It was December 21st when Zorb and Zita met with the Geneticist. Of course, that was only a nickname given based on his reputation for experimenting with DNA. Intergalactic authorities aren’t sure which is worse: his creation of chimera, or his creation of clones.
It was agreed upon that the three would meet on Tarriseos,
a planet closer to Earth than Barutamey, and therefore more remote, so there
wouldn’t be any worries about the COIS coming around. Specifically, they agreed
to meet at Tarriseos’ finest establishment, “Castycica’s.” But since it is
Tarriseos, Castycica’s amounts more to what Earth would call a “dive bar.” Even
so, Zita dressed up in her best, shiniest casual clothing.
“Good of you to show, Professor Mirous,” Zorb said as
they walked up to him at the middle table.
Mirous himself was about how you’d expect a mad scientist
to look. He was hunched over, his mouth always in a crooked smile, eyes a bit
beady and hair scraggly from no grooming. He didn’t have a lab coat, but he did
have glasses with thick lenses tucked into a shirt pocket alongside a pen.
“Well, it’s mostly because I know what you’d do if I
didn’t,” Mirous replied with a nervous chuckle. “But I am very curious about
this sample you have.”
“Now, now, Professor,” Zorb said as he helped Zita into a
seat. “You can’t get to the main course when we haven’t even been served
drinks.”
Zorb looked to the bartender, a local.
“Umm,” Zorb said, recalling the Tarriseos language.
“Hhhrk kah shh bub gurgle krgrgrkr hhha… Uh… and a water for the scientist.”
The hard-shelled bartender nodded, then walked sideways
to the shelves of drinks. His eye stalks looked behind him, and he reached back
for the bottles Zorb requested. He made two matching blended drinks in tall
glasses with ice and wedges of fruit on the rim, and then grabs bottled water
from under the counter for Professor Mirous.
The bartender had a tiny robot carry the drinks to the
table. It carefully handed the glasses to Zorb and Zita, then just dropped the
bottle in front of Mirous without a care. Zita took a sip, and after she
confirmed it was delicious, Zorb took a sip of his own drink.
“So how is your new lab coming along?” Zorb asked. “It
better be going well. Otherwise, why did I give you all that money?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Mirous said with a more
confident chuckle. “I’ve put it all to good use. I’ve even started up some new
experiments, such as a sequel to my beloved Belial that your father killed all
those years ago.”
“You should just stop that now,” Zorb said. “We know that
sequel will end the same as the original. Instead, try helping me complete a
story that ended far too soon.”
“Now who’s the one skipping to the good parts?” Mirous
grinned.
Zorb nodded to Zita and she opened her clasp purse. She
pulled out a glass vial full of red liquid.
“The viscosity,” Mirous said as he eyed the vial.
“Blood?”
Zorb nodded while swallowing another sip.
“Red blood,” Mirous said. “No, a deep red blood. Carbon based life-form. Well, you have been to
Earth recently, yes? And you wouldn’t bring me animal blood, so that would make
that human blood. What’s so special about human blood?”
“Well that’s where you come in,” Zorb said. “The human
that blood comes from, we’ve seen in action. I’m sure when you get a look at
his genetic code, you’ll see something special.”
On December 24th, Zorb and Zita would join
Mirous at his lab on another remote planet, Ordana. The lab indeed was
exceptional, and the only building for hundreds of miles. Mirous plugged the
blood sample into his machines and the DNA was analyzed. Mirous’ jaw dropped
open in complete awe of what he was reading.
“This is incredible,” he said. “The human parts are all
very clear, but there’s something more. I believe this has to do with… With the
ability to change colors.”
“He definitely did that,” Zita confirmed. “But he could
also change the strengths of his body.”
“Yes, yes, I see,” Mirous said, his awe not going away.
“The ability to change the behavior of his muscle fibers. My, my, what a find.
I must have more!”
“Sorry, Professor,” Zorb said. “That sample and another
are all we have, and there’s no more source. The human in question was shot
dead.”
“You killed him?!” Mirous snapped.
“Did I say I killed him?” Zorb said to Zita.
“You did not,” Zita said back.
“I did not,” Zorb said, looking back at Mirous. “Some
other human did that, I believe. But you understand well enough why we need you
to use this blood, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, of course I do,” Mirous said with a big grin.
“You won’t even have to bargain with me. I must see this specimen for myself!”
And so, Zorb and Zita and their ship stayed with Mirous
on Ordana while he worked on the cloning process. On Earth, it was from
December 25th to the 28th. And on December 29th,
a completed human body, aged to about where The Spektrum was when he died, lay
dormant inside a giant, tube-shaped machine filled with synthetic amniotic
fluid. Mirous made the trip with them back to Earth as the final steps were put
into place.
The tube stayed in the medical bay, and Mirous stayed
with it almost every hour of the trip. The ship arrived in Earth’s system on
December 31st.
Zorb occupied his traveling time with more of his
physical rehabilitation. That torn leg, though surgically repaired, still
needed to heal naturally and regain strength.
“Take it easy,” Zita said. “You’ll just make it worse.”
“Zita, you’ve seen me push myself before,” he said. “This
is nothing- Ow.”
Zorb hobbled and quickly turned off the treadmill with
his wrist-strap remote. With the tread slowing down, Zorb’s fast jog took him
right off it and to the solid floor.
“See?” Zita said.
“That was because you distracted me,” he defended.
“Sure I did,” Zita smirked as she lounged on the purple
chaise longue.
Zorb picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his
forehead as he walked over to her.
“Well, you know how hard it is for me to keep my eyes of
you,” he said with a smirk of his own.
Zita giggled as he tossed the towel away to sit at her
feet at the end of the long chair. He leaned towards her, and she sat up to
meet him, but M2 zipped in at high speed.
“Boss!” he said as they groaned. “It’s time!”
Zorb’s and Zita’s mood instantly changed from annoyed to
excited. Zorb helped Zita up and they hurried together to the med lab.
“It’s finally happening~!” Mirous said gleefully as they
entered.
The tubular chamber drained of the amniotic fluid and
filled with air. Mirous stood back with Zorb and Zita as all three watched with
bated breath.
The chamber finished draining, and then pressurized to
match the room. The chamber opened, and Zorb took a step closer. He could see
the clone was breathing, and the eyes were moving, as if it was dreaming. But
then the clone sputtered and woke up with a start.
“Wha…” he said feebly as his eyes opened with a squint.
The clone’s eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the
room, and a hand wiped the wet hair from his eyes. The eyes and hair were
unmistakable. They were the same as The Spektrum the first day Zorb arrived on
Earth. Those deep ocean blues locked onto Zorb, and were suddenly filled with
anger.
“Zorb?!” the clone shouted as his hair turned black.
“Oh there it is!” Mirous exclaimed. “His color changing
ability!”
That red eye glared at Zorb, just as he remembered it
from the last day he and The Spektrum met. But Zorb had little time for
nostalgia, the clone floundered out of the chamber and straight for him! But
then the clone fumbled and flopped to the floor with weak and slippery legs.
“W-What?” the clone grumbled. “Why am I so weak? How… How
am I alive?!”
Then he looked closer at himself.
“Why am I naked and covered in slime?!” he shouted. “What
did you do to me?!”
The clone glared up at Zorb, but Zorb was looking at Mirous.
“Professor,” Zorb said, barely holding back his
frustration. “Please remind me. Didn’t we ask you to make him a blank slate?”
“Yes, yes, you did,” Mirous says nervously as he scrolls
through the DNA code. “I’m trying to find where in his genetics this is
possible!”
Zita came around to the clone, but he stayed back.
“I’m just giving you a towel,” Zita said. “You need to
wipe off the rest of the amniotic fluid.”
The clone did admit to himself that he had the desire to
get clean. He took the towel from Zita and wiped himself down.
“What did you do to bring me back?” the clone asked Zorb
and Mirous.
Zorb and Mirous looked to the clone then back to each other.
“Well, Professor,” Zorb said. “Why don’t you explain it
to him?”
“Um, well, uh,” Mirous said, growing more and more
nervous. “Is your planet familiar with the concept of cloning?”
The clone looked at the mad scientist with a confused
look, but then he looked around at the room. His hair changed yellow and his
eyes hazel. Analyze activated automatically, and it put the pieces together.
He just came out of a strange chamber, slimy from
amniotic fluid, naked, in some strange laboratory. The wound the bullet left
wasn’t even visible. For that matter, he didn’t even have the moles and
freckles he remembered getting from being in the sun. His fingernails and
cuticles were too perfect, and as he felt around his mouth with his tongue, so
were his teeth.
“Clone…” he said. “A clone…”
“So… do you know what that is or not?” Mirous asks.
“I know what it is,” the clone growled, turning back to
Black. “You cloned me?! Why would you clone your enemy?”
“Well as I was reprimanding the Geneticist here,” Zorb
said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember your past life. But somehow, your
special abilities maintained your memory, despite precautions our expert took.
“But now that I think about it, this might be for the
better. I was a little worried we’d have to teach you things, like how to speak
or read. This does help save some time. We already spent 12 of your Earth days
just making you, I wouldn’t be up for wasting time teaching you an entire
language.”
“12 days?” the clone said. “It’s been that long?”
“Well, making a clone of your complexity isn’t exactly
making soup,” Mirous scoffed.
The clone thought about how his family and friends must
be reacting to his death. No, not his family and friends, but his family and friends. The Spektrum’s
family and friends. What would they think if they saw him again after so long?
That was when the clone realized he was still Activated.
He tried to deactivate, to return to the brown hair and brown eyes that he
remembered, but the change wouldn’t happen. He’d just change to one of the
other colors.
“I can’t deactivate…?”
Computer, what’s
going on? Computer? Computer?! I can’t talk to Computer?! Is this because of
being a clone?
“Deactivate?” Zita repeated. “What do you mean?”
“My natural form,” the clone said. “No, The Spektrum’s
natural form. I can’t return to it.”
“Natural form?” Mirous repeated. “Is this not your
natural form?”
“No,” the clone said, still looking at his reflection.
“I- He, wasn’t born this way. And he wasn’t made this way in an experiment like
you thought, Zorb. It was a complete accident.”
“When did it happen?” Mirous asked. “Was he this way very
long?”
“No, not at all,” the clone said. “It was November 2nd.
That would’ve been… Almost two months ago. That’s roughly 60 Earth days.”
“And yet you seemed so comfortable out,” Zorb said.
“I think the powers had a lot to do with that,” the clone
said.
“Maybe,” Zorb said. “But it sure seemed like you were a
natural at a lot of that.”
The name meaning project in Graphic Design popped into
the clone’s head. Gary, relating to Guerrero, meaning “warrior.” Brown,
relating to Bruin, meaning “bear.” A middle name, for an inner meaning. Perhaps
he always had it in him.
“For now,” Zita said to everyone, “we should get him
dressed and fed.”
The clone cleaned himself up while Zita left the room. As
he looked himself over, it just seemed so strange not to see the moles and
marks so clearly in his memory.
“Okay, I have some possible choices,” Zita said as she
returned with several articles of clothing.
“You’re loaning him my clothes?” Zorb asked.
“Well he could wear mine, but I don’t think he’d fill
them out very well,” Zita said.
“I’m unsure,” the clone said. “Is that her joking or being
serious?”
“Can’t we use the fabricator to at least make him
underwear?” Zorb said.
“That’s true,” Zita said. “Okay, this way.”
Zita beckoned to the clone with a waving hand as she
headed for the door again.
The clone looked to Zorb and then Zita.
“Get going,” Zorb said with a nod of his head.
The clone wrapped the towel tighter around him and
followed Zita into the hallway.
“So we’re on your ship?” he asked.
“Ship?” she repeated.
“Yeah, your spaceship. The thing you travel through space
in.”
“Oh,” Zita said. “That must be how you Earthlings refer
to it. I suppose the galaxy can be seen as an ocean. But we think of them more
as a combination of home and vehicle, so they’re more like… space mobiles.”
“So, they’re like mobile homes?”
“Yes.”
The clone chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“It’s nothing really. Just, on Earth, the phrase ‘mobile
home’ tends to give a certain impression, culturally speaking. Not at all the
kind of impression you and Zorb give off just walking around.”
“I see,” Zita said. “And I assume that impression is
stylish and wealthy?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Good,” she smiled. “Here we are.”
They walked into a room with many drawers and clothing
racks.
“You can choose something from these after we make your
underwear,” Zita said. “Over here.”
The clone looked at a machine that looked more like an
X-ray than something for clothes.
“Stand on here,” she said, motioning to a raised
platform.
He walked over and stood on the platform.
“Take the towel off so the fabricator can scan you,” Zita
said.
“With you watching?”
“Oh please, it’s not like I haven’t seen anything like it
before,” Zita said.
The clone still looked at her hesitantly.
“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll start the machine up and look
away right after.
Zita pressed buttons on the podium nearby and then tapped
the big green button to start the process. She then turned away and covered her
eyes. The clone tossed the towel away and let the machine scan his body.
The fabricator only took a minute to do a full 360 degree
sweep of his waist and hips. Then it produced a clean white pair of boxer
briefs, as if it was coming out of a printer. The clone took the completed pair
of underwear from the ray and put them on.
“Okay, I’m dressed,” he said to Zita.
Zita turned around and opened her eyes.
“Oh! They changed color to match your hair,” she said.
“Yeah, clothing does that on me,” he said. “I- He called it Spectralization.”
“Well then let’s see if Spectralization works on these
clothes,” Zita said.
She motioned to the clothing racks, and the clone walked
over. He put on a black long sleeve T-shirt and simple black jeans, but being
that he was Silver, they changed to match. The shirt became silver-grey, and
the pants put on the blue and gold camouflage pattern.
“Aha, there’s that look,” Zita said. “Seems that is still
as much a part of you as your memories.”
“But they’re not my memories,” he grumbled, turning into
Black. “They’re The Spektrum’s memories, because I’m not him!”
“Well, yes, but no,” Zita said. “You are a clone, so
you’re still as much The Spektrum as he was. It’s up to you how to live.”
“Absolutely right,” Zorb said as he joined them. “Though,
I’d hate for you to continue where he left off. I’m not really up for a fight
right now, and certainly not inside my wonderful home.
“I do hope you don’t think anything in our fights was
personal,” Zorb continued as he walked over to the clone. “I was doing what I
wanted, you were doing what you wanted. Just as easily as I could’ve gone
somewhere else, you chose to stick it out against me. The reason I kept coming
back is because I could see something special in you and I wanted to see more
of it.”
“Something special?” the clone asked in a flat tone. “You
sound really cliché right now.”
“Cliché?” Zorb repeated. “That must be a uniquely Earth
word.”
“It means ‘overused’ or ‘unoriginal.’”
“Well, I am certainly not unoriginal,” Zorb said. “Which
is why I respected The Spektrum. I could tell he was one-of-a-kind, too. And
now, so are you.”
“Right, the one-of-a-kind copy of an original,” the clone
sneered.
“Exactly!” Zorb said with a hard pat on the clone’s
shoulder. “You are unique because you are his copy. There was only one
original, and there’s only one copy. But now that the original is gone, you have all the value. Only you have
his powers.”
“And yet you killed The Spektrum,” the clone said.
“What? Who said we did that?”
“Didn’t… Didn’t you have someone shoot me from behind?”
the clone asked, confused again.
“No,” Zorb said with a chuckle. “I just told you, I
respected The Spektrum. I wouldn’t shoot someone I respect in the back. Whoever
killed him has nothing to do with me.”
The clone’s heart started racing. He thought about a
rogue shooter being out there. Why did they shoot The Spektrum? Who else would
they shoot? Have they shot anyone in the last 12 days? Was Catgirl…?
The clone started to feel dizzy thinking on all of this,
and he put a hand to his head.
“You still need to eat something,” Zita said. “We’ll
worry more about this after.”
The clone joined them in the ship’s kitchen, and he
noticed all the Earth foods still left over.
“You didn’t get through what you stole from the grocery
story?” he asked them. “It’s been two months.”
“Well we managed to save quite a bit of it after we fired
my old crew,” Zorb said. “You’d be surprised at how little these guys eat. Even
big red M1 only needs so much.”
“It’s thanks to special implants,” Taktikk said. “They
were each modified to be extraordinary fighters that could survive on very
little sustenance should a mission go longer than expected.”
“Who’s that?” the clone asked Zorb.
The clone ate his fill of stolen cereal. He was glad to
see aliens used spoons and bowls, and was also glad they chose cereals he
liked. And as he ate, he was deep in thought.
The Spektrum was a hero. But only because Zorb happened
upon San Leandro. But was it really by chance? The Spektrum was raised to
believe in God, in God’s will. But at the same time, the Bible didn’t know a
thing about aliens. Yet, Zorb arriving a day after the power surge was too
coincidental not to be some kind of destiny. Maybe it was all meant to lead to
the clone’s creation.
Then there’s the clone’s inability to power down. Perhaps
that’s a side-effect of being a clone. Computer might be able to explain, but
it seems losing Computer was a side-effect, too. At least he got to keep all
five Color Codes.
Then he noticed those masked mooks glaring at him as they
all ate potato chips.
“Ano ang iyong hinahanap? <What’re you looking
at>?” he grumbled.
“What language was that?” Zorb asked.
“I spoke a different language…?”
“Yeah, and not one our universal translators recognizes,”
Zorb said.
Zorb pulled one of his ears to show the back, and a
sliver of silver and green could be seen near where ear meets head.
“Nick was right,” the clone muttered.
“Hm?” Zita asked.
“Nothing,” the clone said. “Um… I’m not sure what language
I just said other than English. I was just asking what’s with their stares.”
“Oh, well, they’ve been real sour over the lack of
conclusion in your fight,” Zorb said. “After all, those human soldiers showed
up and ruined it all.”
“Who were they, anyway?” Zita asked.
“A group calling themselves Anonymous Inc,” the clone
said. “They’re some sort of covert spy organization. They’re not trustworthy,
though. They seemed to be putting on a front.”
“Interesting,” Zorb said.
“Oh boy,” Zita said. “Zorby loves bringing down his
secret organizations.”
“Zorby?” the clone laughed.
Zorb frowned and Zita smiled apologetically.
“I wonder how they explained things to my- his parents,” the clone wondered. “And
all during the holidays.”
“Holidays?” Zita said. “What kind of holidays?”
“Well, 12 days means we missed Christmas,” the clone
said. “But that should mean it’s New Year’s Eve.”
“New Year’s?” Zita said, getting excited. “As in, a
celebration of the new year?”
“Yeah,” the clone said, a little confused. “Do other
planets do that?”
“Only the fun ones,” Zita said with a big smile. “Zorby,
c’mon, we should go party~!”
The clone chuckled at the nickname again. But then he had
a lightbulb moment.
“Yeah, you could go to Earth and party,” he said. “With
all the lights at night, choose the right location and that teleportation
device of yours won’t even be noticed.”
“Yes, exactly!” Zita said.
“Okay, okay,” Zorb sighed yet smiled.
The two got up and went to their room, to return in
flashy party clothes. Zorb wore sleek black slacks and a shiny purple button-up
with no undershirt while Zita wore a tight, thin pink dress with silver
tassels.
“So where should we go?” Zorb wondered as he walked over
to a panel.
The teleportation device was somewhat like the ones in
sci-fi series like Star Trek, per the clone’s memories. It was a big circular
platform that has a light glowing from inside.
Zorb checked coordinates on the panel and seemed to be
looking at a map taken by satellite. Fortunately for the clone, Zorb chose San
Francisco.
“Don’t wait up, kids,” Zorb said. “Mommy and Daddy are
gonna party hard.”
“See you later, boss,” M3 grinned.
Zorb and Zita stepped onto the platform as it charged up.
The light grew brighter, and the clone took a chance! He transformed into Red
and used his super speed to run onto the platform just before *WHOOMF* the big
flash of light hit!
The light hit a tower in San Francisco, and the three
were suddenly part of a rooftop dance party.
“What?!” Zorb said in shocked anger. “Are you seri-”
The clone took off at high speeds with Overdrive! Zorb
growled at his own mistake for not seeing this coming.
The clone jumped from building to building, and made his
way to the 16th St. Mission BART station. He went downstairs and
found the transit system map. The 16th St. Mission station has a few
rails headed for San Leandro. The best one looked to be the blue rail, going
from Daly City to Dublin and Pleasanton. He checked the schedule, and that
train was coming into 16th St. Mission at 8:18. And according to the
clock on the wall, it was already 8:11!
The clone sped past security to get to the platform just
as the train was pulling in. By the time anyone even noticed a red blur, the
clone hopped aboard the train and took a seat. The train headed out, and about
half an hour later, after many stops at many other stations, it arrived in San
Leandro. The clone took his time exiting, walking down new stairs, and reaching
the parking lot. Then he used Overdrive again to go from here towards his
neighborhood.
He ran down Dolores Avenue and slowed when he came close
to Cyndi’s house. He spotted Cyndi walking out of her house.
“Kiss your new boyfriend and then come right back home,
young lady,” her mom said with a giggle.
“Okay, mom!” Cyndi giggled back.
Cyndi had a boyfriend? Cyndi moved on from The Spektrum
after only 12 days? But didn’t she have feelings for him?
The clone followed Cyndi, following the order of his
hurting heart. He wanted to stop, because it didn’t matter, but it was like his
legs were doing things on their own. But then she stopped to turn around. She
didn’t see anything, though, because the clone had used his speed to cross the
street in the blink of an eye. Cyndi shrugged and continued.
The clone kept his distance as he basically stalked
Cyndi. He spotted the boyfriend up ahead, and turned Black both for stealth,
and because he couldn’t help but be angry. The clone watched from behind a bush
as the boyfriend and Cyndi stepped closer. He couldn’t hear anything clearly
from this distance, but it all sounded happy.
He could tell they were looking at her phone.
“Three! Two! One!” they counted. “Happy New Year!”
Cyndi turns her boyfriend’s head to look at her, and then
she plants a big kiss right on the mouth! The boyfriend then wraps her in his
arms and brings her in, and even lifts her off the ground.
No matter how much the clone told himself not to be
angry, seeing Cyndi and this other guy caused his blood to boil.
Rain started to fall, and it startled the new couple.
They giggled as they went separate ways, but the clone glared at the boyfriend.
The clone got up from the bush and started to cross the street, but he had to
watch out for a car passing by. He glared at the vehicle but then lost track of
the boyfriend. As the clone looked around for where the boyfriend could’ve
gone, *WHOOMF*, the teleportation light snatched him up.
“You are very lucky
that I don’t want to start over from scratch,” Zorb said as he glared at the
clone. “Otherwise, this time you would be getting shot by me.”
“How the Hell did you find me so fast?!” the clone
shouted.
“Tracking threads,” Zita said. “The teleporter is able to
find us because of incredibly tiny devices embedded in the clothes.”
The clone glared at Zorb, but then his gaze dropped to
the floor and to himself. He stormed off, but then stopped, because he doesn’t
even have a room on this alien mobile home.
“I have nothing,” the clone said. “I have nothing in this
world. In this universe! All because you selfishly created me! I don’t even
have a name!!”
“But you have power,” Zorb said as he stepped forward.
“And you can use that. I want you to use that. Not to live in the past, but to create
your own future. That will be yours, and no one else’s.”
“And we will get you something,” Zita said. “A room. We
have plenty still.”
The clone had no reason to refuse, and he followed Zita
through the halls.
The room he was given was very simple, and not very big.
But the size didn’t matter, he had nothing to put in it. He sat on the simple
square bed, and stared at the simple white wall.
“Well,” Zita said, feeling awkward. “Feel free to eat
more from the kitchen. Chances are we’ll have to go steal more at some point.
We don’t have a lot of fuel so we might have to go get some of that, too.”
“Whatever,” the clone grumbled as he lay down on the bed.
Zita nodded, still feeling awkward, and let him be alone.
Days went by with the clone keeping to himself. He would
eat, shower and all that, but he would stay isolated in his room, staring at
the walls, his mind thinking.
As The Spektrum’s clone, he both was and wasn’t the same
person. These memories were his, but they also weren’t. These feelings were
his, but they also weren’t. Family, friends, even enemies, were his but they
also weren’t. Adding but subtracting, it all amounted to zero.
He looked at his clothing as he shifted through the Color
Codes. The “camo-flaunt” was just an annoyance now. It reminded him of a past
that was his yet not his, so he wanted to get rid of the reminder. But how was
he going to do that? If only he had Computer to help him.
The clone went from staring at the wall to the mirror in
the corner. He didn’t have Computer anymore, but he was pretty sure he had all
his other abilities. He turned to Yellow and stared into his own hazel eyes. Perhaps
there was something he could learn about his own powers by using his powers. He
activated Analyze, and suddenly, his field of vision was flooded with numbers!
It startled him into snapping backwards on the bed, but then he steadied
himself, and watched as the numbers sorted out into letters.
Soon, the clone was staring at a huge heads-up display.
It was as if he were in a video game. The HUD had a menu with only three
options.
·
Stats
·
Appearance
·
Progress
·
Moves
It seemed rather obvious what each option was referring
to, but the clone didn’t expect to see any of this. The Stats menu seemed the
most obvious: it would point out the progress of each Color Code. Appearances
was perhaps the next obvious, as he could possibly edit his Color Code outfits.
He definitely wanted to test that out.
Progress must be his leveling. Why did Computer never
tell him he could just check his own progress before? Though, knowing Computer,
it’s because the specific question was never asked. He decided to worry about
that later.
And Moves… From what the video game was, it would the
moves he knows. A wrestler’s style could be changed by editing the moveset, but
could it really be that easy? The clone was reminded of The Matrix and
downloading martial arts into Neo’s brain.
The clone went with Appearances first. Choosing the
options felt so weird, because he was essentially moving the cursor with his
eyes, but that meant it was always moving as he looked at different options. He
managed to focus on Appearances and hesitated a moment. How does he choose it
when there’s not a button to press? He focused harder on the word, and thought
on the word, “Select.” And fortunately, it worked!
The new menu that came up was a lot like in the video
game, but with far fewer options. He couldn’t change his physical stature, such
as height, weight and shapes of his body. That’s probably for the best, he
might abuse it to become as huge as that red giant of Zorb’s.
·
Head
·
Upper Body
·
Lower Body
·
Arms
·
Feet
This also looked very straightforward. He chose “Lower
Body” first to get rid of the stupid camo-flaunt. No more of that, ever. He
also formatted the pants to no longer be jeans, but spandex tights, like a real
wrestler. He looked at sample designs, and went with a pretty standard one.
The base color would be silver, and the inner thigh would
be jet black. It had trim on the hips and down the outside in one-inch thick
lines. He liked the way those looked so much, he did the same for all the Color
Codes. But Black would be all black, with not even the trim standing out
against it.
For the upper body, they were all generalized into a
spandex top, with long sleeves for the winter. Black was again all black, but
the others had contrasting pieces. The sides and even the underarms and triceps
were jet black to match the black on the tights. He then went into “Arms” and
“Feet” to add gloves and wrestling boots that would go with the pattern.
As he admired his new outfits, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. There was so much empty space on the chest, and he didn’t like looking at his face. It was The Spektrum’s face. Then he thought about the “Head” menu. He selected that, but got a new message.
Unable to verify Head Wardrobe Item.
“I need to be wearing something to do something about
it?” he said out loud. “Actually, something about that makes sense.”
Zita visited him, knocking on the door even though it was
ajar. She pushed it all the way open and saw his new clothes.
“Wow!” she said. “I like… the colors.”
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“We took a look at that ‘school’ of yours, and it looks
like people are back.”
“Right,” he said, “they would be back from break by now.
So, what? You’re sending your masked morons down there or something?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Zita said. “They’ll make a big
entrance for Zorb, and he’ll make a big speech to introduce you.”
“Introduce me?” the clone said. “Why would you introduce
me?”
“To show the world you exist, for one,” Zita said
matter-of-factly. “But we were thinking… that if you have nowhere else to go,
stick with us. You can be part of the crew.”
“And do what? Take over the world?”
“If you want to, sure,” Zita shrugged.
The clone was again confused by her, but she left the
room without another word. He thought about it, then sighed as he followed her
back to the bridge. Or living room, whatever they chose to call this part of
the mobile home spaceship.
“Alright, boys,” Zorb said to The Masquerade as they
stood on the teleporter platform. “Make it good. Make it dramatic!”
“Yes, sir!” the five said as they bowed.
Zorb typed in the coordinates, and *WHOOMF* the five were
teleported to Earth.
“Okay, let’s watch it on the big screen,” Zita said.
“Wait, you can watch what’s going on from up here?” the
clone asked.
“Well, it’s all just top-down stuff,” Zita said. “We only
have an orbital camera, and it’s not the best, either.”
Zita used a remote to turn the big plasma window that
looked out at the Earth’s moon into a big plasma television.
The screen showed The Masquerade as they landed and stood
in a semi-circle, with Big Red in the middle.
“This is second
best?” the clone asked. “This looks way better than anything I’ve seen.”
“You haven’t gotten to… actually what terminology do you
use for your resolution?”
“We call them ‘pixels,’” the clone said. “Dots dedicated
to making up a full image.”
“Ah, yes, that’s how it works on anything of ours,” Zorb
said. “We call them ‘Resaix.’”
The clone looked to Zita, but from her non-reaction, that
word really is the word they use.
“So this is like, what?” the clone asked. “Definitely
more than 480… Rez-ikes…”
Zorb and Zita slowly built into laughter.
“Definitely
more than 480,” Zita said. “This is over 2000 Resaix.”
“2000?!” the
clone blurted.
“Is 480 the best your planet’s been able to do?” Zorb
asked.
“No…” the clone said, a little embarrassed for the human
race. “720’s becoming more common now…”
“Wow…” Zorb said. “That is horrible.”
“Your hero is dead!” M1 shouted.
“How are we hearing them?” the clone asked.
“They have communicators in their ears, obviously,” Zita
said.
“There is no one to save you now!” M1 continued. “Whether
you cower or concede, it is all the same to our master!”
“Then why don’t you shut up?”
“Who said that?” Zorb asked. “Zita, move the camera
around a little. Zoom out, maybe.”
Zita used a wheel on the remote to scroll and the image
zoomed out.
“There,” the clone said, noticing something faintly
glowing in the corner of the screen. “Zoom in on that.”
Zita pointed the remote at that spot on the screen, and
then scrolled to zoom in. Someone was standing on the roof of the school
building. They looked to be human by the size of them, but being top-down, it
was hard to tell who it was.
“And the hero
isn’t dead,” the mystery person continued, “he’s right here!”
That person
dropped off the roof to the grassy Quad below! They were on the move, so Zita zoomed
back out and clicked a button. This mysterious “hero” became the center of the
screen and the camera followed them as they approached The Masquerade.
“How did he not hurt himself jumping like that?” Zorb
asked.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children
of all ages!” the new hero continued.
The clone
started to recognize that voice.
“You are about
to witness a daring act of courage and excitement guaranteed to delight!” the
hero spoke more. “An act that you will remember throughout your lifetime. Never
before has anything so daring been attempted. I am privileged to introduce to
you a real superhero! A man who
doesn’t dress like a Power Ranger cowboy or some kind of tough guy goth.”
“Power Ranger?” Zita repeated.
A lightbulb went off in the clone’s head, hearing this
person say those words again. This new hero was Craig Foster?!
“Aw HELL nah!” the clone suddenly blurted out. “Stupid
jockstrap, crap-face Craig friggin’ Foster has some kind of superpowers
now?! What happened in the last 12 days?!”
The clone was so overcome with anger, he didn’t know
whether to throw the couch or rip out his own hair.
“I’m… I’m going down there!” the clone said.
“What?” Zorb said. “Why? I doubt this guy is going to
last.”
“I don’t care! I’m going down there to take care of him
myself!” the clone shouted back. “But… But I need… I need to cover my face! I
need a mask!”
The clone stormed off for the wardrobe room while Zorb
and Zita watched the fight. There was a lot of “C’mon. C’mon!” and “Get him!
Get him!!” And other terms that didn’t quite translate to English.
The clone looked around in the wardrobe but there were no
masks of any kind. While Zorb and Zita were criminals, it should be obvious
that they’re not the kind to hide their good looks. There were plenty of hats,
though.
“This will have to do,” he said as he put one with a big
brim on.
He looked at himself in another mirror and reentered the
interface. He chose “Head” items and it actually allowed him in.
·
Hair
·
Hats
· Masks
It was rather surprising seeing he could change his hair. But he went right to “Masks.”
Invalid Head item.
“What?!” he shouted at the mirror. “Are you freakin’
kidding me?!”
He yanked the hat off his head and threw it down on the
floor in anger. Then he growled and groaned and clenched his fists as he shook
them at air. The clone looked at the fabricator but that wouldn’t be of help
since he didn’t know how to make it work.
The clone stormed back to the living room, only to
witness Craig Foster winning against
The Masquerade!
“Oh come on!!”
he boomed in anger. “Craig… Craig! They lost to Craig!?”
He then looked over to the tactician.
“Tic-Tac!” he shouted.
“That’s not my name!” Tiktakk complained.
“Who made the masks for those idiots?” he asked as he
walked over.
“Well, I did,” Taktikk said.
“Then make me one!”
“What? Why should I?”
The clone growled and turned Code Black again as he
stepped forward.
“Okay, okay!” Taktikk said, putting his hands up. “I’ll
make you one…”
“Don’t worry about how it looks,” the clone said, calming
down. “I’ll customize it myself.”
It took only a few hours for Taktikk to make a generic
white mask that simply goes on the face like the rest of the Masquerade’s
masks.
The clone put it on, and then looked into a mirror to
again enter the interface. From there, it was easy. The clone changed the mask
from the simple white that only covered his eyes and the bridge of his nose, to
a mask that completely covered his head, even his hair, but left his eyes
visible. He liked the visual of Code Black’s red eye visibly glowing amidst a
field of jet black fabric.
“Why do you need a mask?” Zorb asked. “No one knows who
The Spektrum is, right?”
“His friends do,” the clone said. “And I suppose they’ll
know something is up when I appear, but I need to differentiate myself from him
somehow.”
“He’s reinventing himself, Zorby,” Zita said. “We should
support that.”
“Yeah, Zorby,” the clone teased. “Be more reasonable,
like Zita.”
Zorb grumbled while the clone went through the Color
Codes. The mask looked fine, but he realized he had a lot of empty space on his
chest. There should be something there, but he couldn’t figure out what.
He thought about putting a letter there, but what? He
didn’t have a name for it to represent! That’s what he needed first: a name.
His brain remembered the graphic design project Simon
worked on. But the clone couldn’t use the original’s name, now could he? But he
did finally realize Simon and Spektrum were both “S.” And he’s not sure why
he’d never noticed before.
“Simon, Spektrum,” the clone muttered to himself.
He sounded out “S” quietly to himself, “Es, es.” He
thought about just being called “S” but that seemed too simple. The S should
stand for something. Though, putting an S on his chest would be too much like
Superman.
The clone looked to his surroundings for inspiration.
“Do your names mean anything?” he asked the room.
“Huh?” Zorb responded.
“Your names,” the clone said again. “They must mean
something in some language.”
“Well, actually,” Zita says proudly, “my full name is
Zitasonna Alanna Bofori Ettastella Ordafina Callarnon Bohz.”
“Oh…” the clone said. “Okay… But what does any of that
represent?”
“I dunno,” she shrugged. “It took me a long time just to
memorize it all for myself.”
The clone sighed and looked to Zorb.
“My name actually has two meanings,” Zorb said proudly.
“Firstly, it is the last letter in my people’s language. Secondly, that last
letter itself represents this concept in my people’s culture of connecting the
end of something to the beginning of a new thing.”
“End and beginning,” the clone muttered. “The beginning
and the end... Alpha and omega…”
The clone pictured such symbols for alpha and omega on
his chest, α and Ω. The alpha would not work, it isn’t symmetrical. Omega might
work, but why would he call himself that? It doesn’t seem to fit him. But what
even “fits” him? His identity is tied to The Spektrum.
Then he looked at the Masquerade. The team name was
obvious: it’s because they all wear masks.
“What do you call yourselves?” he asked them.
“Boss Zorb renamed them,” Taktikk spoke up. “M1 is red,
M2 is blue, M3 is green, M4 is yellow and M5 is black.”
“Not very creative,” the clone said.
“It was to be simple for them to remember,” Zorb said, a
little offended.
“But isn’t it confusing?” the clone countered. “If you
shout out M, they have to wait for a number, and that split second could cost
you. But then if you simply call them a number, they could get confused if
you’re using numbers in another context. Anything less than five and they’ll
think you’re talking about them.”
“No we won’t,” the five of them defend.
“Oh really?” the clone countered. “What if Zorb and Zita
were talking about… I don’t know, how many units of something they’ll need, and
the answer is, ‘one or two.’ And then you two respond because you didn’t
understand the context of their conversation.”
“That… actually happened when I was cooking those meats,”
Zita said. “Do you remember?”
Zorb sighed, thereby admitting to the fact. But the clone
got an idea.
“Then since I need a name,” he said, “how about we rename
the Masquerade, too?”
“And why would we do that?” Taktikk huffed and puffed.
“Because it’ll also be us settling the score,” the clone
said. “You five want to know if you were going to win against The Spektrum,
don’t you? Then fight me. Win, and keep your simplistic names. But lose, and I
rename you, as your new leader.”
“Excuse me?” Zorb said, sitting up. “This some kind of
mutiny?”
“Only if they lose,” the clone said, smirking through the
mask.
“Well you’re not fighting in here,” Zorb said. “But I
have just the place for it.”
They arrived on the planet Barutamey a few days later,
the very planet Zorb found and recruited the Masquerade. They even returned to
the same domed building.
The clone was in awe of this alien planet. Star Trek and
Star Wars weren’t too far off, but that didn’t change how it felt to see it all
in person.
There were flying car-like vehicles both above and below,
as this domed building was also high off the ground. The clone had to be
careful not to make himself dizzy from looking down. Though he realized, he
handled it better than the original. Perhaps being powered up eased the motion
sickness he remembered getting.
He also got a better look at Zorb’s ship now. It was
obviously going to be round given the interior, but it was almost a perfect
circle. It was off-white, and shaped like a saucer. He would call it a “flying
saucer” like the usual UFO ships, but had a yellow dome as part of it. It
looked like a sunny-side up egg!
“What’re you laughing at?” Zorb said to him.
“Nothing,” the clone said.
He followed everyone inside the building, and stood
inside the large arena.
“A lot of room, but no one else is here?” the clone
asked.
“What? Did you expect me to sell tickets to your
rebellion?” Zorb countered. “Though, I suppose that wouldn’t be such a bad
idea. But whatever, the only audience that matters is already here.”
“Welcome back, Master Zorb,” a voice said from behind the
clone.
The clone was startled and turned around to see the
short, bearded alien.
“Whoa!” the clone said. “You’re like Yoda, but with
facial hair. And slightly smaller ears.”
“Thank you again, Ojo, for hosting a fight,” Zorb said.
“Not at all, Master,” Ojo said with a bow. “Who will be
the participants this time?”
“All the ones with masks,” Zorb said as he led Zita away.
“Five against one, the boy against the rest.”
“My, my, this young one must be a glutton for
punishment,” Ojo said as he looked the clone up and down. “The luxury box is
ready for you, and I will get your mobile refueled.”
“Thank you, Ojo,” Zorb said.
He and Zita went to a platform, and it put up paneling to
become an elevator before it went up several stories. The clone could just see
the two of them enter the luxury box, which looked to be all glass. It gave the
look of the furniture floating high up above as Zorb and Zita looked down on
them.
“Start whenever you’d like,” Ojo said as he took off on a
motorized scooter.
“You heard Ojo!” Taktikk shouted to the Masquerade.
“Squash that upstart! Formation 5-1-4!”
M5 rushed the clone while M2 and M3 moved out to the
sides to flank the clone. The clone changed to Red to be ready. But M1 picked
up M4 and threw him! M4 flew ahead of M5! But the clone was ready, using Red’s
Overdrive to move fast, and pull of a move worthy of the Matrix by jumping over
M4 ever so slightly, with a spin for flair.
But just as the clone landed, M5 jumped on his arm!
“Got you now!” M5 cackled as he wrapped his arms around
the clone’s arm like a snake!
“What?!” the clone shouted in surprise.
“I never did get to show you all 100 points of articulation!”
M5 grinned as he squeezed. “Now I’ll get to use them all!”
“100, huh?” the clone said as he changed to Black. “Then
I’ll just dislocate all 100 of them!!”
He slammed M5 into the ground, but M5 held on. M2 ran in
but the clone changed to Blue and swung M5 at him! M2 leaned back to slide
under. M3 leaped over M2 and tumbled towards the clone. But as M3 was in the
air, the clone swatted him away with M5!
M1 headed straight for the clone, and M5 gripped the
clone’s arm tighter. The clone changed to Blue to endure the pain, and lifted
M5 up off the ground with that one arm, to then swing at M1. M1 wasn’t bothered
by that at all, and retaliated with a big kick! The clone flew for a few yards
then tumbled and rolled when he hit the ground. And M5 still didn’t let go.
“M4, get back already!” Taktikk shouted.
M4 finally stood up and headed for where the clone was on
the ground. M5 held on tight but was just being dead weight at this point. M4
picked up speed, and led with his head as he went right for the clone. M4
launched himself with a big leap, but he ran right into Blue’s force field with
a blunt *DONGK* sound. The clone laughed as M4 fell backwards in a heap, but
then M5 constricted his arm.
“Knock it off!” the clone shouted.
The clone took a step back with one leg, and then rammed
his knee into M5’s side! M5 barked in pain and the clone rammed him more. M5’s
grip finally loosened, and the clone slipped his arm out. The clone grabbed
M5’s ankle and twisted, but it didn’t hurt M5 at all. In fact, the clone was
able to twist the ankle completely around, but it didn’t seem to hurt!
“I told you about my articulation, idiot!” M5 sneered.
“That’s not going to be enough!”
The clone kicked M5 in the thigh as hard as he could!
“OW!” M5 let out.
M1 jogged over, and the clone felt his force field won’t
be enough to hold him back. The clone threw M5 at M1, but M1 kept charging. M5
used his insane amount of joints to fold up into an actual ball. He bounces off
of M1 as the red giant kept charging at the clone.
M2 blindsided the clone from the left, then the right,
then the left again with his super speed. The clone staggered around, but could
see M1 still heading his way. He changed to Yellow and used Analyze. His
souped-up brain kept up with M2’s speed, and helped his body time it right. As
M2 came back around, the clone caught M2 by an arm! The clone held on tight as
Black and used M2’s momentum to spin around while swinging the short blue
speedster!
“AAAAAAAAAH!” M2 screamed as he flew around in a circle.
The clone watched as M1 approached, unflinching. The
clone waited for just the right moment… to let go!
“AAAAAAH!” M2 screamed more as he flew at M1!
The little blue alien ended up colliding with M1’s knees!
M1 fell forward and hit his face on the ground! M1 pushed himself up on his
hands, but the clone ran in and rammed his knee into M1’s masked face!
M5 came back, crawling like a spider. He jumped up and
grabbed the clone, but the clone turned Yellow to easily slip through and throw
M5 into the ground. M5 became a spiral and spun at the clone like a drill, but
the clone turned Red to use speed in his evading. M5 landed on his feet and
turned around, just as the clone tried Yellow’s Flash Kick! But M5 bent all the
way back to avoid it! M5 then held his own ankles and became a wheel that
rolled away!
M3 kicked the clone in the back! The clone clutched his
back as he turned to glare at the green one with wild hair. M3 egged the clone
on with a wave of his hand. The clone stepped to M3, and M3 immediately threw
punches. The clone bobbed ‘n’ weaved thanks to Yellow’s Analyze. Then when an
opening presented itself, he used another thrust of his knee to hit M3 in the
chin! M3 staggered but stayed up, until the clone went Red, used Overdrive and
the light ropes to come in from the side and spear tackle him down!
“Ugh I hate how greasy you are,” the clone grumbled as he
stood up.
M5 rolled back at the clone and used the momentum to
spring up! But the clone evaded again, and got behind M5 as he landed on all
fours. The clone changed to Silver and kicked the back of M5’s leg as hard as
he could! The leg flung forward like a slinky and wobbled like one, too. M5
winced in pain as he started falling back. But the clone caught him and lifted
him onto his shoulders all in one motion.
M5 was upside-down in the inverted fireman’s carry,
staring up at the ceiling as the clone stood up. The clone used this to invert
Silver’s old slam, tilting to the left and pushing M5 up with his right hand.
It was that familiar arcing throw, but instead of landing hard on his back like
Zorb way back when, M5 landed right on his head as gravity pulled them down!
“Well that’s that,” the clone said to himself as he stood
back up.
But then M4 rammed his bronze forehead into the clone’s
back! The clone stayed standing, but he clutched his lower back as he doubled
over. He stood up slowly, hand still on his back, as he changed to Black. He
glared over his shoulder at M4, who realized he made a mistake.
The clone spun around to punch M4 in the head, but M4
didn’t fall over. If anything, the clone hurt his hand. M4 reeled his head
back, but the clone spun the other way to back kick M4 in the hip. M4 staggered
and the clone jumped on his back! M4 tried to throw the clone off but he held
on. The clone managed to wrap an arm around M4’s neck. He turned M4 and pulled
back in the inverted sleeper hold, also known as a “dragon sleeper.”
“You’re basically the new Pulverize,” the clone said.
“You’re durable, but you still need to breathe!”
The clone then lifted M4 using the dragon sleeper, and
started swinging him around! M4 didn’t scream like M2, but that was from being choked
out by the clone’s arm. The clone stopped spinning to then drop back and add a
“body scissor,” squeezing M4’s ribs with his legs. M4 reached around with his
arms, but even slapping and clawing at the clone’s face, it wasn’t enough to
get him to let go. M4’s movements dulled, and he passed out quickly. Only then
did the clone let go.
“I… I think he won,” Ojo said.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Zorb sneered at him.
“Zorby, you’re not going to shoot him, are you?” Zita
asked. “We just got him!”
“And look at the trouble he’s made!” Zorb countered.
“First he tried to run away, and now he’s beaten the henchmen we hired to be
better than the henchmen the original beat! I don’t want to start over any more
than you do, but having memories of his other self, he’s too unruly!”
“But-!”
Zorb ignored her as he went back to the elevator. He rode
down to the floor and kept his eyes on the clone as he slowly stood up. The
moment the elevator opened up, Zorb stormed right over to the clone. Zorb
pulled out his golden gun, cocked it, and aimed with both hands, all while
still walking forward.
The clone looked at Zorb over his shoulder, the red eye
glowing as it glared.
“Is your space mobile all fueled up?” the clone asked.
“W-What?” Zorb asked, confused.
“Yes, actually,” Ojo answered from up in the luxury box.
“Ojo, would you shut up?!” Zorb shouted back.
“Then let’s get going,” the clone said as he walked
towards the exit.
“What?” Zorb asked, even more confused.
“We’re going back to Earth, aren’t we?” the clone asked.
“Then let’s not waste time… Boss.”
Zorb was even more confused now. Zita rejoined him on the
ground floor while the Masquerade regrouped, sore and beat up as they were.
They all followed the clone outside and back onboard.
On the trip back, the clone realized he wasn’t just
instantly healing. It must have to do with being able to switch from powered
form to normal human form. It always seemed rather convenient to have that
power, but he clearly took it for granted. He had to slap on several ice packs
to ease the aches and pains.
Also on the trip back, the clone came up with the new
names for him and the Masquerade.
“First off, the team name is so simple,” he said. “We
need something a bit more intense. We should be, ‘The Masqueraders.’ See?
Because then it rhymes with ‘raiders,’ which are like pirates. Do you have the
concept of pirates in space?”
“Of course,” Zorb said. “What do you think we all are?”
The clone suddenly pictured Zorb with an eyepatch and peg
leg, sailing the seas on his sunny-side up egg ship, and chuckled.
“Well then, you Masqueraders aren’t going to be simply
numbered one through five,” the clone continued. “Your little translaters don’t
pick up non-English, so we’ll go with that.”
He went to each Masquerader in turn.
“Oo-sa,” he said to the red.
“Doo-ha,” he said to the blue.
“Too-low,” he said to the green.
“Oo-pot,” he said to the yellow.
“Lee-ma,” he said to the black.
“That is one through five, in Tagalog,” the clone
explained. “Repeat what I said as I point to you.”
“Usa,” M1 said.
“Duha,” M2 said.
“Tulo,” M3 said.
“Upat,” M4 said.
“Lima,” M5 said.
“Good,” the clone said.
“And what’re you going to be?” Zorb asked. “Whatever
‘six’ is?”
“No, because that’d be stupid,” the clone said. “In our
new hierarchy, I rank above these five, but below you two. What comes before
even the number one?”
“Zero,” Zita answered.
“Exactly,” the clone said. “So call me, ‘Siro.’”
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