"But my son died during the BioBank attack," my father replied automatically. "The terrorist explosion killed him, right?"

I was getting paler. He wasn't meant to know.

"We are sorry for the confusion yesterday," the clone civil servant added wearily.

He must've not been thrilled to be in a degraded ghetto-like neighbourhood, apologising to a traditional human under the cold, acid rain late at night. He was only obeying orders, I guessed.

"Your son was rescued in time by the President's elite bodyguards, while the police were in charge of keeping order and rescuing the injured after the blast. Your son's absence was not duly notified due to the emergency, and therefore the agents who talked to you yesterday had not been informed about it. The priority of your son's evacuation was a direct order from the President, may he guide us with the guidance of Apollo, the Living God! Please accept our apologies."

I hated it when clones made such praises to their god, Apollo. It seemed to fuel their pride like gas on a fire. They didn't seem to mind being considered conceited.

My father did not respond although the civil servant remained silent, waiting for him to do say something.

"As I was telling you before, the President is grateful, Mr Peneus," the civil servant continued seriously. "Your son is a hero to him. That's why he wants to give you these flowers as a sign of gratitude." He paused briefly to cough in an affected manner behind his handkerchief.

A grimace of disapproval escaped him, probably because whenever it rained, our streets smelled of sewage, but he continued with all the formality he could muster.

"It is an honour to receive such a gift from the President. He doesn't usually do that. He is also pleased to give you this gold commemorative plaque to honour your son's collaborative spirit. Apollo has also been notified of your son's exemplary behaviour. He sends his regards and highest praises."

I became paler when he said that last bit. I was freaking out. My brother getting Apollo's special attention! He praised him, the clone civil servant had said. I wanted to throw up.

The civil servant immediately signalled one of the bodyguards behind him, whom I could not see fully, to hand over to my father a golden plaque, securely kept in a fancy wooden box. Then, the fat civil servant took the plaque from the bodyguard's hands, and he showed it to my father so he could see it and read the inscription.

I took a step to one side so that I could see it better. I refused to stay behind my father even though I was scared. I needed to see what was going on.

"Please, Mr Peneus, accept these gifts as a token of gratitude," the civil servant said not feeling it.

"My son isn't... wasn't... a collaborator," my father replied immediately and dryly before the civil servant could add anything else. His fists were clenched and his whole body was tense with ire burning deep inside him.

Being a collaborator was frowned upon. It was a pejorative word among us, traditional humans. It was a synonym for clone arse kisser, for traitor, for willing and tame underdog. Collaborators got better-paying jobs and better treatment even though they were traditional humans like us, only because they were willing to be disgustingly loyal to clones and their god, Apollo.

On top of that insult, Daniel had not given his organs voluntarily. He had been forced to die to save the President. A bouquet of red roses and a gold plaque to thank us for his collaboration was the greatest insult in the world. A spit on our faces.

In the meantime, you could tell the clones were enjoying it, watching you closely to see how you suffered and endured that insulting treatment for fear of reprisals. Thus, refusing those presents meant getting beaten up or killed right away.

My father was on the verge of losing it.

All the guests were expectant, silent, stunned, and frightened. My heart was beating faster than an F1 racing car. I was appalled and scared like never before because all of us were in immediate danger if my father failed to give those clones a compliant response.

Those clones were the worst. They must've known we were celebrating Daniel's candle at that moment, thanks to the perfectly functional chips of the people around me. Therefore, giving us a gift that they knew we would hate precisely that night was preposterous. They could have left us alone, at least on that special night.

"Please accept these gifts as a token of gratitude," the civil servant insisted. He was not pleased to see my father with a disapproving attitude, having used the word 'collaborator' in a resentful way.

He seemed to be wary of us, especially because we were wasting his precious time in a slum at night, with the acid rain falling around him and on his men, and being forced to bear the stench of our street.

That scene was getting too long to my liking. It could end badly.

Not only was my father appalled to learn the truth about Daniel's actual death, but he also seemed to get angrier as seconds went by. His pupils were small, his jaw was tense, his teeth were clenched, his nostrils were flared open, and he was inhaling and exhaling air in a way that he did not intend to conceal at all that his feelings had been wounded.

For a moment, I thought that my father wouldn't stand it anymore and that those bodyguards would beat him up for thinking and showing blatant disrespect to those special envoys of the President and his gifts. If he didn't accept them soon, and with a fucking smile, we would be in trouble. We could all die there that night.

"Dad," I whispered with worry.

"It's... it's..." he began to speak slowly, trying to control himself for the sake of everybody.

He must have been making a monumental effort to redirect the situation and his deadly thoughts, especially because both he and I could see one of the bodyguards staring at the screen of a portable chip reader with a face of deep concern and disapproval as he was scanning my father from afar.

That device caught my eye. It didn't look like the ones I'd seen until then. I wondered if that chip reader, which looked brand new and next-generation, would betray me. My chip had been hacked. If it could detect it, I would be exposed. I could already consider myself dead.

But that bodyguard had the device aimed at my father only, scanning him, waiting for a reading with an expectant face and a harsh expression. The other bodyguards had already a hand on their guns, ready to aim and fire if my father chose the wrong words and thoughts.

Then, my father swallowed once. We went on speaking all serious and calm, "It's an unexpected gift. Daphne, darling, can you grab the flowers, please," he told me without even looking at me. It didn't even sound like a question at all, with that dead-like and serious intonation.

I took the flowers from his hands without saying a word.

"Thanks," he said immediately, precisely as I was taking the bouquet and he, in turn, was taking the plaque from his interlocutor's hands, gently and with enviable self-control. His eyes were cold and glued to that fat civil servant.

It made me think that he might've asked me to take the bouquet right then because his gratitude could be confused with the acceptance of the plaque and my gesture to take the flowers in obeying his request. I was convinced that he had thanked me, not the clones.

"No, thank you very much, Mr Peneus," the civil servant added quickly, anxious to leave. "And now, if you'll excuse us, we need to get going. All hail Apollo! Guys, let's get out of this ghetto," he told his bodyguards. "We're done here."

Having said that, they went into a black limousine, which I had not been able to see until then because the bodyguards and their super-developed muscles had occupied my entire field of vision.

"That's it, dad," I said as I gently put a hand on his arm. "Thank God it's over."

With that gesture, I wanted to force him to return to the most immediate reality, to close the front door, and return to the dining room with our guests. To return to normal. But my father was still frozen in front of the open door, tense all over and staring ahead as those clones got on the limo and drove away.

His hands tightened around the box with fury. His lips drew a thin line filled with self-control. A lonely tear escaped from one of his eyes.

After a few minutes, we resumed the celebration of Daniel's candle, but that meeting, which had to provide us warmth and tender feelings, had already been marred by the clones' unpleasant intrusion.

The flowers ended up in the trash, and the gold plaque was melted down by us in our garage and sold to a local goldsmith the next day. My father donated the money to Daniel's high school. With that money, they bought school supplies.

Hello, my sugar cubes!

This is a sad chapter, I know. The characters needed to say farewell to Daniel. ☹

Stay tuned to know more! 😊

XOXO

MS