“Hi there.”

Banister and Melanie turned to the voice.

“Looks like you two are missin the party.”

Banister turned back to focus on the sky. “Yeah, someone has to fly the ship.”

Melanie looked at the man, who wore a dark brown jacket, grey pants, and had dark brown side-burns. She couldn’t help but stare into his eyes…they were hazel, and they seemed almost to glow…

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” said the man, coming over on Melanie’s right side so that she could see him and fly the ship. “Just a bunch of jaw heads movin.”

For some reason Melanie felt comfortable in his presence, as if she’d always known him and he was just coming in the pilot room just to check up on old friends…and make sure they’re not bored and lonely.

“It’s a Hemingway 49,” said Banister, as he saw the man slowly pass his hand across the control counter of the ship.

“I used to fly one of these when I was with the Revenants.”

Melanie turned to the man to gaze again into his unique eyes. “You were with the Revenants?”

“Was is right. They weren’t the easiest of a bunch, but they were good.”

Banister kept his eyes locked on the front thick windshield. “They were terrific. I once heard a story when I was younger that they could’ve taken the whole Elite Army of Dracu, if only they had one more ship to back them up.”

“Yes, the Elite Army,” said the man, slowly nodding his head, staring out methodically. “They weren’t the easiest of a bunch either: Dracu’s private army. We broke through all his other lines to meet them…head on. I don’t know how many friends I lost…all good guys.” Then the man shot a hand into his pocket and pulled out a beer, which he quickly tossed to his other hand. “But they weren’t good enough.”

He broke the seal of the beer, and some of the spray caught Melanie on the side of the face. She could smell the alcohol on her, and she lunged for a drink.

“I’m sorry,” said the man coming over to Melanie and wiping the side of her face with a gentle touch. “Did I getcha?”

“No biggie,” she replied modestly, curiously looking at his clean boots, sparkling in the light from the flickering buttons that filled the cockpit.

“My name’s Morto,” said the man smiling down at her.

Sitting next to her and steering with her, Banister gritted his teeth.

“So just where do you plan on finding M. Model 74?” Although M. Model 73 hadn’t had feeling programmed into him, he somehow sensed that foreign sense of frustration and helplessness that accompanied many humans after journeying long distances through wasteland filled with death and muck while breathing in the toxic vapors of various melted and fried materials and the smoke bombs.

“Don’t Fear the Reaper.”

“What was that?”

Morto laughed. “It’s a song I found when I was a little kid. I used to listen to it four times a day.

“Oh, right, from the Blue Oyster Cult!”

“Now you remember.”

M. Model 73 pondered for a little bit as he trudged and tripped behind Morto. “Your memory is improving then?”

Morto punted a robotic skull that was positioned upright into the distance. “Little by little.”

“Soon you will remember Experiment 489. Hopefully I will not be near you when this occurs.”

Morto stopped and turned around. He glared at the clone, then turned back and continued trekking forward.

“What’s Experiment 489 and why should it be significant.”

“They were observing the way you fought…and the way you killed.”

Morto’s eyes began to get sensitive.

“What did they have me do?”

“If your memory is coming back, you’ll remember soon enough. I’m sorry.”

“Forget about it.”

As Morto trekked up muddy and debris ridden hills, waded through toxic waste swamps created by shredded factories, and scaled the heights from charcoaled city walls, he prayed to God that what they had him do could be forgiven, not just by Him, but by himself.

M. Model 74 found it easier to seduce a woman than he previously had thought. As long as they knew that knocking boots in the back of the ship in the sleeping bunkers was possible, whilst a replacement by name of Walrus could take over the co-pilot position, then he was well beyond what most women could resist. As Melanie led him down to the sleeping bunkers in the back of the ship, he smiled to himself. Dangerous times created an easy way to get…what did the humans call it…what did Morto call it? Ah, to get ‘theirs’. As his data could recall from Morto’s memory, Morto wasn’t exactly fond of those you got ‘theirs’. M. Model 74 was glad he was not Morto in the flesh; following those pointless morals and beliefs. He knew that Morto was a believer in God…but what was God? All M. Model 74 could compile was that God was a secret source that gave strength and energy, as well as guidance for difficult situations. It was really dynamic, and there was more to it…things like ‘love’ played a large part. The clone didn’t want to think about the human complexities now, he was very content with his simple mechanisms that simplified everything and made it more…realistic. Machines were the future, and the humans, as well as their beliefs, were yet to be put to an end.

But to Melanie’s and M. Model 74’s disappointment, the sleeping bunkers were already full. Everyone had the same except M. Model 74, that is.

Morto and M. Model 73 were lonely figures amongst rubble. A smoky horizon began to glimmer behind them as they hiked up yet another hill. After finding a crashed ship and salvaging what he could find from it, like the vital food and water he so desperately lunged for, Morto began to answer his clone’s questions more fully. The clone thought it odd how a few things like food and water could so significantly adjust something’s mood: Morto seemed almost jolly.

“It’s called Alpha Base 7, a.k.a. the ‘Reunion’, if you know it well enough to call it that. Rebels meet there all the time to trade and converse, plan and plot. It just so happens that Mr. Evil Me is bound there, I’m sure of it, because that’s where he can do the most damage.”

“But,” said M. Model 73 with crossed brows, “how can you be sure, completely?”

“Because I can. I’m makin the decisions and you’ll just have to tag along if you’re wise.”

“Fair enough.” But the clone was still thoroughly confused. How well were humans’ calculations?

“Why didn’t you know that?” asked Morto. “You should be telling me all this shit, shouldn’t you?”

“You would think that, but unfortunately, like I’ve said earlier, my military wisdom is at a lack.”

“Hmm.”

“But if you’d like, I could tell you stories of your past…family…friends…a dog—even though it was only alive for about thirty-six hours.”

“Was it a mine?”

“A pit, with metal shrapnel at the bottom.”

“Yeah, don’t tell me that story…” Morto began to ponder. Indeed it was strange that he would have someone else tell him about his own life…but screw it, the time needed to pass anyway.

“Talk away. But say something about a relationship I had with a nice lookin lady. I want my imagination to start goin.”

M. Model 73 coughed. “Which relationship?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

He was very much a ladies’ man, thought Melanie as she sat just her and the man named Morto in a rather small bathroom. He looked at her in such a way that caused goosebumps to go on her arms. She rubbed her arms, and the feeling went away. She was looking into the eyes of a man who could really give her a good time… she just knew it. Slowly she felt his touch on her, and she was a little alarmed to find it very cold. But still, she didn’t care. Right now she was going to have some fun. She passed a hand across his side; she found the man’s was very sturdy and must be in excellent shape. ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘he was going to need all the energy he could ge—’

But Melanie’s thoughts suddenly went silent. It wasn’t because she was lost in an ecstasy, or was suddenly very tired…her mind just ceased to function suddenly.

M. Model 74 took his hand away from that certain pressure point that caused instant death to most humans, and observed in a sort of peaceful silence the body of…oh, well, the name wasn’t important. If he could feel lust, the feeling would surely have come to him now…but he couldn’t feel lust. He just looked at a human figure that was now inoperative and of no more use. He was still holding her warm body, but not because he was sad or regretful of what he did, but because he didn’t want her to make a clutter when she hit the floor. The space they were in was cramped, for sure, a little spaceship bathroom. M. Model 74 opened the lid to the toilet and nodded his head satisfied. It would do just fine.

M. Model 73 stood on the tallest hill of his whole journey so far. From that hill, he gazed up in wonder at a huge city held up in the rocks of a large rock face.

“Hasn’t Dracu discovered this yet?” he asked Morto, who was steadily going down the hill towards base of the rock face.

“Sure. But as long as he knows where it is, than he doesn’t have to search as hard for everyone there spread out. Soon enough he’ll pounce on the place and kill everything.”

M. Model 73 swallowed and started following Morto. The clone hoped that that day wouldn’t be while they were there.

Leopard was very drunk as he pulled Parker away from the rest of the partying crew. “Hey, where’s Melanie? She loves this shit.”

Parker seemed confused. “She was on co-pilot, but now I don’t know where she is.”

Leopard grabbed Parker roughly by the collar and stared at him through glassy eyes. “Tell her to meet me. I want to…talk to her.”

“I don’t where she is!”

“Find her or I’ll kill you.”

Maybe it was the time he had spent with Leopard, the experience in the man’s presence, that drove fear down his spine. Leopard was a dangerous man. But a drunk Leopard could be postal. “Yes,” choked out Parker. “I’ll find her.”

Leopard tossed Parker back into the crowd towards the direction of an exit, towards an open corridor that led to all the quarters of the ship.

The guards asked Morto and M. Model 73 their reason for stay, and asked for Morto explained that he and his twin brother were mugged recently, and needed to meet up with their parents to get more money. The guards laughed at them, then let them pass into the elevator shaft that led up the rock to the Reunion.

“You seem tense,” said Morto, observing M. Model 73’s uneasiness.

“As silly as it sounds, I have a problem trusting other technology.”

Morto nodded to the passing landscape through the elevator window. “I’ve always had that problem.”

At the depot dock, Morto and M. Model 73 looked around themselves. The clone stared at many of the imposing human figures. “How do you plan to find him?” He had to nearly yell above all the activity.

Morto’s eyes passed through the crowds. People busied themselves selling, buying, and trading all sorts of things from grapes to grenades in little booths and vendors made out of bits of metal and what ever else could be harvested.

“I would say that he would be the one finding me, but I don’t actually think he’s looking for ol’ Morto. If he does find him, I wonder if might actually try to avoid him.”

M. Model 73 seemed confused. “No, I believe that when he gets the chance, he will most certainly try to kill you.”

“Thanks for the thought.” Morto started to peel his way through the passing crowds.

M. Model 73 also went forward; he was hesitant: didn’t like the feel of all the humans, but he did his best not to get swept away by the current. He tried to keep his head up and have Morto’s head in clear view. Soon, though, Morto’s head disappeared completely, blended with the others, and the clone found himself alone…amongst strangers in a strange city hundreds of feet above the ground. Would he even be able to get down? How did you get down anyway? But he knew that if he ever did get back down to level surface, where would he go? Wait! He thought: I’m Morto after all; I should know everything about this place! …Morto did know this place, didn’t he?

Morto asked everyone he could find where the loading dock for new arriving ships was, but no one seemed to speak his language.

“Damn!” said Morto under his breath. In a bar in Lost Vegas, he remembered talking to a man…yes, he talked to a man about his beloved ‘Reunion’; but Morto didn’t seem to like this place any more than Lost Vegas. He turned into an alley and a prostitute grabbed at his leg, and he jumped back, just as a burly man with a beard was walking by. The man threw Morto across the hard dirty floor, kicked him a while, then continued walking. Morto hated lying down unable to do anything while he bled...especially when there were prostitutes looking down at him laughing. Holding his side, he painfully got up. ‘Painfully getting up’ seemed to be like a ritual now a days, but he wasn’t about to stay still…not while he had an evil clone on the loose: speaking and talking like him, ready to kill like him.

Morto turned around to face M. Model 73, but the clone wasn’t in sight. So there Morto was, standing numbly in a filthy alley with prostitutes, in a strange city…far above the ground. Then the thought occurred to him: how was he getting down?

He asked one of the prostitutes this question: ship, she said, the elevator was a one way. Morto swore under his breath: like he had a ship…

M. Model 74 enjoyed himself at the party, which was finally dying down. He was only basking in the imitation of joy, as his data was formed around; but alas he preferred it to sleeking through shadows and replacing crew members with corpses. He probably killed four crew members already, just enough to not leave any suspicion. Why was he killing? The clone pondered this question. Because that was what he did: he was programmed too well to pass up such a gift. The thought of being ‘gifted’ amused the clone. Was he gifted, or was he just an expert? Yes, he was an expert. Every ‘gift’ was already pre-made: there were no surprises, there never were going to be any for him. But suddenly he was surprised. The ship had stopped, the crew drunkenly wondered to their bunks to get their things. Everyone was finally gone from the party room…except for one man. This human was very drunk, lying back against the wall. M. Model 74 could see that he was playing with a gun in his hand. The clone smiled: it was about time he got a gun.

Leopard raised his head and stared at the last man in the room…other than himself. He looked at the man and he knew he hated him. He looked familiar, and the man was also walking forward in his direction, with a stupid smile on his face.

“What is it you son of a bitch?” said Leopard, trying to rub his body against the wall and create enough support so that he could get to his feet. The man continued to walk forward…he had an odd look in his eyes…he had funny eyes all together actually. Leopard hated him, and he was finally on his feet. He raised the pistol, and the other man raised his eyebrows curiously. Leopard fired a shot right into the bastard’s chest, and he watched as he held himself and stumbled out of the room.

Leopard smiled. That’ll teach him.

By the time Morto found M. Model 73, M. Model 73 looked like a torn piece of scrap metal. What was once a replica of Morto in every physical aspect, now held avail to something that would be of better use recycled and melted down into something useful…but the clone still thought he was useful, which was why even when his legs were folded under him and his arms ripped off, with half of his face missing, he still tried to find Morto. But Morto found him, and as of now, perhaps it was because despite the clone being un-human, Morto felt like he had a sort of friendship with him, with the human characteristics he had, and he was feeling enraged.

“Who did this to you?” asked Morto, trying to talk through clenched teeth as he dragged the poor wretch from the main street.

“They did not themselves.”

Morto noticed the clone’s jaw was hanging loosely, and sparks sputtered and quickly died as he spoke.

“Don’t worry,” said Morto plopping the clone next to a huge garbage bin at the entrance of an alley. “I’ll bring you to a mechanic.”

The clone’s one functioning eye shot up to look at Morto. “It’s not safe being with me.”

“Why do you say that?” said Morto, as he was about to pick up M. Model 73.

“They thrashed me well, saying ‘Death to Clone’. I have a feeling the people are quite particular towards my kind and I.”

Morto stood up straight, and for while just stared at the people passing by through the main street, never pausing to glance in the alley. Finally Morto looked down at M. Model 73. “Ok, this is what we’ll do.” He went over to the dumpster and gathered as much trash as he could. Holding the trash above the clone, he said one more thing before he covered him and entered the main street again, this time to find a mechanic: “Be quiet, stay still.”

The only name to come to Morto’s mind was Alphus Graves. True, he was another two-named man, but what he was going to ask him didn’t concern that. Alphus was a friend from the war, from one of many wars, and last he heard from this comrade was that he was going to be a mechanic in a city called Alpha Base 7, also known as the Reunion, for those that knew it well. Alphus told him where to find this place, what went on there…Morto was hit hard by someone racing past him, Morto slid sideways, but was soon pushed back into the current of moving peopl