The Tomorrow Clone (The Tomorrow Gene Book 3)

by Sean Platt

  Cut back to Wood speaking into the microphones.

  “According to reports from Mauritius forces occupying Eden, Jonathan Todd — Eden’s interim CEO — is now condemning his brother. This is a big change from what Todd has said in the past, and has opened questions about conspiracy.”

  The video of Hershel ended, replaced by a shot of Ava Bloom standing in her station’s news studio.

  “The conspiracy theory that Mr. Wood mentioned today came as a shock to reporters and assembled guests, raising concerns about the revelation’s timing. Thus far, Jonathan Todd has insisted that his brother was out of his mind, refusing to admit that Ephraim Todd was responsible for Neven Connolly’s death before the infamous MyLife footage. As we’ve previously reported, suspicions of Eden’s involvement in its founder’s son’s death ran rampant until the footage was released, at which point public outcry turned toward Ephraim Todd. But only now, with Ephraim reported missing from the Queensboro Correctional Facility on Long Island, has Jonathan Todd embraced the cause. Is it because a convenient scapegoat is now a variable beyond authorities’ control? Only time will tell.”

  The footage ended. A message told Ephraim that the next clip would start in fifteen seconds, but he clicked it off.

  He’d been taken out and brought to The Vineyard, where he was now surrounded by a new group of nutjobs. But everyone thought he’d escaped.

  You’re being set up. Jonathan’s going to heap the whole thing on your shoulders and watch you take the fall.

  And as much as Ephraim wanted to disbelieve it — Jonathan was the brother he’d never known nor grown up with, after all — it made sense. If GEM and others were starting to think that the brothers had conspired to kill Neven and take over the Evermore empire, it only made sense for Jonathan to turn all the blame on Ephraim alone. Especially with Wallace incommunicado from the media’s perspective (and long dead from Ephraim’s), soon to raise questions about how completely Jonathan was ruling the empire that Connolly built.

  A knock on the door was followed by a pleasant female voice. “Mr. Todd? Are you awake?”

  Ephraim dropped the remote and approached the door, his hand moving subconsciously toward his waistband. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Riley Jacoby, Mr. Todd. Public liaison for The Change.”

  Chapter 8

  You of All People

  The lock was on Riley’s side of the door, and Ephraim couldn’t have kept her out if he’d wanted to. For a split second, he considered letting the door open far enough for the woman to enter, then slamming his body into it — the same way he’d tried getting away from Lucas and Leslie. But that hadn’t worked and this wouldn’t either — much less so, given the gated grounds.

  He’d seen television specials on The Change. And now that he knew where he was, Ephraim remembered the helicopter footage showing how far The Vineyard sprawled.

  Instead of ramming the door, Ephraim stepped back.

  The woman was just as he’d seen her on TV; small, slightly round, skin lighter than his own but dark enough to attract slurs from the religion’s more racists opponents. Against that skin, her small hand tattoo barely stood out. She had a pleasant smile and soft brown eyes. Under different circumstances, Ephraim would have felt immediately comforted.

  Riley left the door ajar, almost as if she thought that he might want to stay.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Fine. Why am I here?”

  “Any dizziness? Disorientation?”

  “Just the kind that comes with being abducted, knocked out, and waking up in a locked room.”

  Riley closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry that happened. I’ve spoken with the men who brought you in. I didn’t have a chance before they went for you, so I’m afraid they were a bit too influenced by current public perception.”

  “You mean they hate me?”

  “Quite the contrary. Please. Have a seat.”

  Riley gestured, but Ephraim stayed standing. She shrugged as if to say, have it your way and pulled out the small vanity stool to perch atop it. The open door was now as close to Ephraim as it was to her, and practically felt like a dare.

  Ephraim’s non-subtle glance gave him away.

  “Please don’t run,” Riley said.

  “Because you’ll send guards to drag me back?”

  “No, because if you run, I’m afraid you’ll break the delicate antiques Papa has placed throughout the house. The last time his grandchildren were here, we had to child-proof half the place.”

  “You mean Papa Friesh.”

  “Of course.”

  “Leader of The Change.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s here.”

  “He lives here,” Riley said. “I apologize. I assumed you knew a bit more about us than you do. Hubris, I suppose.”

  “No. I know. I understand. It’s just, why did you kidnap me?”

  “It wasn’t meant to be a kidnapping. If you hadn’t run, you would have received your welcome to The Vineyard as an honored guest.”

  “Is that why they forced me into the car? Is that why they beat me up and put me in a locked room?”

  She nodded slowly. “All right. In your shoes, I suppose I’d be wondering the same things. I’d like to give you all the answers you want, but he’s asked me not to tell you certain things. Not because we want to withhold information. Because he wants to tell you himself.”

  “He?” Ephraim rushed to process. “You mean Papa Friesh wants to meet with me?”

  “Yes. He’s quite eager. He’s attending to a Change matter right now, but you are his next appointment. But since you’re already up and around, I thought I might give you a tour while we’re waiting. If you feel up to it, that is.”

  “I think I’m okay.”

  “Any pain?”

  Ephraim tested his neck. The stiffness was gone.

  “Not really.”

  “The attendants gave you a powerful pain-killer when they brought you in. You may be uncomfortable when it wears off.”

  “I don’t feel high.”

  “Powerful,” Riley said, “but selective. A special formulation.”

  “Special how?”

  “And the clothes? Do they fit okay?”

  “Why did you change my clothes?”

  “You looked like a prisoner.”

  “I am a prisoner.”

  “Not anymore.” She stood. “Your debt to society is paid in full.”

  “So then when will you let me go?”

  An amused look. “If you choose to leave The Vineyard after you’ve spoken with Papa you may do so. But I think you are underestimating the value of being away from the public given your unique situation.”

  “Are you saying you brought me here for my protection?”

  “That was our intention. But you may disagree.” She gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

  The letter opener under Ephraim’s clothes was an obtrusive presence against his skin. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?”

  “No,” she laughed. “I think you’re smarter than that.”

  “Because if I run, you’ll shoot?”

  Riley shook her head. “Because you’re curious. You know that for some reason or another, this weirdo cult has snatched you. Only the indoctrinated and select media see inside the headquarters of The Change, and you, like everyone, wonder what we hide from the reporters. I don’t think you’ll run, Mr. Todd, because you need to know. Like any living thing, you have an intellect that needs satisfying. It’s one way that everyone, everywhere, controls minds.”

  “Like brainwashing?”

  “The Change doesn’t brainwash, Mr. Todd. The true cult is the world beyond these walls. You of all people should know that.”

  Ephraim felt his feet wanting to move, his mind curiously vacant. He wasn’t used to the absence of his MyLife — or Neven’s subconscious whispers. He was facing a real choice for the first time in a long while. The first big decision t
hat felt truly his own.

  “Why should I know it, of all people?”

  Riley smiled.

  They stood that way for what felt like minutes; Riley with her hand extended in invitation, Ephraim rooted and skeptical, head cocked, an eyebrow raised in doubt, a leaf blower’s distant purr the room’s only sound.

  Ephraim gave her a final glance, then walked past.

  His hand flitted to the long metal dagger in his waistband, wondering when to strike.

  Now?

  Or when he faced the big man himself?

  Chapter 9

  What do You See?

  The Vineyard reminded Ephraim of the White House. He knew the place was both headquarters and residence, but being in its elegant hallways only deepened the impression of schizophrenic purpose: bustling like an office, furnished like a home.

  Ephraim eyed a passing trio, noting their identical outfits.

  “You’re wondering about our uniforms,” Riley said.

  “You don’t know what I’m wondering,” Ephraim snapped.

  There was a beat of relative quiet as they continued walking side by side, a singular, clear emotion radiating from Riley. Understanding.

  “Sorry,” he finally said.

  “You’re right to be defensive. One of The Change’s key tenets is that the mind should be free. If you’ve noticed some of our people looking at you as they pass, it’s because they feel sympathy.”

  “I don’t need their pity,” Ephraim said.

  “I said sympathy, not pity. Or perhaps empathy, for what you’ve been through. Not through imprisonment or persecution, but beyond that. Before that.”

  “Before I was arrested? You mean, while I was killing Neven Connolly and burning Eden to the ground?”

  Riley nodded. “Before your mind was free.”

  Ephraim considered picking at that wound, but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answers. Riley spoke as if he’d submitted an application to come here. As if she knew every detail of him the way Neven had seemed to. As if they shared a common book of knowledge, and this discussion was lip service to the obvious.

  “So, what about the uniforms?” Ephraim asked, eager to change the subject.

  “It’s not about depersonalization. That’s what the media likes to believe. But consider an order of monks. Or the Amish. Those groups wear what is essentially a uniform. Do you see them as cults intending to depersonalize their members, to enforce conformity?”

  “Yes.”

  Riley laughed. It said that Ephraim was being silly, that everyone thought of monks as role models.

  “Seeing Change clothing as we do will take some reframing if you choose to alter your perspective.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course you do.”

  Ephraim looked around. They’d just left the long, ornate mansion hallway to enter a breezeway between wings. He smelled cut grass and blooming flowers. The breeze was a kiss. He thought of how easy it would be to run.

  But Riley was right; he was captivated by curiosity. Ironically, the way they were making escape seem so easy made him want it less.

  “What influences a person to buy a certain shirt in the wider world if not brainwashing? What makes you desire cars and gadgets and labels finer than your neighbor’s? Are those your choices? Or are they the choices of your environment?”

  “You’re minimalists.”

  “We make every effort to be conscious in our choices. The Change uniform isn’t mandatory. But those who understand the point of a singular clothing choice tend to embrace it.”

  “That’s what brainwashers want you to think. That it was all your idea.”

  She smiled and said nothing.

  They moved through more of the compound, in and out of disconnected buildings, making so many turns and loops that Ephraim lost track. Ten minutes later they were back outdoors, in a small cupola at the top of a hill. The gardens were immaculate, the lands majestic. Once again, Ephraim was reminded of Eden.

  For long seconds, looking out across the rolling hills, Riley said nothing. They were alone. It would be so simple to sprint away. Or, if he wanted, to cut out her throat.

  Instead, he stood and gazed at the hills.

  “What do you see, Ephraim?”

  “Trees. Houses.”

  “What else?”

  “I don’t know. What the hell am I supposed to see?”

  “The world as you never have before.”

  The statement was so absurd it was hard not to bark laughter.

  “Okay,” Ephraim said.

  “But you don’t see it yet, do you?”

  He turned to face her. His fear was almost entirely gone. He wasn’t running because he didn’t need to. There was no threat here, so long as Ephraim didn’t let them convince him of anything stupid.

  “What’s all of this about? Why don’t you stop being mysterious, stop wasting my time, and just tell me the fucking truth?”

  “I’ve already told you the truth. Unfortunately, like most people, you’ve heard lies for so long that you don’t recognize it when you see or hear it.”

  “Do you mean truths like, ‘The Change is the Way and the Life?’”

  “I mean truths,” Riley said, reaching up to turn Ephraim’s head back toward the view, “like the fact that you’ve never seen most of what you’ve ‘seen before.’ And for that reason, you are ripe for change in a way that most people are not. You feel like your thoughts are imprisoned, but you, Ephraim, unlike most minds, are truly free.”

  He squinted, his trepidation returning.

  “Why do you think I’m different from anyone else?”

  “You’re a canvas.”

  “Are you calling me an idiot? Like my mind is blank?”

  “You can see a canvas as being blank, or you can see it as flush with possibilities that finished canvases will never have again.”

  Ephraim’s scalp was itching. He got the impression of his life’s dossier, open for all to read. It almost sounded like Riley was referring to clone nature — to the fact that most of his memories had never happened. But nobody outside of Hershel’s inner circle knew that Ephraim was a clone, and even they didn’t believe it.

  “What are you saying?”

  Riley was moving down the hill, toward the mansion’s pillared courtyard, leaving Ephraim behind. Now running wasn’t merely a possibility. In the moment, it seemed like she was recommending it.

  He scrambled to catch up, reaching Riley just as she put her hand on an enormous brass handle on the giant wooden door. She stepped into the hallway.

  “Wait. Do you … do you know something?”

  “We all know something, Ephraim.”

  “But I mean—”

  “All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”

  Riley didn’t hold the door after stepping through; Ephraim had to wrench it back open then scuttle behind her. Was this how cults got their members? Was this how it changed reluctance into yearning, with their targets chasing recruiters rather than running the other way?

  “If you know something about me, I need to …”

  Riley stopped outside a set of double doors at the end of yet another hallway. She held up a finger to shush Ephraim while touching something behind her ear, probably receiving instructions through her MyLife.

  “What?” What are you …”

  The finger became an open hand. She pushed one of the doors with her free hand and both opened, apparently tied together by a hidden mechanism.

  The hand invited Ephraim inside. The smile promised that everything would be fine.

  Maybe this is what brainwashing looks like.

  The doors opened on an office large enough to hold a tennis court. There was a wall of windows with a spectacular view. A white-haired man in a navy blue suit was standing behind a large desk, looking at Ephraim.

  “Papa Friesh will see you now,” Riley said.

  Chapter 10

  Extradition

  Neven didn�
��t hear Mercer approach. The man was right behind him before he leaned toward the tablet’s mic and yelled:

  “NOW DROP YOUR PANTS!”

  Neven jumped a little, though less than was logical. It had only been the two of them in this M.C. Escher-shaped complex for months, and for better or for worse, he’d grown used to Mercer.

  Neven’s head slowly turned from his tablet, which he’d laid against his propped-up knees. He was in the topmost open cube at the west end of the complex. From here, through the tall trees planted around the edges as camouflage, he could almost see the horizon. And beyond it, somewhere, was the city where his tablet’s little drama was unfolding for real.

  “Come on,” Mercer said. “That’s funny.”

  “It wouldn’t have been funny if I’d been in the middle of a conditioning session with the clone,” Neven countered, not standing. Evening approached, and the sun, only half blocked by low clouds, was warm against his face. He was in no hurry to chastise Mercer. In a way, the man was like a dog and didn’t know any better.

  “I beg to differ. ‘In a session’ would have been the height of funny.”

  “You do know how delicate this is, right?” Neven indicated the Mission Control screens on his tablet. One showed the view through the clone he’d been watching, direct from his MyLife. Others displayed vitals, like heartbeat and brainwaves. One screen just showed line after line of green colored code.

  Waving a dismissive hand, Mercer said, “You’ve got it handled.”

  “The Hershel Wood downstairs is almost ready,” Neven persisted. “Most of his mentality has been prepared since sixty seconds after we loaded the Quarry data, straight from the real Hershel Wood. But now, thanks to a lot of painstaking work, his mnemonics are almost fully in place as well. I don’t suppose you have any appreciation for that, though — how delicate a thing it is to create an exact mental copy of someone and then add all sorts of subconscious drives and triggers that even they don’t know are there? And to do it all without blinders so that our clone simultaneously believes he’s Hershel Wood but also knows that he’s a clone in my service and paradoxically not Hershel Wood?”