‘ATLANTIS DOESN’T FEEL RIGHT’ BUZZED incessantly at the back of Milo’s head, keeping his plans slightly but noticeably out of sync with actions. He’d had two opportunities to deal with the guards and both times a split-second of hesitation had killed the moment. Atlantis smelled the same, humidity wasn’t drastically altered, the grass—in that moment the captives had been transferred from the ship to the outdoor holding cube—had its usual strong, vibrant resistance underfoot, but there was something…different. As if the local gravity had shifted a notch. And Warren not saying a word the entire time they’d been in the cube didn’t ease things. His clone sat with both feet planted on the pressure sensitive floor, seemingly intent upon the lines of his hands.
“A palmist,” said Milo, “told me my life lines will never break. I think I was thirteen. Not a good idea telling a thirteen year old he’ll live forever.” There was that thought again. Atlantis doesn’t feel right.
“I remember things that you don’t,” Warren blurted, clearly having held the information too long.
“Memory serves no purpose when there’s no immediate danger,” said Milo.
“We’re in a box.”
“As much to protect them from us as us from them. What do you remember?”
“You laughing,” he said. After a moment: “Your parents. I can tell you what I remember.”
“Why would you remember it and I don’t?”
“I don’t know. But I clearly do. I’ve sensed your discomfort on various topics.”
For the first time Milo looked at himself and realized that’s how he thought of Warren. Himself. The younger could have teleported them out, but there was a time differential in teleportation, a fraction that would allow the thermite cascade to flash-incinerate them in the nano-second burst triggered by the absence of their four feet on the box’s floor. No telling what would be left of them wherever they managed to ‘port.
“We’re not going to die, clone.”
“If I remember it then somewhere you do too.”
“I don’t have time for my past.”
“That’s a shame. Our parents would likely be amazed by you. Likely very proud.”
“I’m gonna need to get you some helluva therapy when this is over.”
Warren nodded.
Milo glanced around the grey box. Insurance, that’s what he and Warren were right now, which meant sitting. And waiting. The world outside the box ran laughing without them.
Ramses was out there, alone.