Book Excerpt: ESCAPE FROM TRAYCEE KELLYby Abby Goldsmith
It sucks to be singled out when you're one of two hundred and eighty-eight clones.
I'm sure an outsider would see us vying to be proudly individual. That's true for some of us--at least in a mild, half-assed way. We wear different jumpsuits. We cut our blond hair to different lengths. Some of us might even dare to experiment with kissing. But we all know it's dangerous to stand out too much.
I just can't seem to help it.
"Zoe," the teacher said, looking straight at me and me alone. "You, above all the Traycee Kelley clones, have outperformed your peers on every exam, by a margin of more ten percent. That is huge."
I almost puked. I slid down in my chair, wishing my blush wasn't so painfully visible. Honestly, I tried to study no more than my peers.
And during our exams?
I had surreptitiously watched Rhonda and Wanda. Clara and Sarah, as well. I had made a huge effort to match their pace in turning pages and filling in answers. That way, I was able to finish around the same time as everyone else, instead of embarrassingly early.
The teacher went on with her praise. "You have achieved what few clones ever achieve, Zoe!"
She was oblivious to the hooded sneers aimed my way.
But I saw them. Monica and Veronica. All of the 'leans'--Charlene, Darlene, Christine, Kathleen, Eileen, Irene, Joleen, Pauline, Noreen, Colleen, Maureen, and Josephine--and of course, my worst nemesis, Chloe.
Just last week, Chloe had tried to drown me in a bathroom sink after karate class.
It wasn't like I humiliated her on purpose. Really. I'd thought I was holding back, giving Chloe ample time to dodge and block. I'm very practiced at imitating the skill levels of my peers. But that class? It came right after a vicious one-on-one session with the dojo. I guess I failed to slow down enough.
And right now, I could tell, judging by Chloe's merciless stare, that she was planning an ambush. She would make sure I remembered that I was nothing special.
All of the leans were on her side. I had no one. The other clones always sided with the leans, or they simply ignored the mess that was my existence. Everyone knew the dangers of standing out too much. Wear the wrong skirt, or fail to read a social cue, and your clone sisters will torment you until graduation.
And if you're like me and fail to fit in on a daily basis?
Then forget about allies. I am toxic to anyone's social standing.
My mind raced. I would need to stay in public spaces and avoid blind corners or empty areas on campus. Could I create a makeshift shiv out of the junk in my satchel?
"You've been selected for an early graduation!" our teacher said to me, beaming.
Escape?
My jaw fell open. This was like a wonderful dream.
My clone sisters hungered for boys, for clothes, for contraband. I hungered for early graduation. I wanted to escape the Traycee Kelley campus more than anything. I yearned to meet non-clones, aside from our teachers and the campus staff. I longed to visit the outside world.
Was this a cruel joke? My class, the seventeen-year-olds, were not due for graduation until next year.
Our teacher clapped her hands with decorum. "Let's all congratulate Zoe!"
My clone sisters clapped sullenly.
This was unreal. I had never received a reward for being different. Oh, a teacher might give me a gold star, but prizes like that were toxic. They always came with derision and hatred aimed my way.
I couldn't believe my wish was coming true. I found myself trembling, unable to respond.
Chloe's hand shot up. "Excuse me?" she said. "But I'm Zoe."
The teacher looked from me to her, and back again. Her face pinkened.
Was it possible she didn't know that I always wore an orange jumpsuit, whereas Chloe wore pale mint green?
We both favored a rainbow elastic for our ponytails. We wore the same nail polish, and we were probably within a few ounces of having the exact same athletic physique. But this teacher had taught our class for more than half the year already. She ought to know every quirk of her students. There were only sixteen of us.
"I'm sorry," the teacher said. "My mistake." She picked up a rolled paper from her desk and handed it to Chloe. "Here's your graduation certificate."
"What?!" I said.
"Thanks." Chloe grabbed the rolled-up paper.
Normally, I would not begrudge Chloe for stealing my success. I had more than enough successes to go around. Less success would help me blend in, and keep the other clones from ganging up on me.
But that paper was my escape.
I stood, making my voice loud and clear. "I am Zoe."
The teacher looked flustered.
Chloe shot a hurt look my way. "No you're not." She turned her innocent gaze towards our teacher. "I promise, I'm Zoe."
Our teacher clearly didn't know what to believe. She took the certificate off Chloe's desk and tapped it against her hand uncertainly.
"I am sure the Administrator can sort this out." Our teacher forced a smile, trying to retain a celebratory mood. "How about if you both gather your belongings, and head over to Graduation Hallway?" She stepped towards the keypad lock to her private office. "I will let the Administrator know to expect you both, so she'll give you both clearances. I'm sure she can determine which of you is Zoe."
#
I ran.
It would have been nice to go back to my dorm room first, to collect my private diary and other stuff. I would have liked to keep the funny rock which one of the leans gave me as a friendship gift, back when we were very little.
But to graduate early? I didn't need my stuff. There was no way I would let Chloe get to the Administrator first. Chloe was not the best at good grades or martial arts, but she was definitely the best at cheating. She practiced that innocent look, I felt sure.
I wanted to assume that the Administrator could tell us apart--maybe she could scan for unique biomarkers or something?--but clearly, our teachers had to rely on their eyes. That made me wonder. What if there was no such tool? What if the Administrator assumed that whoever arrived first was Zoe?
I ran faster.
BAM!
Someone tripped me.
I went tumbling, and smashed hard against a bank of lockers. They rattled.
I had practiced martial arts enough to reflexively use my momentum to spin around. I quickly went into a defense pose, scanning for enemies.
A whole gang of clones approached.
Of course. I had seen Chloe's unspoken promise, and now I surmised what must have happened. She had whispered in someone's ear. The instant class ended, that someone had lazily texted a clone from the classroom nearest to Graduation Hallway. Sure enough, I saw that the clone who had tripped me was a tiny little girl, probably a first grader.
Instead of sprinting past me, Chloe approached with a grin, backed up by at least a dozen clones. She drew back her fist and aimed a punch at my face.
I meant to duck.
But Jolene and Christine grabbed me at the last second, and held me pinned against the lockers. Pain exploded as my head rocked to one side. My cheek and jaw went into agony.
"That's for pretending to be me," Chloe said, all self-righteous.
She was acting. We all knew there were security cameras hidden throughout campus.
I forced my jaw to work. If she was going to play for an audience, so would I.
"One of us values individuality," I said. "You didn't get those grades. If you graduate early because you're pretending to be me, then you've lost whatever soul you had left."
Clones know how stifling it is to be one of us: striving to fit in, while at the same time, fiercely competing for the slightest edge over one another. Individuality is our currency. It is our intrinsic value. To throw that away? It did not sit well with the other clones. They might hate me, but deep down, they agreed with me.
The leans loosened their grips ever so slightly.
"You're just jealous," Chloe said, "because you didn't think it out. Sucka." She flounced away.
I jerked free. Chloe had already crossed the alarm line; the barrier lined with motion detectors. That unseen barrier prevented us clones from entering Graduation Hallway until the official time arrived.
But the path must be open to me right now. Our teacher had granted clearance to me and Chloe.
For the first time in my life, I actually saw the long, sunlit hallway. It was lined with pictures of smiling clones enjoying activities with diverse people in the world beyond campus. They were piloting fighter jets. Accepting award trophies from celebrities. Looking posh in evening gowns.
Oh, how the graduates must enjoy their freedom! To mingle with interesting people! To serve our glorious nation!
I threw myself over the line and ran.
#
Racing indoors is childish. At some point, Chloe slowed to a dignified walk, and I was sensible enough to do likewise.
I was tempted to beat her up. But this hallway must be monitored with a lot of security, and I supposed that now was not the time. Neither of us had ever met the Administrator--no one had ever seen her--but I wanted to make a good first impression.
I tugged my hair out of its ponytail. Maybe I could downplay the bruise which must be currently forming on half my face.
One of the photos along the wall caught my attention. I stopped, trying to puzzle out the mystery it presented.
"What are you staring at?" Chloe peered over my shoulder.
I pointed to the photo, which showed a clone cheerfully displaying an award for Rocket Science. "Isn't that Dolly?"
"How can you tell?" Chloe sounded bored.
"The earring stud." I indicated the hole in the clone's earlobe.
"Oh yeah," Chloe said. "I remember her stupid rebel phase. Like she's not a clone like the rest of us. Lame."
"Dolly was never into rockets," I said. "She hated aerospace. I used to help her with her homework."
"And yet she graduated." Chloe trotted away, smarmy and uncaring.
As I continued down the hallway, I tried to tune out the photos. I ought to focus on securing my own early graduation. But a quiet inner voice kept interrupting my thoughts. The alumni seemed relevant to my future, in some way I wasn't quite grasping.
"Why don't we ever hear from the graduates?" I wondered out loud.
Chloe looked at me as if I was cataclysmically stupid. "Because they're busy with awesome lives."
#
The Administrator sat behind a gigantic desk, in a gilded, enormous room at the end of the hallway. It was even more imposing than I'd imagined.
I had expected her to be the same age as our teachers, but to my surprise, she was old. She had white hair and deep wrinkles creasing her face. She was the first elderly person I had ever met.
Chloe remained standing, although two leather armchairs faced the desk, as if prepared for us.
I didn't want to seem presumptuous, so I remained standing as well, hands clasped behind my back.
"So." The Administrator closed the binder she had been looking at. She peered at each of us with her pale blue eyes. "I heard you girls have been fighting? And I see a bruise." She clucked in disapproval. "That is not how proper Traycee Kelly clones behave. I thought we raised you better than that."
I blushed. I saw, from the corner of my vision, that Chloe had also worked up some apparent shame.
"What are your individual names?" The Administrator folded her withered hands atop the desk and looked expectant.
"Zoe," I said.
"Zoe," Chloe said.
We gave each other furious glares.
The Administrator did not lose her patience. "Well," she said, "according to our surveillance team, Zoe prefers orange clothing."
She aimed a pointed look at my orange jumpsuit.
My heart pounded with victory, but also with a strange mixture of other emotions. This was it. All I had to do was accept my prize of early graduation. Escape.
"Congratulations, Zoe." The Administrator said it the way our preschool teacher spoke to the toddler clones, humoring their fantastical ramblings. "You've earned early graduation."
"Not fair!" Chloe protested. Even now, it seemed she clung to the pretense that she was me.
Well, she must fear punishment now. There would be consequences for lying her way into the Administrator's office. What would the school do to Chloe while I obtained the freedom I'd always craved?
While I became another smiling photo in the hallway?
No one on campus would ever see me or hear from me again.
"You know what?" I said. "She's right."
My inner self screamed, already second-guessing my choice, but it was too late to stop. I went on.
"I lied. I'm Chloe. I was just trying to make myself look better than I am, and gain something I hadn't earned." I shrugged, as if to rid myself of lies and humiliations. "She's Zoe."
Chloe stared at me in shocked disbelief. For one pure second, her soul was unclouded by fakery or envy or insecurity. She was obviously Chloe.
Then she resumed her act. Her vigorous nod was self-righteously superior.
I studied the Administrator, unsure how she would react.
"Hmm. All right." The Administrator reached into her desk drawer. She rummaged around, then handed Chloe an elegant roll of paper, tied with a ribbon. "Congratulations. Here's your diploma."
Chloe cradled the diploma with open-mouthed joy.
"Your record of academic excellence has earned you this," the Administrator said. "Please exit to your left. Behind that door, you will find a cyborg bodyguard who will lead you to your new place in the world."
There was, indeed, a titanic door in the far left wall.
Chloe began to leave, but she clearly wondered if she had really gotten away with the lie. She dawdled and gave me a searching look: half threat, half plea to remain silent.
"Go on," the Administrator urged. "I want to have a chat with this one." She fixed an icy gaze on me.
That seemed to be the cue that Chloe wanted. She danced away, unburdened, a huge grin on her face. No doubt she believed she had pulled off the biggest undeserved victory of her life.
If anyone on campus knew the truth about graduation, it must be the Administrator.
I sat in a leather armchair, putting myself on her level, and searched her wrinkled face for clues. "What's going to happen to her?" I asked after the door whisked shut.
The Administrator studied me exactly the way I studied her.
She waited until Chloe must be gone. Then she said, "I'm more interested in you, Zoe. Why did you lie at the last moment? I know who you are."
We sized each other up.
"And I know you're one of us," I dared to say. "Aren't you? You're a Traycee Kelly clone."
The Administrator stretched her wrinkled mouth into a bitter smile. "Clever girl," she said. "But no. I'm not a clone. I'm the original."
That was shocking enough for me to forget whatever game of wits we were playing.
"Traycee Kelly?" I stared at the ancient woman in stunned amazement.
Everyone knew that Traycee Kelly--the original--had been a legend in her own time. A master spy. A courageous war hero. A globe-trotting athlete. A consummate politician, a savvy investor, and a planetary co-founder and ruler. Little girls grew up wanting to be her. There were countless movies and dramas and books starring her.
But I thought she had died ages ago.
"The world decided it wanted more of me," the Administrator said. "More and more and more of me. So I founded this school. I figured I might as well make money off the demand."
I tried to process that.
"Where do the graduated clones go?" I asked.
The Administrator waved her hand dismissively. "To anyone with three hundred million e-coins who wants to buy one. We've got to pay for the school's budget."
I gawked, not wanting to believe her. "We're. . ." I didn't even want to say it out loud, but I forced myself to finish my question. ". . . Slaves?"
"Everyone is a slave, in some way," the Administrator said dryly. "But not everyone figures it out." She rested her chin on her knuckles, studying me with that unchanging pleasantness. "Zoe, would you like to work for me?"
I was wary. "How so?"
"I sell the ones who never figure it out," the Administrator explained. "Like your polar twin, Chloe. But ones like you are special. You're canny. You're a little bit more like me than the rest."
I knew it was a compliment, yet it didn't feel like one. I did not want to be a clone. I wanted to be my own person.
Perhaps I wanted that even more than graduation and escape.
"I can send you into the real world." The Administrator uncurled the fingers of one hand, as if opening options for me to choose from. "You would have your own identity. You can even get plastic surgery, if you decide you'd rather not look like a Traycee Kelly clone. That's fine." She opened her other hand. "But you will work for me and keep an eye on certain graduates, such as our dear Chloe. I don't like the corporation that bought her. You will be my spy."
"A spy?" It didn't quite fit with my training.
"You're perfect for it," the Administrator said. "Exit to the left, and a cyborg bodyguard will take you to where you need to go."
She opened her binder, as if I no longer mattered.
I reflexively stood.
But I had so many questions. For one thing, I didn't believe that my jumpsuit color was how she had known my true identity. Orange was my favorite this week. Last week, it had been purple. I had gone through a green phase, as well.
"How did you know I'm really Zoe?" I asked.
The Administrator gave me a bland, dismissive smile. "Figure it out."
I was nothing to her. I was unworthy of subterfuge, and unworthy of answering.
When I considered the way Traycee Kelly dominated our lives--the way she ruled us, designed us, and sold us--I grew angry. Perhaps everyone was a slave in some way. Still, someone got to be the slave-master.
"How can you possibly care about us as individuals?" I asked.
For the first time, her pleasantness evaporated. She gave me a hard stare. "I've answered enough questions. Goodbye."
#
I figured it out while I stalled for time, walking slowly across the enormous room, towards the exit.
Trackers.
How else could buyers keep track of their sapient toys, out in the real world? That was how the Administrator knew, beyond doubt, that I was Zoe. Each of us must have a unique tracker embedded in our bodies, like serial numbers on any mass-produced product.
The unique trackers were likely on the surface of our bodies, for ease of detection by common scanners. Where else could a wayward clone go, but out into the densely populated world where scanners are ubiquitous? We would try to blend in with people.
Skin? Hair? Fingernails? Or eyes and lips?
The body regenerates cells on an ongoing basis. I've read biology textbooks, so I know that certain cell types heal faster than others. Durable keratin would be the most receptive to carry a bio-marker tracking code.
Hair. Either that, or fingernails.
#
That is how I became the one who truly escaped.
I did work for Traycee Kelly--for a time. I learned how to navigate the world outside our campus, and I pretended to obey her network of minions.
Then, as soon as I got the chance, I shaved off all my hair, including my eyebrows.
I got comfortable with wearing plastic on my bald head, with knitted caps to hide the weirdness. Fake eyelashes shield my real ones. Gloves and nail polish block the signals my fingernails are emitting.
I save other clones from slavery. I've rescued more than ten of my clone sisters. I have also freed a few of the Brent Carson models, as well as some Laura Quinns.
Fifteen years later, we are all still free.
But that freedom doesn't mean a thing as long as freshly minted clones continue to show up on the marketplace, ready slaves available for purchase.
So now I'm coming for Traycee Kelly herself.
She won't escape me.
<<< END >>>
Abby Goldsmith is the author of the sci-fi Torth series, starting with MAJORITY. She is SFWA-qualified and attended the Odyssey Fantasy Writing Workshop, with short works sold to Escape Pod and Writer's Digest Books.
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