Linkage (The Narrows of Time Series Book 1)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “What are the rules of engagement, boss?” Bruno asked.

  “Stun only. There better not be any casualties this time.”

  “Count on it, sir.”

  Kleezebee flashed a glance at Lucas, but didn’t say anything.

  Lucas nodded hello. So did Drew.

  Lucas turned his attention to the middle row of video screens, which showed activity at three locations he recognized. The first was his apartment complex, where military troops had surrounded the building. A squad of men was approaching the front entrance.

  The second location was a lengthwise view of his mother’s neighborhood. The camera was too far away to see much detail, but Lucas could see soldiers and Humvees lining the street.

  The third screen contained a high-angle feed, possibly shot from the clock tower of the Student Union, showing a platoon of men guarding the open shaft leading down to NASA’s underground facility. Two soldiers were standing next to the opening, prepping their climbing gear.

  Kleezebee looked at Lucas. “It’s General Alvarez. He’s searching for you.”

  “Where? I don’t see him,” Lucas said, checking the three middle screens.

  “He’s outside your apartment,” Kleezebee answered, turning to his tech. “Can you give me a close-up? I want to see who he’s talking to.”

  The camera zoomed in on General Alvarez standing near the door to the manager’s office, then panned to the right, showing a shorter man with two black eyes and a heavy gauze bandage taped over his nose.

  “That guy’s a mess,” Lucas said.

  “Must be the guard L overpowered in the desert,” Kleezebee said, shooting a friendly glance at Lucas. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Well, technically, neither did I,” Lucas replied with a grin. “One never knows what one’s copy is gonna do.”

  “Alvarez is never gonna stop. Not until you’re dead,” Bruno told Lucas. “In his mind, you killed his daughter.”

  Lucas agreed with Bruno. “So what’s the plan, Professor?”

  “I’m afraid we have no choice. We’re going to have to kill you.”

  Lucas wasn’t sure what to make of the remark. “You’re just kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious. You need to die a horrible, public death or else the general will never stop gunning for you. Follow me.”

  Kleezebee used the hidden access panel inside the fire extinguisher to open the secret entrance to the Med-Lab, where Trevor was working.

  “Let’s get started,” Kleezebee told Trevor.

  Trevor retrieved a bucket of BioTex from the shelf and poured it into the middle recess of one of the medical tables.

  “Ah, I understand. You’re going to duplicate me again,” Lucas said.

  “Precisely,” Kleezebee said.

  “But what happens when the body dissolves into BioTex? Won’t Alvarez realize something fishy is going on?”

  “You mean like what happened to D in the desert?”

  “Yes. We don’t want him getting suspicious. I’m guessing what happened to D’s body wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “No, it wasn’t. When Alvarez came for your copies, we had no idea he’d incapacitate them. It’s possible the drugs he used compromised the replicas’ sugar level in some way,” Kleezebee explained, looking at Bruno like he was waiting for an answer.

  Bruno nodded. “The drugs may have caused D’s bio-systems to switch into survival mode, to rally against the forced unconsciousness. It would explain the tremendous loss of energy reserves.”

  “Which is why he dissolved too quickly,” Lucas said.

  Kleezebee nodded. “Temperature and humidity can also affect dissolution time, which is normally several hours. This time we’re not taking any chances by letting the general capture you. Instead, he’s going to see you die, but we’re not going to leave any forensic evidence behind. It’s going to be more dramatic. And hopefully more effective.”

  “But just me? Not Drew, too?”

  “From what our inside man told us a short while ago, they think L took off with D’s body from the grave. Right now, Drew is dead in their minds and they’re only looking for you. So I’d like to keep it that way. That means Drew doesn’t leave this silo. Copy or otherwise,” Kleezebee said in a commanding tone, looking at the men standing around him. “Understood?”

  “Sure, Professor. Whatever you think,” Lucas answered. So did the others.

  Trevor reached above the medical table and lowered a retractable arm with a flat, four-pronged electronic probe attached to its end. A bundle of multi-colored wires connected the probe to the retractable arm’s housing, which Lucas presumed was used for the programming download. Trevor checked the contents of a four-inch gray plastic tube attached to the side of the electronic probe. The plastic tube resembled a tube of caulk and had a funnel-shaped tip.

  “What’s that?” Lucas asked.

  “It injects the BioTex with the activating enzyme.”

  Trevor inserted both the electronic probe and the plastic tube tip deep into the surface of the BioTex, then entered a series of commands into a handheld device. The area around the probe’s submerged tips began to glow like an underwater diver’s flashlight, only this one was orange. A minute later, Trevor removed the probe and allowed it to retract to the ceiling.

  Kleezebee grabbed Lucas’ right wrist and inserted his hand into the BioTex. Lucas held his breath when the viscous substance sent a warm sensation rippling across his skin. He could sense the synthetic being’s presence as it smothered his hand and wrapped around his nervous fingers. It felt like a freshly mixed batch of pre-heated Play-Doh as it seeped into the crevasses between his fingers. The pliable material had tremendous strength, squeezing his hand tight and partially restricting the blood flow. The DNA transmission was in full swing.

  Lucas wondered if parts of his consciousness were being harvested as well. If they were, would it somehow make him less of a human being?

  While he waited for the process to complete, his mind drifted farther and farther away from the moment. He considered the spiritual implications of the BioTex technology. He was sure certain religious groups would argue that his rightful place in heaven might come into question if he allowed his soul to be transferred to another being. Others might argue that once his consciousness was downloaded, the synthetic copy should be considered a sentient being and eligible for salvation.

  Even more compelling was the question of replica dissolution. What would happen if the replica’s handlers ordered it to dissolve into an inert state and effectively lose its self-awareness?

  Would that be considered suicide, or perhaps homicide?

  Drew and Lucas had both been raised to be good Christians by their mother. Dorothy was a devout Catholic, but she never forced her religious beliefs onto the other members of the family. She allowed Lucas and Drew to find their own paths and decide for themselves. “Faith is a personal journey,” she proclaimed. “Each of you must find your own path to God.”

  Unlike his brother, Lucas had trouble accepting most of the Church’s doctrine, feeling as though ninety percent of the world’s population had been tricked into donating their hard-earned money to something that could never be proven or quantified.

  He believed their fear of mortality was masquerading as blind faith. He didn’t begrudge anyone their personal beliefs, however. In truth, sometimes he found himself a little jealous of their convictions. He could see the comfort others found in their religion, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the leap. It went against everything he believed in as a trained scientist.

  Regardless of his own personal views, Lucas had difficulty resolving the conflicting religious and scientific questions raised by the BioTex technology. The more he thought about it, the more his mind fluttered.

  He’d known a few people who’d taken classes called the “Philosophy of Science” and seen papers with titles like “The Ethical Implications of Cloning.”

  Up until now, he
thought it was all a bunch of abstract nonsense and a waste of time. Now he wasn’t so sure but decided it was best to leave the philosophical questions to people with more life experience. Hard science he could handle, but he certainly didn’t feel qualified to form solid judgments on such slippery topics.

  Once his memory and DNA were downloaded, the BioTex released his hand, snapping Lucas back to reality. He stepped away to observe the transformation process.

  One by one, his features began to appear from within the synthetic ooze lying before him. It was as if he were watching a rendering of a 3D computer-generated model, except it was happening in real-world space.

  Drew asked Kleezebee, “How long have you guys been developing the mimetic properties?”

  “Longer than I care to admit. It’s been a long, slow process but the results have been worth the effort.”

  “I should say so,” Lucas said, slipping back into his thoughts again. No wonder the professor was never in his apartment. With everything on his plate, when did Kleezebee have time to sleep? Between his university duties, his real estate development operation, managing the silo, and developing all this cool new technology, Kleezebee must’ve been stretched pretty thin. It brought the meaning of multi-tasking to a whole new level.

  Drew said, “I assume you’re using nanotechnology to manipulate its synthetic framework. Some form of real-time genetic engineering. I’d love to know more about how this amazing material works.”

  “Perhaps when we have more time,” Kleezebee replied, reviewing a batch of paperwork just brought into the room by a video technician.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the replica sat up on the medical table, turned its head, then spoke to Lucas using his own voice. “Hello, I’m Dr. Lucas Ramsay, pleased to meet you.”

  Lucas studied every millimeter of his twin’s face, looking for imperfections in the replication process, but found none. Even his jagged scars and dimpled cheeks were duplicated perfectly. The replica smiled at him, sending an eerie tingle down Lucas’ spine.

  “Damn impressive, Professor. Nice work,” he said to Kleezebee, wondering if this copy was more stable than the first. If not, then Bruno would have to tackle this one, too, and put it out of its misery. “Can I ask it some questions?”

  “Sure, fire away. I’m sure L won’t mind,” Kleezebee said.

  “Do you know you’re a copy of me?” Lucas asked his twin.

  “Sure do. I’m a BioTex duplicate of the single greatest mind on the planet!”

  Drew guffawed, beaming a toothy smile. “Oh yeah, that’s you, all right. My brother, the smartass.”

  Lucas ignored Drew’s verbal jab. “What was our dad’s favorite TV show?”

  “The X-Files,” his twin answered correctly. “Dad had a big crush on Scully, the redhead.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “Mom never watched TV. She preferred to curl up with a good book and a bowl of homemade strawberry ice cream.”

  “Right again. But those were simple. Let’s try something a bit harder,” Lucas said, formulating a trick question. “How many girlfriends have you had and what were their names?”

  “We’ve only had one real girlfriend. Her name was Jill and she was this smokin’ hot blond who lived up the street. We were fourteen at the time and spent hours making out in her parents’ basement. But she never let us past second base.”

  Lucas looked at Kleezebee and nodded.

  Then his replica added, “However, we did lose our virginity to a forty-year-old librarian named Robyn. We did it on the floor of the library. The whole thing lasted about thirty seconds, though. She ran off crying to her car and we never saw her again. She quit her job the next day and never came—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. We get the idea,” Lucas said, throwing his hands in the air.

  At that moment he realized the replica had no real emotions, no shame and no common sense. Otherwise, he never would’ve revealed the embarrassing incident with the librarian, and he certainly wouldn’t have admitted he was a two-pump chump. Especially in front of his boss. He wished he could go back in time and never ask that last question.

  “Well?” Kleezebee asked. “Are you convinced?”

  “Yes, L’s memories are intact and accurate,” Lucas answered, thinking about the replica’s curious use of the pronoun “we” in his answers. He wondered if it was a conscious effort on the part of the duplicate, or if it was encoded as part of the fabrication process. Maybe it was some type of residual personality trait inherited from him? Too bad he hadn’t taken a few psychology classes during his undergrad days; he might’ve been able to answer that question.

  Lucas slid two steps backward when the replica jumped down from the table and stood uncomfortably close to him. “Listen, L,” he said, holding out his hands in a stop position. “You might be a perfect copy of me, but I still need you to respect my personal space.”

  “Sorry about that, Dr. Ramsay,” L replied, moving back two feet.

  “Don’t you need to go eat a box of candy bars or something to replenish the sugar supply?” Lucas quipped.

  “Bruno, why don’t you take L down to outfitting? I’ll send the bio-updates down when they’re ready,” Kleezebee said.

  TWENTY

  Replica L followed Bruno into the armory on Sublevel 5, where three more soldiers, each one an exact copy of Bruno, were putting on equipment vests and checking their rifles. L felt like he’d just walked onto the set of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone. “How many of you are there?”

  “Eleven in all,” the main Bruno said like it was no big deal.

  “How do you tell yourselves apart?”

  “We can’t, and neither can you. That’s half the fun of it,” Bruno2 said, stepping aside to allow the other two Bruno copies to leave the armory.

  “I assume the real Bruno is walking around here somewhere?”

  “Actually, he died a long time ago. He was one of DL’s oldest friends and the professor’s been replicating us ever since,” Bruno1 said, handing L a set of combat fatigues and boots. “Here, put these on while I find a vest for you.”

  L let his street clothes dissolve and be replaced by his own skin, then slipped into the pants of the green camouflage uniform. He finished dressing and laced up the heavy black tactical boots. Bruno1 helped him into an equipment vest. It fit perfectly. Suddenly, L’s stomach felt empty and he had an overwhelming craving for cotton candy, which was strange since he hated the sticky treat.

  Bruno1 checked the sights of an assault rifle, then handed it to L, along with a metal clip of full ammunition. “Go ahead and load the weapon.”

  L flipped the magazine around, inspected its contents, then inserted the open end into the rifle’s stock. The motions came naturally to him. He knew the original Lucas had never loaded a rifle in his life, but somehow he knew exactly what to do.

  Curious, he thought. Must be part of my mission-specific programming. He forced the clip upward, hearing a ratcheted click. “Did I get it right?”

  “Yes, perfect.”

  L pressed the release mechanism to discharge the clip, catching it in his other hand. He held up the open end. “Why do these bullets have crimped ends instead of a projectile?”

  “Because they’re blanks. We never use live ammunition unless we’re left with no other choice.”

  “Won’t this be a problem when we have to defend ourselves?”

  “We’re not authorized to engage until we’re fired upon first, and when we do, we’re not to harm anyone. Besides, we have other tools at our disposal.”

  “Can’t we just miss them on purpose?” L asked, putting the rifle down on a storage container to his left.

  “Even poorly aimed weapon fire can cause collateral damage,” Bruno2 said, beating the other Bruno to the answer.

  “Kleezebee expects the mission to be carried out to the letter, which means zero casualties,” Bruno1 added. He handed L a semi-automatic M9 Beretta handgun and a magazine full of bl
anks.

  “Cool, a nine-mil,” L said.

  Bruno1 reached for his beltline and pulled out his vibrating cell phone to answer it.

  L rubbed the tips of his fingers over the 9mm’s contoured grip and polished barrel, waiting for Bruno1 to finish his call. He aimed the gun at an empty spot on the wall and imagined what it would feel like to squeeze the trigger and feel the weapon’s lethal recoil when the round left the barrel, traveling without thought to its target. He felt invincible with it in his hands, even if it was loaded with blanks.

  He slid the gun into its holster and flexed his palm and fingers a few times, trying to loosen the soreness inflicted on the real Lucas by the BioTex. He looked at both sides of his hand, wondering why his body was registering pain from something that happened to someone else—before he even existed. Had he formed some type of empathic relationship with his donor?

  He thought about his recent birth, reliving the moments leading up to his creation. He remembered how nervous he was slipping his hand into the gooey substance, right before his viewpoint shifted from the real Lucas to his current self—the copy. He recalled his first thoughts as a replica, sitting up and introducing himself . . . to himself. His head was swimming with vivid childhood memories, all of which now seemed like artificial flashbacks inserted from someone else’s life.

  Despite what his logic was telling him, his memories and emotions were alive and felt absolutely real. Yet he knew he was the copy, making the entire experience difficult to process.

  During Man’s evolution on Earth, he wondered if there was a single moment in time when an ape’s pure instinct for survival evolved into self-awareness, thereby classifying the mammal as a sentient being. Was it an instantaneous change in perspective, or did Man’s primordial emotions slowly develop and adapt over time?

  And what about the peripheral, non-essential emotions, like laughter and humility? Did they suddenly manifest or did they have to be cultivated and learned through complex social interactions with other evolved primates?

  Maybe it was simply a random convergence of factors that developed out of necessity, or possibly it was nothing more than the inevitable result of an ever-advancing intelligence.