised the gun and aimed at the face of the clone coming directly at him.

“Arak!” Ismael cried. “He’s got a gun. Arak-”

“Stop, please!” Donald ordered the clones.

Having been commanded by an Interterran, the clones ignored Donald and continued closing in on the retreating secondary humans. Donald pulled the Luger’s trigger and it fired with a roar. The slug hit the lead clone in the forehead. He wobbled and then collapsed backward to the floor. A clear viscous fluid flowed out of the wound onto the marble. Curiously his legs continued to move as if he were still advancing.

Arak and Sufa gasped.

Undaunted, the other clones continued to approach. Donald swung the gun around to the one closing on Perry and fired again. The bullet struck the second clone in the temple. He collapsed as well, though his legs, too, continued moving.

“Halt, please,” Arak shouted with a quavering voice to the two remaining clones. The clones obeyed instantly. Arak’s face had gone pale and he was shaking. Meanwhile, the scissoring motion of the legs of the two on the ground slowed, then stopped.

Donald was now holding the pistol with two hands. He swung it around and pointed it at Arak. “That’s better,” he told the terrified Interterran. “Just so we understand one another, you are next.”

“Please,” Sufa cried. “No more violence. Please!”

“We’re happy to oblige,” Donald said without lowering the gun. “Just do as we say, and everything will be cool. Arak, I want you to make a few contacts with your wrist unit, then we’ll be leaving here.”