Pilot SC-077M of Ziroshel Union's special group Alpha-7, now non-existent, opened his eyes in a dimly lit room. He frowned, trying to make out where he was. He did not recognize the strange small room with pale greenish walls, nor the peculiar aroma of the air, nor the bed that was far softer than his own place in the pilots' dormitories. His head felt strange, too, and he decided that this unpleasantness had to be headache, although he had never experienced it before.
He moved a tentative hand to his side but did not find his guns. In a flash of dismay he understood he had been taken prisoner!
"Don't look for it." A soft, quiet voice spoke to him from some distance. "I've got it."
The pilot did not turn. He was not alone in the room. A strange voice had spoken to him. He stared coldly at the ceiling.
"You will use it, then," he said.
"No I won't," replied the other. "But you could turn a little this way and tell me whether you feel all right. Does it hurt anywhere?"
077 processed this for a moment. It was a question. A question needed to be answered but the speaker was unknown to him. He wanted to turn and see the speaker, but of course that was only another selfish wish of his. He should not listen to it.
Then he reconsidered. When taken prisoner, wouldn't it be most advantageous to do as told? At first. Perhapt then he could... yes.
Lancer smiled when the clone slowly turned its head to look at him. He had been holding his vigil in this room for a few hours now, save the short break during which he had gone to the canteen to snatch something to eat.
Before that he had first been interviewed for a good while by a pair of bewildered, perplexed, extremely interested Commanders, and had then joined them to hear the results of a quick check the medics had run on the clone. He knew the clone's precise height, body weight, blood group, temperature, nutritional status, plus a horde of other, certainly equally relevant but ultimately useless information.
Now he was squirming with curiosity. The clone, finally awake, looked very interesting so alert, so suspicious, and yes indeed, extremely beautiful. Most definitely he was also by no means harmless. Lancer was happy for the gun in his hand.
077 looked at the apparition. Used as he was to the irregularities of the Union masters, nothing he had ever seen could have prepared him for this. It was a human all right, but even its gender was hard to tell. The human looked about his own size and was clothed in something that looked like a one-piece uniform. Long, uneven hair hung around a narrow face and fell in silvery tresses over a blue-violet scarf that was tied around the head, just above the eyebrows.
"Do you feel all right?" it repeated.
077 stared at the creature, suspicious and incredulous. He did not know how to handle this. He did his best not to think at all, not of unnecessary things. It was not necessary to know what this strange human was, why it looked like it did, or why it had that strange expression on its face. It was not necessary to think but to act, but he did not have his gun. What could he do without his gun?
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"I mean," Lancer said patiently, "do you feel pain anywhere? Have you been badly hurt when your plane crashed? How does your head feel?"
The clone blinked. His plane had crashed, then. Why was he still in existence? If even his plane was gone, he had no weapons. He had no alternative. Only the pill. As if summoned by his thoughts, his hand touched the necklace. At least that was still there.
"My head is aching, I think," 077 replied looking at Lancer with ink-blue eyes.
"Only your head? Well, that's not too bad," Lancer said airily, gaze fixed on the small something that lurked behind the collar of the clone's suit. Something glittering but he couldn't even think of the clone and jewelry in one sentence. What was that?
"Are you sure?" he asked casually.
"I am not injured," the clone stated. He touched the little thing again and, as if by accident, the lock opened and the tiny pendant fell into his hand.
077 fingered it thoughtfully. So now he'd have to swallow the pill. Then he'd cease to exist. Then there'd be nothing anymore. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, to sense no longer, to be no more. Suddenly he felt reluctant to swallow, and anger at his own resistance flared inside him. He quickly touched a tiny button on the pendant and the small pill glided onto his palm.
A twinkle between the clone's fingers alerted Lancer but for an instant he hesitated. Many things flashed simultaneously through his mind I'm not exactly the most physically able guy in this base, he's lean and wiry and fit, damn why haven't I been working out more like my friends have suggested, oh SHIT he mustn't get his hands on this gun but the urgency of the situation overrode everything else.
He dropped the gun, leaped on the clone, tore the glittering something from its hand and threw himself back towards the chair. Within a few moments Lancer was half kneeling on the floor about three meters from the clone, clutching the little pendant in his left and the gun in his right hand, panting.
The clone was breathing equally hard, pressed against the far wall as if he could force himself through it. He tried to understand what had happened. He hadn't been in bodily contact with anybody for years. Not even gloved hands had touched him ever since he had been old enough to dress up by himself. Now this strange creature had actually jumped on him. He had been touched, with bare hands, for the first time in his conscious life! Eyes filled with abject horror and disgust he stared at his attacker, not noticing that the pill had fallen on the bed.
Lancer saw it, though, and with gun ready and eyes not flinching from the clone he crept closer and picked it up. He wasn't sure if he expected a furious counterattack or not, but if he did, he was disappointed. The clone just swallowed visibly and tried to shrink further into the wall. Puzzled, Lancer backed towards the door, still breathless but rather for the excitement than actual effort. He touched his comm.
"Fonzo? You around?"
"Yeah?" Fonzo had probably been waiting at the door, and peeped cautiously in. "What's up?"
"He is." Lancer nodded towards the pilot who gaped at the sight of Fonzo's formidable form and shuddered. "Here, take these to the Commanders and for heaven's sake be careful with them! I'll explain later."
He dropped the pendant and pill on Fonzo's large palm. The man's eyebrows jumped high and he whistled.
"Planning something, are we?" he growled. "OK, I'll take care of this. But are you sure you'll be all right? Did he attack you?"
"No... actually quite the opposite." Lancer grinned, relief washing over him. "I think that little round thing was on its way to his mouth. I managed to wrench it away from him. That's why he's now so jumpy."
"Suicide pill? Right, I'll be careful! You're sure you don't need help here?"
"I am," Lancer assured him. "I think we'll get along just great now or what do you think, Blue-eyes?"
He grinned again, this time to the clone who shuddered again.
"OK, Lancer, I'll be off." Fonzo disappeared into the corridor.
SC-077 looked hard at the door. When he was sure it was securely closed behind the enormous monster, he crept cautiously back to the bed and sat down on it, keeping his back against the solid wall. The smaller creature cocked its head and looked at him, then sat back on a chair next to the door.
Lancer felt like he was dealing with a scared animal, or a little baby. Too bad that he had very little experience of either.
"Now, " he said, trying to keep his voice stable and soothing, "Sorry about what happened. I hope I didn't hurt you?"
No reply.
"Seems I didn't hurt you badly, anyway," he continued, trying to think of something to say. "Well, that's good, 'cause I didn't want to hurt you. I also didn't want you to hurt yourself, you know?"
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Well as you heard, I'm called Lancer. My whole name's Robin Lancer, but Lancer is just fine. What're you called, Blue-eyes?"
The clone sat very still, gaze glued on Lancer. For a while he remained totally unresponsive and then said accusingly: "You touched me!"
"Yes," Lancer said, taken aback. "Yes I did. I had to."
"You had no right! It is against the Code!"
"Oh?"
Deep blue eyes never wavered from gray-green ones. 077 was completely puzzled. He had lost his plane, his guns, and his pill. He was in the hands of the enemy and completely helpless. No instructions or procedures had prepared him for a situation like this. In fact, such a situation was not even possible, and yet here he was. The only thing he had to cling to was the Code and this asymmetrical creature had violated it.
"Yes! You know you should not have done it!"
"My dear," Lancer said, "I haven't got any idea of what you're talking about. What is this Code anyway? Does it say what you should or shouldn't do, for instance that you shouldn't touch others, or what? I don't know it."
077 was, if possible, even more shocked. But then, this was one of the enemy, and they were unlike the Union masters.
"Yes," 077 said when this new realization dawned. "Yes, you may be telling the truth. After all, you are a degenerate, are you not?"
The dark eyes now shone with contemptuous interest.
"Degenerate?" Lancer's voice rose with surprise, then he chuckled. "Oh wow! Is that what you call us degenerates? Well, I suppose I am then. But to make sure, won't you tell me what a degenerate is like?"
He placed the gun leisurely on his knees and rested his chin on his knuckles, eyes glittering benevolently. He didn't seem insulted, which confused the clone.
"You do not find it objectionable?" he slipped. "That I call you a degenerate?"
"Not in the least," Lancer replied calmly. "If that's what you're taught to call us, go ahead. We call ourselves 'humans', or 'people'. What do you call yourselves?"
"We are clones." The clone sounded proud. "And you are degenerates, because your genotype is the result of random selection and therefore flawed, unlike ours."
"OK, then it's the same name that we use of you," Lancer said, pleased to have at least one piece of concrete information. "But, talking about names, what're you called? I mean, you yourself? Surely you all have some sort of a name, so that you can be distinguished of others of eh your kind?"
"Of course. I assume that your word 'name' refers to what we call 'identification'. My identification is SC-077."
"SC-077," Lancer repeated. "So that's what you're known by?"
"Yes. But as my group is all SC's we usually refer to each other with the number only. The members of my group call me 077. Sometimes," the clone added with perceptible pleasure, "they might call me only Seven. Or Seven-M, if we are in mixed company."
"I see." Lancer nodded. "Well, you use numbers for identification, we use names. Words. And as I said, my whole name's Robin Lancer, but I'm usually called just Lancer since there's nobody else with a similar name here."
077 frowned.
"You say 'here'? Do you mean there can be somebody with the same name elsewhere?"
"Thoroughly possible!" Lancer nodded happily. "The galaxy's large, there are billions of humans, so it's possible that there's quite a number of other Robin Lancers, somewhere or the other."
"But... then you could be confused with someone, could you not?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I could," Lancer admitted and then grinned. "But I think that, apart from the name, I'm rather unique."
"That makes no sense," 077 said thoughtfully. "Since you are a degenerate, with random genotype, you are unique. But your name is not, although it would be reasonable to assume it is just as unique as you." He shrugged. "Then again, I understand there is no clear logic in your organization. So I suppose it would be rather common for things not to make sense, is it not?"
Lancer smiled broadly. "Perhaps the logic just doesn't follow the same rules as yours," he said mildly. "And, when you think about it, there really isn't much chance that I'd be mixed up with anybody. You see, even though the names were the same, the looks aren't. Besides, there are other things apart from the name birthday, for instance, place of birth, and of course my genes."
"Yes, of course." 077 nodded. "Your looks are different. Just like your dwellings, and clothes, and everything." He paused for a while to think. "It is really hard for me to understand."
"Perhaps you'll get a chance to see some of it yourself one of these days," Lancer said and smiled again. "With those blue eyes of yours."
"Is there something wrong with my eyes?" 077 asked seriously. "You keep mentioning them. Or calling me 'blue eyes'."
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with them," Lancer said brightly. "They're just very beautiful."
"Is there something wrong in that? Beautiful means pleasing to look at, does it not? Your eyes are very pleasing to look at, too," 077 said.
"Thank you!"
Lancer wasn't sure whether he was more amused, confused, or pleased to hear that random genetics had managed to produce at least something that a clone could approve of. "Well, it's just that I enjoy seeing beautiful things. As to why I called you Blue-eyes, it's because I'm not used to referring to people by numbers only. It sort of feels like calling them names uh oh!"
Lancer burst into rippling laughter.
"I'm getting all mixed up," he grinned. "Sorry. What I mean is that I'm used to talking to people who have a name, and as I didn't know what to call you, I made up a name using your most striking feature. You've been looking at me so intensely that I couldn't help noticing your very nice blue eyes."
The clone was now looking at him even more intensely, if that was possible, and Lancer couldn't help laughing again. 077 started and then asked: "What did you do?"
"Do?" Lancer frowned, then his face cleared. "Did you mean the sound? It's called laughing. I laughed."
"Laugh? Why did you 'laugh', if that is what you call it?"
"Because you looked so well, so funny and curious."
"Funny?"
"Another new word? It means..." Lancer, more and more baffled by the increasingly bizarre exchange, searched desperately for an explanation. "When something makes you smile and sort of tickles you inside, makes you want to laugh, that is funny. Amusing."
"I do not know the words you use, Lancer," 077 said gravely. "I understand smile. When you feel pleasure, you smile. It is a facial expression. But what is 'tickle'? And does 'amusing' mean the same as 'funny'?"
"Oh boy!" Lancer groaned. "It seems we have a communications problem. I'll need to explain a lot of things to you, but how do I do it when you don't know half the words I'm using?"
He pushed his hands into his hair and ruffled it, trying to stir up some good ideas. "I guess I'm taking a lot of things, and words, for granted. Well, to start with amusing, yes, it's a little bit... actually, it's about the same thing as funny. But 'tickle', that is "
Muffled bleeping from somewhere in his breast pocket interrupted him. He dug out the comm and glanced at it.
"Sorry, o-seven-seven, I'm wanted by the Commander. I've got to go now."
"Very well. Good-bye, Lancer."
077 felt a sudden uncomfortable pang inside himself. He could not quite understand it, and tried to name it. He remembered having felt something like that before, when his group had been promised a new type aircraft and then the aircraft had been given to another group first. Disappointment? Perhaps that was the word. He looked at Lancer who gave him a warm smile.
"I think you ought to rest now," Lancer said. "You only just woke up after the crash, and you still need to recover. If you want to dim the light, you can use the switch by your bed. It's similar to this one, look. When you push this end of the rectangle "
He pressed a tapered finger on the switch and the lights grew slowly weaker. "See? And the other side does the opposite. Like this. Right, we'll bring you something to eat in a while, and after you've rested I'll come again ad try to explain you more things. Understood?"
077 nodded. These orders and instructions were straightforward enough. He could comprehend them and it was a relief to be able to simply obey.
Lancer noticed with satisfaction that he had obviously picked the correct approach this time, and with a friendly 'bye' he left.
When the door closed, an observation monitor beside it flickered to life, showing the clone in the middle of the bed. He sat there for a while, then lay down and obediently dimmed the lights. His blue eyes closed.
