Double Down (Lois Lane)

by Gwenda Bond

  I wanted to sink to the floor and hold the phone as tightly to my ear as possible. To hear his voice, drink it in, learn it so well I’d recognize it anywhere, anytime.

  We talked in the game, of course, but that was different. The audio washed our voices out, made them vaguely digital. This was his real voice. I had a sudden case of envy for my parents and every generation before us that had talked on the phone instead of texting or gaming together.

  “Lois?” he asked again. “Say something. You’re okay, right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, with a laugh more breathless than I wanted it to be. My mom exchanged a look with my dad, one of their patented “parents see all” looks. I turned away from them, pressing the phone against my cheek. “Sorry I scared you. It’s just…” I steadied myself. “It’s the way the game’s played. You lose.”

  “The game,” he said.

  There was a pause, both of us breathing, my parents watching, and yet, I didn’t want to hang up. I didn’t want to go, and maybe he didn’t either.

  He said, “As long as you’re all right, I win.”

  There was a faint click. I took a deep breath, let it out, then turned and handed my mom the receiver back.

  “Sorry about that,” I said carefully. I didn’t know how much he’d said to them, how much they knew.

  “And what was that, exactly?” my dad asked, and it wasn’t a question. It was a quiet demand.

  “So much for privacy,” I said.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” my mom put in, too eagerly.

  I must have been as red as the sun. Call the fire department to come put me out.

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Well?” she asked. “I don’t like him scaring us, if it is.”

  “He’s just a friend. What did he tell you that scared you so much?”

  “That our baby girl, so gifted at getting herself in trouble, might be in danger,” she said.

  “He said that you were in danger, Lois,” Dad added. “He almost gave us both a heart attack.”

  Poor parents. If they had any idea where I’d been and why he’d risked calling them, they probably would go straight past heart attacks and all the way into rigor mortis.

  “I’m fine, as you can see,” I said. Their reactions made it seem like he hadn’t had a chance to say much of the incriminating variety. “It was just a prank. A game some of us play. I think I had him worried.” I paused and shrugged. “You know me. Can’t resist a good prank.”

  “Yes,” my mom said thoughtfully, “we do.”

  “The caller ID said private,” Dad said. “Who was that?”

  Gulp. Think fast, Lois. “A friend—I met him at one of those schools in, uh, Ohio. He’s in a game I play online with some of my friends here. We’re just friends.”

  Neither one of them looked convinced by my explanation, but they let me pass to go upstairs. Lucy was tucked against the wall about halfway up. “It’s all right,” I told her. “I’m not in trouble.”

  “They were freaked,” she said. “Don’t get us both put under surveillance.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. She nodded, spun, and bolted up the stairs and into her room.

  I needed to get to the game. Heading into my room, I locked the door behind me, unslung my bag, and put on my earpiece in moments. I pressed it on and…

  There I was, in the fake world that felt so real. SmallvilleGuy was there, but so was Devin.

  Devin sported his in-game guise, decked out in chainmail and royal threads, topped with his King Devin crown. “He was just filling me in,” he said. “You shouldn’t have done that alone.”

  “You could’ve stopped me,” I countered.

  “Yeah, right.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “Okay, probably not, but I’m fine.” I looked at SmallvilleGuy then. He was standing there, staring at me. He was drinking me in with an intensity that was… intense.

  I swallowed. “I found him. Them. The scientist, and the double of James’s dad.”

  Or whatever he was.

  “Really?” Devin let out a low whistle, and it reminded me of the serial killerish tune our mad scientist had made while I’d cowered on the stairs, waiting to and hoping not to get caught.

  I must have shown that disconcerting flash of memory somehow—the game and its ability to capture emotion could be good and bad—because SmallvilleGuy took a step closer to me and put his hand on my forearm.

  It helped. I felt steadier. But no, not really. I wasn’t steady. Not anything like steady.

  The touch stopped helping. A tremble started in my hands. I remembered the double’s eyes popping open in that ghostly blue liquid. I remembered running and shoving against that immovable door, trapped inside with him. My breath grew shallower.

  Devin looked from SmallvilleGuy to me and said, “You can catch me up later. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  He didn’t sound certain that I was. And he was gone before I could protest. But I was glad that he left. I didn’t like showing weakness, not to anybody. A problem, because right this second, I felt weak.

  I started walking toward the turret. The closer I got, the more I hurried. Because the shakiness was still there. It wouldn’t stay behind, no matter how much faster I moved.

  The game wasn’t the full dark of night yet, and so the torches inside the turret weren’t lit. The interior was full of shadows, the only light provided by twilight coming in through the two openings far above. I had to stop when I got inside. There was nowhere else to go.

  I stood, breathing, trying to get a grip. I didn’t have to ask why I was freaking out now.

  The terror had caught up to me.

  That had been a close call at the lab.

  The man in the tank had seen me. This hadn’t been anything like visiting Advanced Research Labs, in the middle of the city and filled with people. Whatever Dabney Donovan and Ismenios Labs were, it wasn’t safe to invade. No one there would raise the alarm.

  But to finish this, I’d have to risk going back there, being seen again.

  And I didn’t want to. I was afraid to.

  Before I knew what was happening, arms surrounded me. Light, gentle, but strong too. SmallvilleGuy pulled me into a hug. I buried my face against his character’s T-shirt and closed my eyes. There were no scents in the game, not real ones. Sometimes your mind would fill in things, like the scent of burning if smoke erupted on the horizon. But we’d never been this close to each other. My mind didn’t have anything to fill in.

  So I knew this wasn’t really real.

  But I held on to him despite that, a fist of T-shirt in my hand. His fingers traced a delicate circle on my back.

  “Lois,” he said after a few minutes, “no pressure, but you’re scaring me. What happened to you? How bad? Can you tell me?”

  I released his shirt and pulled back. I shook off what was left of my fear. For now.

  Most of it, anyway.

  Apparently, I’d needed a moment of weakness to process that terror I hadn’t let myself feel while it was happening.

  “Nothing,” I said, steadier. Steadied by him. “Nothing happened to me. But it could’ve.”

  I filled him in, getting the appropriate shocked reactions and being grateful that he didn’t tell me I shouldn’t have done it. I had done what I had to do. Yes, I’d put myself in harm’s way. But those files in my bag might be the key to everything. We knew where Donovan was now.

  When I finished he said, “You’re okay?”

  I nodded. “About before…”

  I broke down in front of him. So far beyond embarrassing. Weak wasn’t who I was.

  “We’ll never speak of it again,” he said. “I know you hate that I saw it, but… I’m glad you trusted me enough to let me be there for you.”

  “I shouldn�
��t be afraid, though.” I brushed hair back out of my elf eyes. “It’s my job not to be. To be strong instead.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s your job to find the truth. I’ve been thinking about this. Courage doesn’t mean never being afraid. We’re all afraid sometimes. Bravery means doing the right thing anyway. That’s true strength.”

  I blinked at him. He was earnest, not humoring me.

  “That’s really smart.” I smiled up at him. “Like something I’d say.”

  “Now that’s a compliment. I’m honored,” he said, smiling back, hand over his heart. But then his smile slipped away. “And that’s also why I have to go, since you’re okay. You really are okay, right?”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “Good, because it’s my turn to do something stupid.”

  Oh no. He’s still going to the sighting.

  “Maybe I’m not okay after all,” I said.

  “Nice try. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back. Stay logged in to chat.”

  And he was gone.

  “Be careful,” I said to the empty air.

  CHAPTER 16

  Needless to say, I wasn’t going to go straight to sleep after I popped back out of the game, despite the post- adrenaline exhaustion sneaking up on me. For one thing, I was starving. And after I took care of that, I needed to tackle those files and see what goodies they might hold for us. Plus, worry worry worry about SmallvilleGuy going to that sighting until I heard from him again.

  I went to the computer and logged in to chat, even though he wouldn’t be back for hours. Then, I navigated to Strange Skies and skimmed through the thread. There were four or five other people going to tonight’s sighting, according to their posts.

  Great. I could be nervous for all of them.

  On a whim, I pulled up a new private message window, plugged in TheInventor’s handle, and typed him a message. I strained for a casual tone. We’d never communicated directly, only exchanged the occasional quote-and-response on threads.

  PM from SkepticGirl1 to TheInventor: Hey, I hear you’re helping SG in trying to track down the goods about this random Insider01 posting on the boards. Thanks for that. I don’t like the sound of these agents either. But, you know, if you have any pull to tell SG to be careful, well, then do. I’d appreciate it.

  If TheInventor told SmallvilleGuy about this message, hopefully he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Guys could be unpredictable, and I suspected sometimes they listened to each other more than to girls. Not that SmallvilleGuy seemed guilty of that—he was too smart—but it couldn’t hurt to have two voices urging caution. That was my operating theory.

  I waited in case TheInventor responded right away. My mental picture of him was surrounded by computers and tech equipment in some dank sub-level somewhere, rarely willing to leave and be exposed to sunlight. In which case, he’d be sitting at his monitor, as usual. When he didn’t respond after a couple of minutes, I clicked the tab shut and went downstairs to forage for food.

  My mom was in the kitchen, so I almost turned around and went back upstairs, but it was too late. She’d seen me.

  “Lois,” she said. “Hungry?”

  “Pretty much always,” I admitted.

  “There’s some leftover spaghetti.” She’d already started dishing it into a bowl, and she put it in the microwave when she finished. She leaned a hip against the counter while it heated.

  “Lois,” she said.

  With reluctance, I looked over at her.

  She bit her lip against a grin, seeming highly amused. Then she said, “There’s nothing wrong with liking a boy. Really. Your dad may not agree, but I think it’s a good thing. I know moving has been hard on you girls.”

  Arghhhhh. “Mom, we’re not talking about this. He’s just a friend, I promise. It’s just a game some of us like to play.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “You’ll come to me if it’s something else, though? So we can talk. I know you kids know everything these days, but come to me when you need to.”

  The microwave dinged off and she opened the door. I reached in to get the pasta and flee this deathly embarrassing scene.

  “Promise you will?” she asked. “It’ll be just between us.”

  “I won’t be able to, because I’ll be dead of mortification. But my ghost will come talk to you.” I twirled spaghetti around the fork and took a bite. “I, um, appreciate the offer, though, Mom. Also, this is delish.”

  She allowed me to leave, and I ate half the bowl before I got upstairs. The rest I inhaled back at my desk. Still nothing from TheInventor.

  I dumped the files onto my bed and started on Melody’s.

  Subject: Pretty Blond Girl, age 14, identical twin.

  Neurological profile and DNA markers most promising of samples taken to date. Age may be a factor, given that the suitability of those closer to adulthood has proved weaker. Sample one of PBG’s blood showed signs of receptivity to the duplicating serum, and thus far the cell integrity is holding. However, there are also signs of a potential equivalent or cousin to quantum connection’s spooky action at a distance. Einstein may have been a skeptic that such connections could exist between molecules, and would undoubtedly deny the phenomenon would be possible between two minds. However, this apparent tendency seems to bear out more recent work, as well as my own theorem about remnant spooky action and reaction in such cases. The manifestations of those effects will require further observation, but I theorize they will be limited to the empathy centers in the anterior insular cortex. They could foster a potentially unhealthy mental connection between the donor and the duplicate. A treatment to sever such ties in the donor is simple enough, but impossible to execute without the donor’s knowledge. Therefore, I have begun work on a medicinal regimen that should halt the effects in the duplicate and thus suppress symptoms in the donor. This regimen I now see as a potential boon, given the client’s demands. It would allow for an interesting potential behavioral corrective and help to ensure compliance in the duplicate, if I am correct, and I usually am…

  More blah sciences punctuated with asides about “if my suspicions prove correct” and “if this theorem is as meritorious as I believe” that bugged me for a reason I couldn’t identify. Finally, I reached a line that made me understand why, even if I was still struggling with the larger meaning of the notes:

  Truly I am a genius. The duplication process will prove it, and once it is known, once the world is ready, all will say Einstein exists in my shadow.

  Oh, that was it. Normal scientific notes were objective, right? They didn’t include a lot of “I” and discussion about how wonderful and perfect and genius the scientist was.

  Not surprising, given his chosen areas of interest—the ones we knew about—but off-putting. This was not any guy I wanted to meet alone on a darkened staircase. But his notes and the way he referred to Melody as PBG made me feel stabby enough that my lingering fear had begun to fade.

  And what was this? There was one last note made, hastily added at the end of the file.

  I have told the donor to alert me if she experiences any side effects. However, this should not be an issue. I have confirmed that I can control them at my end of the tether, with the daily dosing regimen, so the donor should detect no difference in her daily life. There is a method that would halt the connectivity permanently in the donor, which would require but a single session. But as suspected it would be impossible to administer without arousing the donor’s suspicion, and while she has no authority or power to raise any alarm, that would be best avoided. After consultation with my client, we have concurred it will be more advantageous to use these “side effects” as an added mechanism of controlling the duplicate by administering the daily regimen to suppress them. Its reaction will allow greater psychological study of the duplicate itselfhimself.

  Hmmm. It sounded like there was so
me way to cure Melody of her so-called quantum connectivity—an unhealthy connection to be sure—in one swoop. The rest I didn’t fully understand, but I was beginning to have a sinking feeling about the continued references to duplication and the duplicate. Especially that last part, the strikeout to change itself to himself.

  Could it mean…

  But I heard Perry’s voice in my head: “A good reporter makes leaps of logic, but doesn’t believe they are the same as fact without proof.” I closed the folder about Melody and opened the one about James’s dad.

  Mayor Worthington. Male, 44 years old. Subject for duplication.

  I shook my head as I read on.

  Background: During the solicitation of funds to continue my research (having been unjustly deprived of the resources that used to be available to me), Mr. Mannheim agreed to become my benefactor, providing space and funds for my work. However, the deal is contingent on my assistance with an untenable problem of his. He is not interested in science for science’s sake (more’s the pity), but he does like its practical applications. The current mayor has proven problematic to my benefactor’s agenda. He must be replaced. I saw at once how it could be done, and my benefactor was very impressed by the novelty of the idea. He brought Mayor Worthington to tour my laboratory, and the man hardly seemed impressed. I attempted to convince him to provide adequate samples by telling him I am researching the qualities of great men, but he refused. No matter, for Mister Mannheim is quite resourceful; he was able to secure the DNA sample I needed by applying adequate pressure to Mayor Worthington’s personal physician. At Mister Mannheim’s request, the duplication serum and sample have now been prepared to attempt my greatest work. I do not even feel nervous, so certain am I that this will succeed.

  The trick, you see, is that the serum must hold the right properties. Yes, you must tell it what form the duplicate should take, but it cannot be produced by a DNA sample from the individual to be duplicated alone. You must add it to the serum first, which was created using sample 112 from subject PBG. Only then is the possibility born, along with the duplicate itself.