The Lost Clone 4 launches in October, making this the perfect time to start the series! This YA sci-fi murder mystery (with clones) is perfect for fans of Uglies, Divergent, and Orphan Black. If you want to try it out, Book 1, Replacement, is 0.99 until Thursday!
Here are the opening pages:
When the alarm rang, I was sneaking through the wrong dorm tower. The siren blared through the hallway, shattering the late-night quiet. I spun around, expecting a squad of uniforms to march toward me with bio-Tasers and zip ties.
My pulse raced as I scanned the corridor for hiding places and readied my best excuses. I hoped none of the security guards with special grudges against me were on duty that night. I’d caught trouble for sneaking out of my dorm pod before—and for snooping where I didn’t belong and asking too many questions. That night, I’d planned to do all three.
Commotion filled the corridor as the girls who actually belonged there filed out of their pods, moving in a quick, orderly fashion. Factory units occupied most of this hall, and the girls were designed to be efficient and obedient. No wasted movements. No hesitation. Just because they were clones being raised to work in factories didn’t mean they weren’t people, though. They talked and laughed as they followed their designated fire-escape routes, assuming it was yet another drill.
The siren wailed on, as loud as an airstrike warning, but no one charged up the corridor to drag me off to the detention pod. Maybe the alarm wasn’t about me at all. Security wouldn’t wake the whole dorm for some leftover clone going out past curfew. They had bigger problems.
I turned for the exit, trying to calm my racing heart. I still didn’t want to get caught in this tower.
A dozen factory units clad in standard Cloneworks pajamas marched past, their steps matching the rhythm of the alarm. They came from the same batch, so their features were identical—snub noses, pale skin, strawberry-blond hair. Pairs of watery blue eyes slid over me one after another, not showing any curiosity about what I was doing there. Factories didn’t pay for their clone workers to be curious.
I fell in behind the factory girls, trying to match the perfect coordination of their identical bodies. My legs were a little too long and gawky, and my arms swung a little too much.
A pair of future security units overtook us at the end of the hall, wearing their school uniforms despite the late hour. I ducked my head, wishing I’d brought something to cover my hair. My brunette ponytail didn’t belong in this line-up, and security clones had strong suspicious streaks.
Fortunately, they didn’t notice me, too focused on getting to their designated rendezvous point.
The factory girls and I headed down the stairwell, joining a flood of factory and corporate units from half a dozen different batches. The worn-out steps vibrated under the weight of hundreds of teenagers evacuating at once. This was one of Stillman campus’s original buildings, long past its prime. I hoped it wouldn’t pick tonight to finally collapse.
As we turned a corner, a group of corporate units trooping down the stairs ahead of us caught my eye. I inhaled sharply. I hadn’t seen their type before. Batches of clones occasionally got shuffled from one Cloneworks campus to another at the whims of their sponsors. Those could be the very newcomers I’d risked detention to seek out that night.
The stairwell was too crowded for me to catch them before reaching the ground floor. When we exited the tower, I left the factory girls and jogged after the new corporate units, hoping they’d have answers for me. They looked a little lost, hesitating beside the winding paths filling with clones.
Stillman Cloneworks was built on a grid, with the towers divided into neat quadrants. Shrubs, aspen trees, and meandering pathways on the grounds helped to soften the edges. The glowing lights of the dorm towers cast an electric-blue tinge over everything. The corporate girls gaped at the dorms, the blocky structures of the nearby classroom quadrant, and the endless parade of matching faces. It’s disorienting to see large groups of identical people wandering around if you’re not used to it or if they’re different models from what you normally see. It’s probably difficult to find your way around a new place, too, though I wouldn’t know. I’d lived at Stillman for as long as I could remember.
Struggling to hide my eagerness, I tapped one of corporate girls on the shoulder. “Hey, are you lost?”
“I think so.” She rubbed her eyes blearily. “We’re new here.”
“Where’s your meetup point?”
The girl scanned a list of orientation instructions on her standard-issue gridwatch. She and her companions had brown skin and tight curls, and half of them had already changed into their Cloneworks pajamas. They looked about fourteen, three years younger than me.
“Sports Field Three,” said the girl with the gridwatch.
“I’m heading to the sports quadrant too,” I said. “I’ll take you. I’m Jane, by the way.”
“Isabelle.” She pointed at her batchmates. “And that’s Bella, Issy, and Isabela.”
I smiled, watching for any sign they recognized me, but the girls were too busy taking in the commotion to pay attention.
“Come on, then. I’ll show you a shortcut.”
We started across campus, the four identical girls falling in behind me. When we reached a straight stretch, I walked backward for a few paces to give them an extra-good look at my face. I needed to know if they’d ever seen anyone who looked exactly like me.
I’m what they call a leftover clone. Like thousands of clones before me, I was produced to fulfill a particular function. The trouble is I don’t know what that function was. Someone paid Cloneworks to replicate my specific genetic sequence and grow me in an artificial womb, but before I was old enough to walk, they abandoned me to be raised by the facility. Somewhere along the line, my records got corrupted too. I don’t know who made me or why.
There are other leftover clones at this campus, single units or small batches whose sponsors defaulted on their payments, leaving them in the corporation’s custody. But I’m the only one of my type. I don’t know if there are any other Janes out there.
Jordan Rivet 