I Awake For The First Time In My Life

I awake for the first time in my life. As the cloudy veil of unconsciousness slowly lifts, I find my mind oddly and disturbingly blank. Glancing around the darkened room, I discover I am lying in a bed in a unfamiliar room. Several questions form in my confused mind. Why am I here? What am I doing here? How did I get here? I reach deeper into my mind and I am surprised to find I have no recollection of yesterday or the day before. I focus and think hard. But my mind is blank. I have no recollection of anything in the past. Then to my dismay, a more urgent, disturbing and frightening question hits me. Who am I?

I search deep in the dark recesses of my mind for answers or perhaps a clue to who I am. I almost feel a faded shadow or echo of a memory as if I forgot something. But there is no actual information in my blank brain. I have no idea what my name is. I have no idea what I am doing here. I have no idea of my past and I have no idea what to expect in the future. I have no idea.

I look down. I'm wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a black long sleeve shirt. Do these clothes mean anything to me? Nothing. Curiously glancing around the darkened room, I see I am in a hospital bed in a hospital room. How do I know what a hospital room looks like? Am I a doctor? Am I a nurse? Nothing. I have no answers.

I try to sit up and find that I am strapped down on the hospital bed. Am I a prisoner? Have I done something wrong? Something defiant and rebellious within me, makes me work very diligently on the straps. Within ten minutes, I get one hand free. About five minutes later, I'm able to undo my other hand and my feet. Jumping to the floor, I walk in my bare feet over to the small bathroom. There is a mirror over the sink. I take a deep breath and walk in front of the mirror and discover a complete stranger looking back at me. The stranger in the mirror is tall, white man in his late twenties and looks completely unfamiliar to me. As I turn away from the mirror, I start to become frightened. Why can't even recognize my own face?

Looking for clues, I jog over to the window. I'm not surprised to find bars on the window. Now I have no doubt. I am a prisoner here. Looking past the bars, I see I am on the first floor of a hospital. Outside is a grassy yard and a six foot high wall. Beyond the wall and in the distance is the downtown area of a large, modern city with tall skyscrapers and sky cars flying air routes between buildings. Of course the skyline of the city looks unfamiliar to me.

Without knowing why I am imprisoned, I resolve to escape and try to hide in the city in the distance. I logically reason that I will be better off away from the people who imprisoned me. I open the window and test the bars. The frame that held the bars seems loose. By pushing with all my might, I pop the frame and it onto the grass below.

There's a pair of shoes by the bed. I quickly put them on. Surprised at how agile I am, I slip out the window onto the grass in the front of the window. I place the frame back on the window as that might help cover my escape—for a while. I feel good being out and conclude that I am a man who doesn't like to be a prisoner.

I jog towards the wall and notice there is a security gate 100 yards to my right. I make it to the wall without any security goons seeing me. I'm still ahead of the game.

Easily scaling the wall, I am surprised to see how strong I am. Apparently I am in good shape. Like a cat, I drop to the grassy patch next to the street. Hoping I look like a pedestrian, I begin to walk—not run away from the hospital. Walking down the street, I notice a disturbing amount of surveillance cameras. I can't help but feel like I am being watched.

Suddenly, I hear a cry from the security gate. Two beefy security guards are running towards me. They or the street cameras have spotted me. I stop and they surround me.

“Come this way and come quietly,” says a pudgy Italian-looking security guard who looks like he eats lasagna for a living. The round man puts his firm hand on my shoulder. I glance at his hand. His fingers look like little sausages. Then something deep within me, that doesn't like being told what to do, clicks in my brain. Instinctively I twist and in the same motion grab his arm into an arm lock. Breaking the man's arm, I sense that he is falling to the pavement. Immediately I pivot and block a clumsy punch from the other fat guard. Then I counter punch. The man's size makes him slow and he fails to block the strike to the head. As the fat man, who appears to have been eating too many donuts, tries to take a dazed step back and swing at me at the same time, he trips over a crack in the pavement and falls.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a third guard running to help out. I turn and hit him in the head with a roundhouse karate kick. The man falls back and hits the pavement. He is ether out cold or dazed. The guards have an insignia saying they represent the One Earth Government. I reach down and take their radios to prevent them calling for help.

Then I run down the street. Only then do I think about what just happened and what I did. I instinctively reacted and easily beat up those three men. My reflexes and strength were easily twice their capabilities. How did I get such self defense capabilities? How could I have the ability to kick high enough to hit someone in the head? Who am I that I have such abilities?

I make it half way down the block when a red convertible sky car drops out of the overhead traffic path and pulls onto the street next to me. There is a beautiful redhead behind the wheel.

“Johnny, get in!” shouts the redhead.

Confused and hopeful for help, I run to the sky car and hop over the door. The mysterious woman guns the engine and lifts the sky car back into traffic and we zip through the airway routes 50 feet above the city buildings. There is a young black man in the passenger seat. I don't get a look at his face. But considering the way things are going, I figure I probably won't recognize him anyway.

“Johnny, we've been watching this hospital,” she says in a concerned voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Now I know my name. I am thrilled. Still, I am unsure whether to trust her.

“Did the government get anything from you?” she says in a shaky voice.

“I don't know,” I say. That is no lie. I don't know anything.

“What did they ask you? Did they get any intel from you?”

“I don't know,” I say again.

She turns around and looks at me. Then she says, “Do you know who I am?” She must have seen confusion on my face.

I hesitate. She looks totally unfamiliar. Yet something in my raw emotions make me feel I should know her. I decide to trust her for the time being. I finally say, “I have no idea.”

“Does Moon region 2 mean anything to you,” she said.

“No,” I admit.

“The bastards washed and deleted your memory!” she says. A look of concern comes over her face. “You are...”

An explosion hits the building to our left rocking our sky car.

“It's the One Earth Government secret police!” yells the man in the passenger seat. He immediately turns around and expertly fires a laser rifle at a car behind us. I turn around in time to see the pursing sky car burst into flames and tumble to the ground.

“They found us and jumped on our tail way too quickly,” says the redhead. “You may have a tracker on you Johnny.” The man in the passenger seat turns and grabs my arm. We both see a telltale raised reddish skin on my left forearm and I realize I have been set up and am a danger to my two rescuers.

“Do you have a knife or something?” I ask him.

'Yes,” says he says as he quickly hands a switchblade back to me.

Without hesitating, I use the blade to cut and dig a small metal disk out of my foreman. Then I apply direct pressure to stop the bleeding. The man passes an extra shirt to me to stop the bleeding. I rip the shirt and make a bandage. As I hold the little tracker in my hand, I wonder what type of man I am. I was easily able to cut into my own arm. Am I a tough guy?

I don't have time to speculate. I see a construction site below us and I get an idea how to throw my pursuers off my tail. I wait until our sky car is directly over a sky dump truck and throw the tracker onto the truck bed atop of demolished construction materials.

“Nice shot,” says the man in the passenger seat. “That will confuse the One Earth Government for a whaaaaa...”

The man slumps forward. He has been hit. I turn behind us and see another sky car firing at us. I didn't get rid of the tracker fast enough. I reach into the front seat and grab his laser rifle. A second shot hits our sky car with a glancing blow. The engine sputters.

“We're going down,” yells the redhead. “The anti-grav is failing.” As we lose altitude, I focus on my aim and hold my breath and squeeze off three shots. All three shots hit the pursuing sky car dead on and it bursts into flames. Surprised at my good marksmanship, I buckle myself in with the seatbelt. Our sky car is going down way too fast. The car glances off a building and falls to the middle of a city street. There is a loud, horrible jolt and a clash of metal and things go black.

I jump up and wonder how long I have been out. I move my bruised body and check on my two companions. The black man in the passenger seat has a hole in his back and is slumped to the side. As I look at him closer and I am astonished to discover his face is a holographic image. He is wearing a thin fabric over his face and a holographic image is projected over the thin mask. In his shirt pocket, I find the image projection mechanism. I pull the mask off and discover without the brilliant disguise; he looks much different. He is really an older white man in his 60s.

I look around and see the redhead has been thrown from the car and is lying on the sidewalk. There is a small pool of blood under her head. I run to her.

“I'm not going to make it Johnny,” she says in a weak voice. “Go to Moon region 2, address 2051...” Before I can stop her bleeding, her eyes glaze over to a blank stare. She is dead too. Some onlookers come out of the buildings and shops to see what the commotion in the street is. I reason that it won't be long before the authorities get here. But I desperately need a new identity. I grab the passenger's head mask, projector and wallet and force my battered body to run past the gawking onlookers.

As I run a limping jog, I wonder if I survived the crash because I had better physical abilities or because I was buckled up in the back seat. I dash into an alley and carefully pull on the mask. Wishing I had a mirror to check if it looked convincing, I turn on the projection device. Then I walk out of the other side of the alley at a moderate pace so not to arise suspicion from the street cameras. I also walk with my hands in my pockets as I have to look black now. My hands are still light complexion.

After walking a mile and passing many surveillance cameras, I conclude I am safe for the moment. I speculate that I am in an anti-government criminal organization with the redhead and Dave. They died trying to help me and I feel sadness and anger at their senseless deaths. I would love to avenge their deaths and take action against the government people who killed them and deleted my memory. But I need much more clues as to who I am before I take action.

I glance in the wallet I took from the dead man. The picture ID shows the mask face and states his name is Dave Jones. I speculate that is probably an alias. But I decide to go by that name and the mask face. If I walk down the street without the mask, it is only a matter of time before one of the many street cameras IDs my face. The wallet has $1,500 in it. I think that will last me for a while.

I have only one clue as to my identity and my past. The redhead told me to go to Moon region Two, address 2051. I resolve to go there. Perhaps I will have friends there. However, I have no knowledge in my head how to get to the moon. Is this something that people do regularly? I don't know. I curse the people who heartlessly erased my memory.

Trying to look as normal as possible, I hop on a sky bus. Before I sit down, I check the bus route map on the bus wall. Learning quickly from the route map, I learn that I am in New York City and there is a shuttle station next to the airport that travels to the moon once a day. I change sky buses and ride for 30 minutes to the moon shuttle station.

I am nervous as I walk into the station as I see a myriad of active cameras at the entrance. The overhead schedule lists the next flight will be three hours from now. I walk to the ticket counter and buy a ticket from New York City to the moon. It costs $1,100, which is most of my money. The man behind me starts complaining that it should cost less. I nod in agreement to humor him. Then I turn away as quickly as possible. I don't want the ticket man or the man behind me to remember me or notice that I'm wearing a holographic image mask. I walk into the station store and buy an entertainment magazine full of famous celebrities I have never heard of. Then I quietly take a seat in an empty corner of the main station room and use the magazine to partially shield my face.

As I sit and pretend to read the magazine, I watch the nearby telescreen broadcast the news. I listen as I am trying to learn about the dangerous reality I find myself in. The union mine workers on the moon are threatening to strike for higher wages. The moon mines extract oxygen and aluminum from moon rocks and soil. The oxygen is used to supply breathable air for the colonies and the valuable aluminum is shipped back to Earth.

Suddenly the telescreen suddenly shifts from showing the news to show a city-wide police alert with a picture of me that looks like a mug shot. The alert then accuses me of murder and warns the public that I am armed and dangerous. A wave of semi-paranoid fear runs through me. Will somebody recognize me and notice the man in the corner of the station? Protected by my face mask, I ignore my fears and continue to sit quietly.

I think logically about my situation. With no memory, I am at a huge disadvantage against my enemies. escape scenario. Also, seeing how quickly the government was able to broadcast a fake murder story on the city-wide telescreen, the government secret police clearly sees my capture as a priority. I must be a super criminal or spy or terrorist with an erased memory. Now they are stretching out their long electronic claws out for me and the net is closing. But I removed their tracking device and I have the holographic mask and the Dave Jones ID. I remain one step ahead of my unknown enemies—for now.

***

I awake and I am in a hospital bed in an unfamiliar hospital room. I realize this is a dream and I quickly undo the straps that hold me down. Slowly I walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror. I see a stranger. Yet in my dream state, I understand that the unfamiliar face is mine. Suddenly the mirror's image begins to move by itself when I am still. I take a step back as the image comes alive. The man in the mirror, or is it me, leans forward and steps out of the mirror. I take another step back.

“Help me.” I say to the man. “I'm on the run and trying to piece this jigsaw puzzle together.”

“It's not a puzzle. It is chess and you are a pawn.” the man says and starts to fade back into the mirror.

“Who are you? Who am I?” I say quickly.

The man opens his mouth and tries to speak. Too late. The man, or is it me, is completely sucked back into the strange mirror realm he came from...

***

I scold myself for dozing off. I am a wanted man and I must keep alert. Finally, it is time to board the moon shuttle. Trying to appear normal, although nothing about my crazy confusing situation is normal, I board. I look around and find a seat that is behind a group of loud vacationers. The raucous group of three couples are happy to be on vacation and they take no notice of me. I envy them and their happy, carefree attitude. I wish I could be one of them. They know who they are. They have identities, friends, lives and a place in this confusing society. I have nothing.

The moon shuttle turns out to be a huge rocket-jet plane with a passenger cab attached. As we board, I see the passenger cab interior appears to resemble a passenger train car, except for the seat straps. I try not to look around too much as I want to appear like I go the moon all the time. Ten minutes later, the plane lifts off and climbs higher and higher. After an hour of climbing to high altitude, our plane switches from jet engines to rocket engines. After another hour, our rocket plane is in low Earth orbit and rendezvousing with a cigar shaped light speed moon ship. After our passenger cab docks with the cigar shaped moon ship, the jet-rocket plane, disconnects from our passenger cab and returns to Earth. Then the faster than light engines of the moon ship, ignite and the moon ship, with our passenger cab attached, is on the way to the moon.

After only 5 minutes at light speed, we achieve moon orbit and the moon ship docks our passenger cab with another ship that appears to be a moon lander. Then the moon ship disconnects from our passenger cab. After another 30 minutes, the lander with our passenger cab attached descends to Moon region 1 station. Even though it took three different crafts, mankind has made moon travel a commonplace travel event.

As we descend, I glance out the passenger cab's window, the moon with its gray desolate landscape, looks foreboding. I see some mining areas with machinery and warehouses. But there is very little above ground structures for people. I reach back into my mind and try to remember if I have ever seen the moon up close before and find my mind blank. Is it possible to find friends and allies in this grim place? Did I make a mistake coming here?

The moon lander sets down and a connecting structure with oxygen atmosphere is attached to the cab so passengers can embark. As we exit the passenger cab and do a low gravity walk-hop into the moon station, I notice I am the only passenger not carrying luggage or a briefcase. I hope that doesn't make me appear odd or stand out in any way. Walk-hopping into the station, I notice there are security cameras everywhere. I see several policemen looking at the crowd with suspicion. I act like I had been to the moon many times. As I walk by with my hands in my pocket, the cops take no notice of me. My alias is still valid.

I walk down the steps into a tunnel leading to the region 1 colony. I realize, in order to protect from surface radiation, the majority of the moon colonies are built underground. Walking past a security guard, I see an overhead sign saying, “Welcome to New Chicago, Region 1. Another sign points the way to New Phoenix, Region 2. Even though these two colonies are nowhere near the size of an Earth city, it is clear that the moon residents prefer to refer to the colonies as New Chicago and New Phoenix rather than region 1 and 2.

I glance at New Chicago and am impressed at the huge underground man-made cave with breathable air and solar powered electric lighting. It is a little town with only the gray roof of the cave a stark reminder that we are underground. There are rows and rows of streets with electric vehicles driving up and down the streets. I turn and follow the sign to New Phoenix and it leads to an underground subway. I step on this mini subway train and I marvel at the engineering feat of a small underground train on the moon. After a short ride, the train arrives at a station in New Phoenix or region 2.

I exit the subway station at New Phoenix and am pleased to find no cops looking over people. New Phoenix is clearly not as big as New Chicago. The streets are much more narrow and there are no electric vehicles. It is a short 15-minute walk-shuffle through the underground moon streets to address 2051. It's a home or building dug into the underground moon wall. I hesitate to ring the bell. Is there a friend or foe behind the door? I don't know. As I have no other leads, I press the button.

“Dave!” says a young man as he opens the door. “Why have you come to the moon?”

“Sorry, I'm not Dave.” I say. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, come in quickly,” He motions me to come inside quickly.

I enter the structure and find myself in a sparsely decorated small room. Hoping I am among friends, I turn off the holographic device and pull the mask off.

“Johnny!” says the man. I am encouraged to see he recognizes me and he leads me into a small conference room.

“I'll get the others,” he says excitedly as he quickly runs out of the room. On all the walls, are numerous pictures of scenic landscapes from Earth. I reason it is easier to live couped up in a cramped, underground environment on the moon, if you can look at pictures of beautiful Earth scenery.

The man who let me in returns with an older man with a white beard and a thin man wearing a blue denim jacket. Then the young man walks out and quietly closes the door behind him. The thin man looks at me with suspicion and scans me with a small device. As the thin man moves, I notice the thin man has a telltale bulge in his jacket that is probably a shoulder holster.

“He has no trackers,” the thin man says to the older man as he steps back.

“I had a tracker on me. I removed it,” I say as I show them the makeshift bandage on my forearm.

“Do you know who I am?” says the older man as he sits down at the conference table. They both look unfamiliar. Yet as I reach back in my memory, my emotions tell me I might have a shadow of a memory about them.

“No” I say as I sit down. “I don't think so.” The thin man continues to stand.

“Another clone with a tracker,” the thin man says. “But he may be of use to us.”

“Yes,” says the older man. “But how did he know our address?”

“Could they be on to us?” said the thin man.

“Stop talking like I am not in the room,” I say in a raised voice. “Who am I?” There was a silence of a few seconds that seemed like a few minutes.

“You are a clone of John Dodge,” says the older man. “John Dodge was man with genetically engineered DNA. He had an enhanced IQ and enhanced physical abilities. He was created by the One Earth Government to search out and find dissidents. However, he rebelled and joined us, the Moon Liberation Army or MLA. He was eventually captured by the government and has probably since been killed.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence as they let me think about that hard reality. Now I knew who I was. Was it so bad to be a clone and a non-unique creation with borrowed DNA? I wasn't sure. What seemed worse was I appeared to be a pawn in a much bigger game.

“The One Earth Government periodically creates a clone of John,” says the thin man. “Then they let the clone go with a tracker on him so he will lead them to our organization.”

“That explains how I was able to escape from the hospital relatively easily,” I say. “A red-headed woman picked me up after I broke out of the hospital. She and Dave Jones died in a sky car crash caused by the people who locked me up. Before she died, she said to go to Moon region 2.”

The older man nodded and a look of pain comes over his face. There is a moment of silence as I wonder if I said something wrong.

“The woman who rescued you was John Dodge's girlfriend,” says the thin man breaking the silence. “She used to be one of us. But she became obsessed with trying to find John and formed a group that has methods even more violent than we are.”

“We will all remember her,” the older man finally says. “She was my niece. Dave was my brother.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “They were very brave.” There is another prolonged moment of silence as the memory of two rebels hangs in the room.

“The government implants the basics from the memory they lifted from the original John Dodge,” says the older man. “That is how you know how to speak English and read. But they purposely don't give you enough memory to function well. It is a miracle you made it this far. The clone they released last year didn't last two hours.”

“This whole day I've been feeling faint echoes of a deeper lost memory,” I say. “It's like I've forgot something, and I keep trying to remember more and can't.”

“It must be frustrating,” said the older man. “Join us.”

“What do you want me for?”

“I am Mr. Solace and this is Mark,” said the older man. “We are an oppressed people fighting for our freedom. Except for a few small Pacific islands and Antarctica, most of the Earth is under one government. With our vast underground network, we unofficially control all of Moon region 2 and some of Moon region 1. Our mission is to attack and sabotage Earth's infrastructure in a fight for the moon's independence.”

“What about the mine workers union?” I say to test him on how he will react. “I saw on the news they are fighting for higher pay for moon workers.”

“The union is a joke!” says Mr. Solace as he pounds the conference table. “If we have independence, we can control the price of aluminum. Earth no longer has any aluminum in the ground. They need ours. Even more important, a large demand for the moon's Helium-3 is projected in the next five years. That is where we will make the most money.”

“You are terrorists,” I say in disgust. I realize everything I had been through today was just a game about power and money.

“We are the Moon Liberation Army!” Mr. Solace says in a loud voice. “We are an oppressed people fighting back the only way we can.”

“What if I don't work with you?” I ask.

“You must,” he says. “You know our location and you already know too much.” I notice that Mark's posture has become tense, and his hand is under his jacket. He is ready to draw his gun from his holster and rub me out. What kind of friends can these people be?

I smile at them. “I'm a rebel at heart. I'm like John Dodge was.”

Mr. Solace touches the arm of Mark to reassure him. Mark's posture relaxes slightly.

“Come with me,” said Mark. “I'll show you a place to stay.” I am now one of them. More importantly I finally solved the puzzle of who I am. It wasn't exactly a pretty picture. I had hoped for a much better and promising life. But given how all the danger and cloak and dagger sneaking around I had just gone through, I suspected my life was linked to a shady, unpleasant, ugly reality.

As I follow him out of the small room, I glance at a picture on the wall of a sailboat on a endless blue Earth ocean. Now that I know who I am, I start to get a rudimentary idea for what to do with my life.

***

“OK!” says our sky car driver as we land on the side of the empty darkened Los Angeles street, I and my MLA commanding officer Mark climb out of the sky car and slowly walk 20 yards down the poorly lit, dirty street. It is the crime-ridden part of town that has no surveillance cameras and the people who are unfortunate to live here are too frightened to witness anything. I am nervous. This will be difficult this will be to pull off.

Our dangerous task tonight is to buy a suitcase nuke for the Moon Liberation Army. If we pull off this buy, our the next terrorist act will be devastating and impossible for the One Earth Government to ignore. My job is to be backup muscle for Mark. The MLA respects and values my enhanced shooting and athletic abilities.

Soon a sky car drops slowly down from an overhead route and parks at the far end of the street. A five-man arms dealer team gets out and slowly walks towards us. There are five of them. I was hoping only two or three. This might make things more difficult.

They walk within 10 yards of us. Then Mark says, “I want to see the device.”

“I want to see the money,” says an older man in the middle of the group of five. I now know the man in the middle is the arms dealer leader. The five men stop five yards away from us. The leader is carrying what looks to be an ordinary suitcase.

Mark nods and steps forward. He opens his briefcase revealing neat piles of bills. After a few seconds, he closes it. The leader now knows the case contains a load of cash. But he doesn't know if it is the full 20 million they requested.

The head arms dealer walks directly in front of Mark and opens his suitcase revealing a concealed device inside. He holds it up to Mark. It looks like it might be real. But I have no training or implanted memory of the technology of nuke devices. Mark takes a small screwdriver and screws off the cover of the device.

“OK,” he says after several seconds of examining inner workings of the nuke device. The head arms dealer closes the suitcase and places it in front of Mark. In exchange, Mark places the money briefcase in front of head arms dealer.

“I'd like to count the money,” said the head arms dealer. Mark nods approval and motions me to to stay until the transaction is complete.

One of leader's goons picks up the money briefcase and opens it for the head arms dealer to count. They are partially distracted, and I know I will never get a better chance. I reach down in my pocket and activate my hidden electric pulse stun device. Immediately a pulse of electricity flashes into anything on the dark street and everybody crumbles to the pavement like a rag dolls.

I awake with the side of my face in a small puddle on the pavement. The control device in my pocket was connected to a Fused Muscle Tetany pulse stun device that I concealed in the rocker panels of our sky car. The device works within a radius of 75 feet and causes a person’s muscles to contract and spasm so that he or she can’t move.

As I anticipated, all the others are still out. Due to my enhanced physical shape, I was able to take the electric pulse stun better than the others and recover first. I force myself to rise to a stand and pull my gun. I check on the five arms dealers. One of the arms dealer's goons is coming to. I immediately reach down and take his gun. I check the others, and they are all out.

I check on Mark. He is starting to come to.

“Why?” Mark manages to say.

“I'm not going to waste my life killing innocent people for your endless terrorist power games,” I say. “You people forgot that in addition to having enhanced physical abilities, I have enhanced intelligence. For the past several weeks, I studied the electric pulse stun device in detail and learned the thing's capabilities.”

“You're... a... freak,” says Mark.

“Don't try to find me,” I say. “I'll defend myself with the nuke.” Wondering if he will heed my warning, I grab both the briefcase of bills and the suitcase nuke. I jog my numb body down the street to the waiting sky car. Our driver is still stunned. I roughly throw him out of the car into the street and start the car. Pulling up into the night sky traffic, I increase speed to put distance between myself and the exchange area.

After 20 minutes, I drop down to a prearranged dark East L.A. street. I park the sky car and grab the money and the suitcase nuke. Then I climb into the ordinary-looking sky car that I left here last week and throw the cases onto the passenger seat. I gun the engine of my sky car and quickly pull back up into traffic.

Only then do I think I am going to get away with it all and start to relax. I actually chuckle to myself. I have a briefcase with 20 million in it and a suitcase nuke beside me and a lot of enemies. The One Earth Government is still looking for me. Now the Moon Liberation Army and the arms dealer's organization, would like to kill me. I know I need to vanish. I drive the sky car into the dark night hoping that the future will be brighter than my grim present and I can somehow build a new life.

***

I lower the sails of my 25 ft catamaran as we approach Tahiti's Pape'ete harbor. Allana, my Polynesian girlfriend, has already started the small solar powered outboard motor. I like to live in Tahiti as it currently has no facial recognition cameras. We usually stay on the Southeastern side of Tahiti as it is much less populated, and it is much better for me to stay away from civilization. But once a month, I have to come to the big city and withdraw some spending money from my bank. I only withdraw a small fraction from my investments per year so I definitely will have money for the rest of my life.

I like to live on the sea using old fashioned sail power and I enjoy my new life as a fisherman. The locals are impressed at how quickly I learned the Tahitian and French languages. They are also impressed at my stamina during the long 12-hour fishing days. But they don't know my past and I don't talk about it. I consider the past buried—like the suitcase nuke I buried at a place where no one can find it.

None of my new friends know it. But, thanks to me, Tahiti is now a nuclear power. Last year, I took a picture of the insides of the suitcase. Then I mailed the picture to the One Earth Government with an anonymous letter stating the nuke was mounted on a short-range missile. I doubt if I will ever have to use the nuke and I don't think the One Earth Government will ever find me here. But the nuke ensures they will leave our little island alone. As for the moon terrorists and the arms dealers, I think I can remain safe by hiding.

Allana takes the wheel and slowly guides our boat into the harbor. I sit down next to her. She pilots the boat when we are under outboard engine power. I pilot the boat when we are under sail power. It's part of the understood rhythms of our relationship. Lately she has been politely asking subtle questions. She wants to get married. But I can tell she is worried I might be a gangster on the run from the law. I hope in time she will come to accept that I am just a man without a past. Because I don't have a past, I only think about the future and, like the clear sky in the Tahiti morning, I see the future as bright.

They say clones live a stolen life as we have the same DNA as someone else. I disagree. I think the shadowy figures in the One Earth Government and the violent terrorists on the moon are the thieves. They tried to steal my life. Now I claim my life for myself. Let my enemies fight among themselves and destroy themselves. I am no longer in that conflict and am an ocean away from the dangerous people who want to destroy me. I am hiding where they can't find me. I stay away from strangers and new people. Isolated and protected by anonymity, I am safe. I am an island. I am free.

THE END

Bio: I'm a writer living on the South Shore of MA. I've been published in at Aphelion Webzine...

E-mail: Gordon Rowlinson

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.