Replication

by Kevin Hardman

  I gave him a dumbfounded look. “What do you mean it doesn’t match? It has to. I lost my powers on Caeles because of what that crown was able to do. Are you trying to say it was all in my head?”

  “No one’s saying that, Jim,” BT affirmed. “We’re just saying that the crown’s map of your neural patterns doesn’t sync with the way your brain’s actually wired.”

  “And let’s not forget that the neural blocker based on the crown’s data actually worked,” Mouse added. “Assuming Jack’s synaptic patterns mimicked yours to some extent, it implies that the info from the crown was accurate.”

  “So it’s not the crown that’s the real mystery,” I concluded. “It’s me.”

  “Somewhat,” BT agreed. “Some time between when the crown did its work and now, your neural pathways changed.”

  “But doesn’t that happen naturally?” I asked.

  Mouse shook his head. “Not to this degree. What we’re talking about here is extensive.”

  “Wow,” I muttered. “You make it sound like some interior decorators didn’t like the feng shui of my brain, so they went in and started moving stuff around and…”

  My voice practically died in my throat as I had a sudden recollection of an event from the recent past.

  “What is it?” asked BT.

  “Back on Caeles,” I began, “I had a chance encounter with someone who seemed to be a future version of me. He went into my head and poked around some.”

  “I remember you mentioning it,” Mouse said. “Do you think he could have reconfigured your neural pathways?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure, but he was incredibly powerful. If pressed for an answer, I’d probably lean towards saying he could.”

  “Interesting…” Mouse noted, rubbing his chin.

  “Moving on,” I interjected, “you said there was another reason why the neural blocker may not have worked on me?”

  “Yes,” Mouse replied, coming back to himself. “There’s a chance that you were inoculated against it.”

  “Inoculated?” I echoed. “You mean like a flu shot?”

  “Exactly,” BT agreed. “It’s possible that when you were first dosed with a neural blocker on Caeles, it actually immunized you.”

  “Well, that’s surprising,” I admitted. “I didn’t think there could be a silver lining regarding my previous experience with neural blockers. I guess you never know.”

  “Anyway,” Mouse said, “we can’t prove them one hundred percent, but those are our best guesses regarding why you still have your powers.”

  “Okay,” I intoned, accepting their explanation on the neural blocker. “Any idea why my healing power works sporadically? For instance, I could heal Gramps, but not the photographer, Kroner.”

  Mouse was silent for a moment, then spoke up. “I have a theory, but it’s pure conjecture.”

  “Please share,” I implored. “I’ve got nothing else to go on at the moment.”

  “Based on when you’ve told us it manifested, I’d say it’s an emotional response,” Mouse conjectured. “When Queen Dornoccia was dying, when your grandfather was dying… They were both occasions that solicited powerful emotional reactions from you. I think that’s what triggers your healing power.”

  “Well, I felt bad about what happened to Kroner,” I countered. “Why couldn’t I heal him?”

  “Because I don’t think it’s a voluntary response,” my mentor contended. “I think it’s like tears. Some people can cry on demand, but others can’t. For the latter, crying is strictly an involuntary reaction that they have no control over. I think your healing power is like that. It’s involuntary and doesn’t manifest unless there’s something going on with people you care about.”

  My brow knitted in thought. “So you’re saying that deep down inside I don’t care about Kroner or what happened to him.”

  “No,” Mouse insisted, shaking his head. “I’m saying you don’t care enough about him. But that’s not surprising seeing as how you basically just met him.”

  “I guess that also means I couldn’t have saved Jack after he fell,” I concluded. “Even if I’d tried.”

  “Excuse me?” Mouse uttered in disbelief.

  “It’s something that’s flitted into my brain every now and then since yesterday,” I said, which was true. It was more of a random thought than anything else, but I had wondered once or twice if I could have gotten to Jack in time to do something for him.

  “Jim, don’t torture yourself over this stuff,” BT advised. “What happened to Jack wasn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe,” I droned noncommittally. “I just know we were lucky, considering the way Jack’s powers were developing.”

  I then told them how Jack’s precognitive ability had given him a second vision of the future while we were on the roof.

  Mouse seemed to deliberate heavily on what that meant, saying, “I suppose that if Jack’s visions of the future had ultimately started coming fast enough and often enough, eventually he would have seen all future threats and been able to avoid them.”

  “And that brings up my next question,” I said. “Could he actually see the seminal events that we thought he could?”

  BT looked nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

  “Essentially, it seems like there were times when Jack should have been aware that there was a threat in his future, but he wasn’t,” I explained. “Like when he was shot at Alpha Prime’s mansion, or when Electra shocked him.”

  “Well, with respect to the mansion, there were actually two lasers that had targeted Jack, and he shut the first one down,” Mouse said. “As to Electra, in all honesty, we don’t know what threats Jack may have encountered before she sent some volts through him. Maybe he almost got hit by a bus, someone tried to mug him, or something along those lines.”

  I didn’t say anything, but what I was hearing made sense. (It certainly clarified why Jack was blissfully unaware of actual threats on various occasions.)

  “All in all,” Mouse said, “the plan didn’t go as intended by a long shot, but we – especially you, Jim – managed to pull it off in the end. You should be proud.”

  “I guess,” I replied, shrugging. “One last question, though: when I was fighting Jack on that rooftop, were you able to see us?”

  My mentor nodded. “I had a pretty good line of sight. I occasionally glanced in your direction, but mostly focused on trying to repair the nullifier, as that would have brought things to an immediate halt.”

  “Well, when you did happen to catch a glimpse of what was happening, did you ever think that you needed to step in?”

  “Not really,” Mouse said. “I mean, it was touch-and-go a couple of times, but since you never reached out to me telepathically, I assumed you had it under control.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I admitted. “I just knew you were working on the nullifier and I didn’t want to interfere with that because it was important.”

  “Then I’d say you made the right decision,” Mouse noted. “In short, when we go on a mission, everyone has a job to do, and we need to trust the people around us to do what’s expected of them. Think of the Dream Machine mission last week: we didn’t race off to help the others with their tasks, and nobody came to help us. Everyone assumed that all of their colleagues were competent. If there’s a risk that I’m going to leave something undone in order to make sure you’re safe, or you’re going to shirk your duties in order to help me, then one of us doesn’t need to be on the mission.”

  I nodded as Mouse finished speaking, as I was able to boil down what he was saying to its essence: he had confidence in me. It was a fact that made me proud.

  Chapter 95

  I stayed in Mouse’s lab just chatting generally with my mentor and BT until early afternoon. About the only other topic of note that we discussed was the “bargain” that Mouse had struck with Gray.

  “We’ve agreed to something along the lines of a secondment,” Mouse explained. “In practical terms, it m
eans that you’ll occasionally be on loan to Gray’s organization.”

  In my opinion, there had to be more to it than that, but Mouse nimbly sidestepped all my questions on the subject. Ultimately, my tarriance in the lab (and my attempts to get more information about the deal with Gray) were cut short when my cell phone rang. It was Electra.

  “Hey, you,” I greeted her upon answering.

  “Hey yourself,” she replied. “So, were you planning to come see me, or do I have to beg?”

  “Aren’t you in school?” I asked.

  “Today was a half-day; there’s some kind of district teacher’s meeting,” she explained. “So, I’ve extended an invitation. What say ye?”

  *****

  Five minutes after getting off the phone, I was sitting with Electra on the loveseat in her living room, after having quickly said goodbye to Mouse and BT. For the first time in days, however, we weren’t alone in her house; Esper was there (although, according to my girlfriend, she was banging around in the attic looking for something). From what I could sense, both Electra and her aunt seemed to be in an incredibly buoyant mood.

  It hadn’t taken me long to share what had happened with Electra (although I left out some of the more morbid details).

  “At least it’s over,” she said when I was done, interlacing her fingers with mine.

  “So, were you worried?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Not really. I usually just assume you can take care of yourself.”

  “Funny – everybody seems to think that about me. I wonder what the reaction will be if I actually get killed one day?” Changing my voice to a whiny version of my girlfriend’s, I said, “‘It was just a twelve-megaton nuke; I thought he could handle it…’”

  Electra laughed. “Stop it! I do not sound like that.”

  “Agreed – your whining’s a little more annoying.”

  For that one, she spent a few seconds tickling me as we both chuckled.

  “Anyway,” Electra said, “thank your family for letting me hang out with them yesterday.”

  “Will do,” I promised. “And for the record, they enjoyed having you visit.”

  “Thanks, but it was a little calculating on my part. I figured they’d get word first once everything was over, so I just wanted to be there. Plus, it was better waiting with other people than by myself.”

  “Well, you’ve got an open invitation to come by any time,” I assured her. “Apparently my family adores you.”

  My last statement was meant to be a compliment, but I felt a small spike of annoyance from Electra as I spoke. Familiar with this from past experience, I knew that my comment had somehow invoked the specter of Myshtal, and a moment later it was proven.

  “I had a question about something,” Electra began. “When I was there yesterday, I noticed that your grandmother called Myshtal by a different name – Isteria. I also remember her being introduced that way at the party.”

  “Yeah,” I droned. “Isteria is her formal name.”

  “So is ‘Myshtal’ like a nickname, then?”

  “Sort of,” I admitted, suddenly not liking the direction of the conversation. “But it’s also her name – one of her middle names, that is.”

  “So what does it mean?”

  I cleared my throat before speaking. “Ahem. It’s. uh, just a term of affection between women who are close relatives or good friends.”

  “And when a man uses it?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” I replied.

  “You said it’s a term of affection used between women,” she explained, looking me in the eye. “You’re not a woman. So what does it mean when a man uses it?”

  I lowered my eyes. “For a man, it’s, uh…it’s uhm…it’s usually an epithet for a woman he’s involved with. Romantically.”

  Electra leaped to her feet, ire and irritation exploding within her.

  “Are you kidding me?!” she screamed. “You’ve been calling her your girlfriend this entire time?!”

  “No!” I insisted, rising as well. “It’s how she was introduced to me, and by the time I learned her formal name, it was too late. Mentally, I couldn’t think of her with another name.”

  Electra lifted her hands up as if trying to push away something invisible yet oppressive.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” she finally said. “It’s just…it’s too much.” She went silent for a few seconds, and then took a deep breath. “I think…I think maybe…”

  No, I thought. Don’t say it. Please.

  Strengthening her resolve, she blurted out, “I think maybe we need to take a break.”

  And there it was. I lowered my head, trying to get a grip on what had just happened, but it was difficult. It felt like something deep inside me – something intricate and integral to my well-being – had just been removed. No, not removed: ripped out.

  “Look, maybe it’s the right time for this,” she went on. “I just found out this morning that my father’s getting out.”

  “Really?” I said, trying to sound happy for her but failing miserably.

  She nodded. “Yeah, he’s getting paroled and will be staying here with us.”

  “That’s great,” I mumbled.

  She cast her eyes up to the ceiling for a second. “Esper’s super excited. I think she’s hunting around in the attic for some old memorabilia – pics of them together and stuff like that.”

  I muttered something, but had no idea what it was.

  “Anyway,” Electra said, “my point was that with my dad here, I’d want to spend some time with him, so maybe it’s the right moment for us to take a step back.”

  “I disagree,” I said solemnly. “I can make this right. I just need some time.”

  Electra shook her head, and I noticed for the first time that she was crying. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t be like the mistress of a married man, waiting for him to leave his wife. That’s what this feels like, Jim, with your continual promises but no results. I love you, I really do, but you need to fix this. Until that happens, we can’t be together.”

  Chapter 96

  I left Electra’s house shortly after she broke up with me. For once, I didn’t teleport – I couldn’t think of where to go – so I just stepped out the front door and started walking.

  I’d been wandering aimlessly for maybe thirty minutes, trying to pull myself together, when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that the number was blocked.

  Sighing, I answered the phone but didn’t say anything.

  “Carrow,” Gray said. “My office.”

  And then he hung up, laughing.

  *****

  A few minutes later, I was in the back of the SUV.

  “Just wanted to let you know it’s done,” he said.

  I nodded. “I heard. Thanks for keeping your word.”

  “No thanks necessary,” Gray assured me. “On the other hand, I’m sure this won you major points with your girlfriend. You must really love her to use the freebie I offered to get her father out.”

  I merely shrugged, but didn’t say anything. Obviously noting that I was out of sorts, Gray gave me a hard stare.

  “Look,” he said after a few seconds, “don’t beat yourself up about what happened to Jack. It wasn’t your fault.”

  I frowned for a moment, trying to figure out how we’d gotten on this subject, then understood. Gray had realized I was despondent, but misidentified the cause. He seemingly thought I was upset about Jack.

  “Moreover,” Gray continued, “that was the only way it was going to end – with either him or you in the ground.”

  Wrinkling my brow in curiosity, I asked, “Why do you say that?”

  Gray sighed. “Remember when I said that clones always want to meet their originals? It’s actually more than that. The clones fixate on the originals, including every aspect of their lives. Eventually, they try to replace them.”

  There was a faraway look in his eyes as he spoke, and emotionally I felt not just truth from him, but
a profound sense of understanding.

  “This isn’t just theoretical or abstract for you, is it?” I asked. “This is personal in some way.”

  Gray didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he was silent for a few moments, as if wondering how much to share with me. Finally, he seemed to mentally flip a coin.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I was ready to quit this job,” he said. “I’ve wanted to retire for years. But as I explained, I couldn’t just walk away. Considering who was slated to succeed me, it would have been chaos. An absolute disaster. So I tried to think of another solution.”

  “You had yourself cloned,” I stated. It wasn’t a question.

  Gray didn’t deny it. “He was supposed to take over the job for me, and on paper it sounded great. A version of me who knew all the ins and outs of the covert world I live in, but who also wasn’t burned out and desperate to leave it all behind. He’d step in, and I’d slip away.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Apparently what my position offered – power, authority, and so on – wasn’t enough. My clone didn’t just want my job. He wanted my life. My friendships, my relationships, everything. And towards the end, he was willing to do anything to get it, even if it meant putting me in the ground.”

  “I take it that didn’t happen.”

  “Let’s just say somebody went in the ground,” he stated, giving me a knowing look. “I’ve been against cloning ever since.”

  “Is it done, though?” I asked. “Is it over?”

  Gray appeared perplexed. “With Jack gone, I would think so.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “The people who authorized Jack’s creation – will they produce another one?”

  “I doubt it,” Gray replied. “Not when they learn what he was up to.”

  Now it was my turn to look bewildered. “What do you mean?”

  “Jack wasn’t just sitting on his laurels when he was out of your presence. He was out there doing stuff. We’ve got evidence that he impersonated a prince from an oil-rich kingdom in the Middle East, as well as a couple of third-world dictators.”