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Fallen Stardust: A boy, an outcast and an alien must find salvation in a world of ruin. Samuel must find a medicine to cure the fever ravaging his village. Markus must find the motive that murdered those he loved. And an angel must find a future in a city crumbled into debris. But something lurks beneath the wasted world, and waking it may doom what little of humanity survives.
The Sisters Will Dance: Blaine Woosely claws his way back to the living. He has cleaned his blood of his addiction, and an unexpected, family farm home rewards his efforts. Only, the country acres isolate Blaine when a sharp-toothed monster hunts to bring Blaine back to dark. The sad history of Blaine's blood brings magic to the country home's new master, but in the end, only Blaine himself can break his chains.
Mr. Hancock’s Signature: The dead walk in Monteray. The corpse of a nearly forgotten farmer named Hancock arrives via train. Ian Washington remembers Mr. Hancock and vows to return the body home. Yet Mr. Hancock's body will not rest while Ian works to reopen a cemetery, and the corpse staring each morning upon the doorstep forces the town to choose between the isolation of their fear or the hope of their fellowship.
Brother Keepers
Brian S. Wheeler
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2014 by Brian S. Wheeler
Contents
Chapter 1 – A Universal Donor and the Perfect Doctor
Chapter 2 – Limited Tomorrows
Chapter 3 - Missed Rendezvous
Chapter 4 – Making Amends
Chapter 5 – Sharing the Game
Chapter 6 – A Night Out With Friends
Chapter 7 – Inevitable Harvest
Chapter 8 – Benefactors
Help Spread the Story Across the Flatland
About the Writer
Other Stories at Flatland Fiction
Chapter 1 - A Universal Donor and the Perfect Doctor
"How would you describe living at Clover Fields, Ernie? What's it like to live with Oliver? Is it as wonderful as the rest of us imagine?"
The floodlights behind Ms. Saunders make my eyes water, and I stammer a moment. I'm not very good at lying, and I rarely have the opportunity to converse with company. So though Dr. Zito has forced Oliver and me to rehearse for this interview all week, I still go blank trying to remember what it was Dr. Zito wanted me to say. I hope the camera just over Ms. Saunders' shoulder doesn't notice how I'm starting to sweat.
"There's never a dull moment, Ms. Saunders."
I hope my response doesn't sound too forced or flat. Dr. Zito spent so much time teaching me how to place feeling into my enunciation.
Ms. Saunders smiles at me. I like the way she smiles. I think something glows behind Ms. Saunders' green eyes as she looks at me. I like the way her dark hair falls upon her slender shoulders. I like the way her earrings sway, how her lipstick glistens in all the lighting the cameramen flood into the room. Before Ms. Saunders arrived at Clover Fields, the only women I ever saw were in Dr. Zito's glossy magazines, or those on my glowing computer monitor. Ms. Saunders appears to take pleasure in my response, and I'm surprised to feel my heartbeat quicken.
Dr. Zito shifts his weight in his wing-back, leather chair. The wooden legs creak as the doctor's girth readjusts upon the cushions, and the sound attracts Ms. Saunders' attention.
"Ernie is a very active young man, Ms. Saunders," Dr. Zito's deep voice is somehow slower than usual. "There's not a free moment allowed in your demanding schedule, is there Ernie?"
I can't look Dr. Zito in the eye, no matter how many times I've rehearsed for this interview. Lying is so much harder when I can hear the cameras buzzing in the room, when I know those lenses are capturing my face for television.
I nod as I answer Dr. Zito. "I'm always doing something, Ms. Saunders."
Dr. Zito winks at me before charging back into the conversation. "Ernie does so many activities to help him remain active and healthy. He's a real sportsman. He swims. He water skis. He enjoys horseback riding, Judo, wrestling and basketball. And I'm naming only a handful of Ernie's many pursuits. It would be mush easier for Ernie to share those interests with you, Ms. Saunders, if he was not so shy and so modest."
I nod and look at my shoes. Though I want to look deeper into Ms. Saunders' glowing, green eyes, I'm afraid she'll recognize my falsehood if she catches me peeking at her.
I've told Ms. Saunders exactly what Dr. Zito told me to tell the interviewer. I've nodded and agreed that I never experience a dull moment in the mansion that composes Dr. Zito's Clover Fields estate. The truth, however, is that I'm bored out of my mind. I don't do any of those things Dr. Zito claims I do. He doesn't let me. He seldom lets me go out of my room at all. Dr. Zito and Oliver are always too afraid of me getting hurt. Dr. Zito can't stomach the thought of me breaking a bone, or cracking a rib; and Oliver is always so determined to appease the doctor that he hovers over me day and night like some kind of motorized, guardian angel. My strict and daily exercise regimen for my heart health is restricted to the elliptical machine - Dr. Zito and Oliver are too worried about the negative effects jogging on a treadmill might have on my knees.
"Dr. Zito, is it true that Ernie is an image of yourself?" Ms. Saunders asks. "Is it true that Ernie looks like you might've looked when you were younger? Is it true that Ernie looks just like you might've looked if you had reached your physical potential?"
A glint of anger sparks in the back of Dr. Zito's eyes. His face, with its cheeks made so plump from all the doctor's years of prime rib and bourbon, turns red. Dr. Zito quickly attempts to conceal that anger, scratching at the gray beard upon his chin as he hopes to distract Ms. Saunders from realizing she's touched a nerve. But I've seen Dr. Zito's anger so many times that he cannot disguise it from me. I often think there's something about my form that makes Dr. Zito despise me, no matter that Dr. Zito himself is responsible for my creation.
"Forgive me if I gave any offense, Dr. Zito. It certainly wasn't my intention." The doctor's ire didn't go unnoticed by the interviewer. "All of us of course realize that Ernie is something less than a man. Ernie's face is branded with those two blue rings circling his right eye that plainly tells us he's a clone. It's only that one can't resist the impression that Ernie looks like you must've looked when you were young."
Dr. Zito smiles at Ms. Saunders' green eyes. "I must admit my physique was never quite like Ernie's. Realize that Ernie's benefited from his genetic modifications. His genetic coding promises far more potential than mine ever held. It's not a fair comparison between the two of us."
"And that doesn't give your immune system any problems in accepting Ernie's donations?"
"Ernie's variations fall far short of inviting rejection," Dr. Zito answers. "I created no customary clone when I helped Ernie step out of his birthing vat. It took me years to perfect Ernie's code. It took many clones before Ernie to find it. But Ernie is in every sense the universal donor. Should I need a lung or a kidney, I don't have to fear the least that my body wi
ll reject what Ernie gives me."
Ms. Saunders raises an eyebrow. "You're on the verge of reaping a second fortune, one that will make your quantum computing empire look paltry. We've all read your proposal. You propose to make hospital and emergency rooms obsolete. You claim that the time is coming when you'll replace doctors. You say you'll introduce all the new organs and parts a person might come to need straight to their door. And you say you'll also deliver the caregiver to administer any surgery or aid that a person might come to need. What wouldn't people pay to realize such a dream?"
Dr. Zito chuckles. "I'm counting they'll pay a lot, but I'm not expecting to receive that fortune soon. There's still much to work out. I must know I can duplicate my success with Ernie. I must learn if I can achieve such results in clones of different faces and forms. There's all the legal questions to answer, all the patents to secure. It could take years before I enjoy whatever wealth Ernie brings to me."
"And I don't doubt you have all the time you need to wait," Ms. Saunders leans forward in her chair, and the camera lights feel warmer on the back of my neck. "Is it true that you plan to live forever now that you know how to make all the universal donors, all the Ernies, you'll ever need?"
Dr. Zito rolls his eyes. "I'm no god, Ms. Saunders. I cannot deny grim death forever, but I do believe I can add decades to my life with Ernie's help. I believe that I can extend all those extra decades to others."
Ms. Saunders turns and stares at me. The camera lenses follow her lead. I squirm. Ms. Saunders is not the first to be invited onto the Clover Fields estate to meet me. My isolation hasn't been so complete that Dr. Zito and Oliver have never allowed me out of my room. My life is a lonely one, and I always think I will better enjoy the guests that come to the estate, but they always disappoint me. At some point or another, they always stare at me, just as Ms. Saunders is staring now. Her expression unnerves me. It's as if she can't decide what I am. It's as if she can't accept Dr. Zito's promise that I am only a clone.
Ms. Saunders blinks out of her stare. "Be sure to trim that pause out of the edit, Mack." Ms. Saunders shifts the notecards in her lap a bit before turning her attention back to Dr. Zito. "How will you guarantee your promise? A million random events can hurt, and kill, a person at any moment. Yet you claim you can protect yourself from accident. You say you need no emergency room or hospital. So you have the spare parts that you need, but don't you still have to have someone who knows how to make all the repairs?"
"I do indeed," Dr. Zito's face glows in glee. The moment he's been waiting for has finally arrived in the interview. "It's time to introduce my greatest achievement, Ms. Saunders. Let me introduce you to Oliver."
The cameras swivel and the lights adjust as Oliver's servo-motors whirl into the study. Oliver never fails to impress. His pair of triangular treads roll towards Ms. Saunders at that same steady pace that always suggests to me that Oliver has everything under control. The halo antennae that circles Oliver's plastic head no doubt instantly accounts for everyone's position. The telescoping eye, the only feature on Oliver's face, turns to focus upon the scene. Oliver waves all six of his hands as he rolls towards Ms. Saunders, and Ms. Suanders gapes in wonder at Oliver's six arms, all of which twist and twirl, bend and articulate, to boast of that robot's dexterity.
Oliver's narrow cylinder of a torso bends to give Ms. Saunders a bow, and his voice carries its silly, English accent out from Oliver's mouthless faceplate.
"Paramedic and surgeon robot 11ZA at your pleasure, Miss Saunders. You may call me 'Oliver.'"
"Hello," Ms. Saunders giggles as Oliver gently shakes the interviewer's hand. "How do you fit into Dr. Zito's plan for extending mankind's life?"
Oliver, as always, looks first to Dr. Zito.
"Go ahead, Oliver. State your primary function."
"My primary function is to care for Ernie."
Ms. Saunders grins. "Can you elaborate?"
"It is my primary function to insure that Ernie at all times remains in optimal health." Oliver might only be a computer on a pair of treads, with his silicon, quantum computer brain hidden somewhere behind all that plastic, but Oliver thinks on his feet. "I monitor Ernie's heart rate and blood pressure three times a day. I supervise Ernie's exercise regimen. I administer any medication Ernie might need to overcome a common cold. Should Ernie become hurt, I am at his side to mend any broken bone or sew closed any laceration. I quickly apply a cold compress to any of Ernie's contusions."
Dr. Zito winks at his robot. "You're as shy and humble as Ernie. Tell Ms. Saunders what you're really capable of doing, Oliver."
Oliver's servo-motors whirl. His elbows swirl. His arms fold. In an instant, many of Oliver's fingers retract into his palms to make room for the scalpels and needles that extend from his plastic compartments.
"I remain at any instance ready to perform any surgery an emergency might demand. Should Ernie experience a sudden brain aneurism, I can turn whatever hall in which Ernie has fallen into an operating room, and I can quickly open Ernie's skull to save him. I can remove a bursting appendix. My halo antennae is sensitive enough to detect any cancerous cells lingering in Ernie's organs and tissue, and I am equipped to remove any such cells before they spread."
Ms Saunders raises an eyebrow. "I thought Ernie was supposed to be immune to cancer."
Dr. Zito winks. "Oliver is only listing examples of everything he is prepared to tackle. I've worked very hard to leave no malady beyond the reach of Oliver's hands and programming."
"Could Oliver operate on you, Dr. Zito?"
"Go ahead and answer her, Oliver."
Oliver's plastic head nods. "Of course. I keep Ernie healthy so that any of his organs may be donated should Dr. Zito fall ill. I am well equipped to transplant any tissue to Dr. Zito that might improve the doctor's health."
"And that doesn't give you the chills in any way, Dr. Zito?"
Dr. Zito bellows a laugh. "Of course not, Ms. Saunders. I have complete trust in Oliver. He is capable of performing the most complex of surgeries with a precision that would make the most experienced of surgeons envious. It's difficult for me to explain why Oliver is my greatest creation. His quantum circuitry is finer than anything ever put onto a microchip. Oliver's mind is capable of making decisions like no other robotic brain. Oliver's my masterpiece. He's the last piece needed in my plan to rewrite everything concerning what we know of the health industry. I have no doubt that the robot will be able to quickly recognize any care or surgery Ernie or myself might need."
Ms. Saunders pauses to think before turning towards the robot. "And do you modify Dr. Zito's diet, Oliver?"
I again see that ire spark behind the doctor's eyes. Oliver never objects as Dr. Zito helps himself to additional helpings of foie gras, caviar pasta or suckling pig. I've never heard Oliver protest as the doctor pours himself another scotch or brandy. Oliver once chided me for requesting one too many tofu sandwiches, but that robot's never dared question its master's diet.
"Oliver is not programmed to monitor my diet," Dr. Zito snarls.
I think there's mirth at the back of Ms. Saunders' eyes. "I only ask on account of so many rumors concerning the health of your heart, Dr. Zito."
"I promise my heart is far healthier than the tabloids like to report, Ms. Saunders. Oliver gives me ample medical attention."
"And you have Ernie?"
I can't match Ms. Saunders' stare as she faces me. I look back down at my shoes. My own heart feels lodged within my throat.
Dr. Zito leans forward in his chair, and again the wooden legs creak as his weight readjusts. "If needed. You admit to seeing those rings circling Ernie's right eye. Would you suggest that Ernie is something more than a clone?"
"I would certainly not," Ms. Saunders smiles. "Perhaps we've reached a good location to pause. Perhaps the boys and I could take a look about the estate."
Dr. Zito pauses. "Security being what it is, Ms. Saunders, I'm in no habit to give tours about the grounds."
Ms.
Saunders gently places a hand on Dr. Zito's knee. "Oh, but my audience would love to get an inside peek at the home of the rich and famous Dr. Zito. I promise to give you complete control as to what we can and cannot show on the video. It's just that my audience would love to know where and how the country's favorite doctor spends his time."
Dr. Zito smiles. "I suppose I can accommodate you. So long as I control what makes it onto television."
The chair creaks as Dr. Zito's knees pop as he stands from his chair. The doctor escorts Ms. Saunders and her crew of cameramen out of the study and deeper into the estate. Dr. Zito will no doubt show them his polo grounds, his shooting range and his great swimming pool. He will claim that I put all those opportunities for recreation to good use. He will repeat that I am always engaged in one exotic sport or another to stay fit - from scuba diving to Jai alia.
In reality, Oliver will merely escort me back into my chamber, where I will continue to be bored out of my mind.
Oliver gently grasps my wrist before I make a move to exit the study. The robot has gripped my arms so many times that he's stopped asking for permission. He silently measures my pulse. I'm sure his halo antenna is scanning me for any trace of illness. Oliver will examine me several more times before the day is through.
The two of us go through the routine so often each day that I don't even flinch when a needle protrudes from one of Oliver's fingers.
* * * * *