Popular Clone (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

Like attracts like. Ergo: the best companion a boy can have is his own clone.

—Fisher Bas, Scientific Principles and Observations of the Natural World (unpublished)

Fisher stepped into his mother's chemical storage locker. It was the size of a large walk-in closet and completely lined with shelves. Fluorescent lights clicked on, one by one, filling the space with a bluish glow and illuminating rows of sealed bottles, flasks, test tubes, copper wire, and centrifuges, as well as three dozen cans of McGinty's Old-Fashioned Cherry Fizz Soda. His mom was addicted to the stuff and always needed it when she was working.

Fisher walked the rows until he found a clear canister with a titanium latch on its seal labeled,
AGH-X3
, and below that,
UNTESTED
.

Below that were the words:
EXTREMELY
VOLATILE
.
VERY
DANGEROUS
.
DO NOT TOUCH
.

And then, in tiny letters:
THAT MEANS YOU, FISHER
.

Fisher gulped. His mother had been working on the project for over a year. If he destroyed her work, and was caught stealing from her—stealing dangerous and highly experimental chemicals, no less—something terrible would happen. Maybe he'd be the test subject for his mother's next project—developing an effective angry-squirrel repellant. Fisher thought about being dropped into a vat of squirrels. He twitched reflexively. He definitely couldn't take much of the hormone without her knowing—certainly not as much as he needed—but if he could siphon off just a tiny bit and take it to his own lab to study, he might be able to re-create it himself.

The canister was on a high shelf and Fisher didn't have a ladder. He considered trying to balance on FP but decided the pig would never stand still for long enough.

Fisher raised himself up onto his very tiptoes and eased his hands around the container as quickly as he dared. He wiggled the canister off the shelf … a little farther … and a little farther, and then …

The slick canister slipped right through his fingers.

Icy panic shot up Fisher's back. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The canister pinwheeled, plummeting to the ground. His eyes followed the path of the falling canister, helplessly, until it struck the hard steel floor.

And bounced.

Fisher exhaled. Of course! It was plastic. His mom was far too smart to keep an important chemical in a container made of glass.

Fisher slipped a sealable test tube out of his sock—he always had one there, just in case—connected it to the small built-in port on the canister's seal, and eased out a bit of the advanced AGH. He quickly replaced the canister, made sure that he had not disturbed anything else in the room, and slipped out again.

The first part of Mission: Fisher Bas Number Two had been a success. Fisher allowed himself a small smile. Not even space hero (and scoundrel) Vic Daring could have done it better.

An hour later, FP lay on the floor, slowly chomping his way through a green apple, as Fisher began the process of re-creating the Accelerated Growth Hormone in his room. He had put on his white lab coat, custom-tailored to his small frame, and his gloves and goggles. A variety of laboratory supplies and materials mingled with boxes of cookies and bags of barbecue-flavored potato chips on his lab table. He had three days to make this experiment a success.

Fisher cracked his knuckles and began his work.

Clone Log. Friday, 7:00
p
.
m
.
The first stage of the process will be to establish a proper balance of the AGH, cellular tissue, and other substances to begin rapid cell division. Also, to keep a small, hungry pig with the power of flight away from my snacks. Constant vigilance will be required!

Clone Log. Friday, 7:40
p
.
m
. Am leaving chemicals to stew while joining parents at dinner table. Have a cover story
prepared in the event of fire, explosion, or fiery explosion.

Clone Log. Friday, 8:25
p
.
m
. Have been experimenting with different chemical combinations. Have not as yet found the correct quantities. Now taking necessary pause for recalibration. And
Babylon 5
reruns.

Clone Log. Friday, 11:46
p
.
m
. Balance may be properly achieved with a rapid jet of oxygen to help set the process in motion. However, volatility of oxygen is causing some possible flammability issues. Small flames causing set
backs. Hope Mom won't notice the smoke damage. Also: running low on ginger ale.

Clone Log. Saturday, 12:13
a
.
m
. After many oxygen-jet trials, am increasing to higher levels in a more rapid jet, which according to calculations should set things into motion quickly without undue risk. I think this is going to work.

Clone Log. Saturday, 12:14
a
.
m
. Note to self: in future, make sure that the last words you use before combining volatile substances are not “I think this is going to work.” Side note: AGH is very effective at stimulating the regrowth of eyebrows.

Clone Log. Saturday, 8:15
a
.
m
. Slept for roughly 3.2 hours. Am now—

“Good morning, Fisher! You're up early today.” Fisher leapt up from his keyboard, his eyes sliding rapidly over the collection of petri dishes and test tubes on his worktable before landing on his mother. She was holding a test tube, which sent a thin blue mist into the air, and she wore a sophisticated eyepiece over her right eye.

Fisher pushed away from his worktable, casually brushing a key that made his log blink off the screen.

“Hi, Mom!” he said, plastering a broad, innocent grin across his face. “How did you sleep?”

She frowned slightly, and set down her test tube on Fisher's lab station. He tensed as she walked toward him. He forced himself to keep smiling.

“Fisher, I can see through that idiotic grin on your face, so you might as well drop the act. Don't think I don't understand what's going on.”

Fisher's heart began thumping in his throat. It felt like he had swallowed a bullfrog. Had she checked the levels of AGH in storage to the centiliter and noticed the missing quantity?

Fisher's heart stopped, and he began to stutter frantically. “I … I … er …”

She put a hand on his shoulder.

“When your dad and I were in school, we were just like you,” she went on, her expression softening. “And there were bullies and social orders then, just like there are now. But that doesn't mean it's okay to be skipping classes and coming home from school early. Don't give me that look— Lord Burnside told us everything. I promise you, I truly
promise
you, that these things will get better as you and the other kids get older. And I want you to know that you can always talk to us about it. Okay?”

The reassuring look she gave him was somewhat less effective with one of her eyes completely concealed behind an elaborate system of lenses and lights, which made her look like the world's most technologically sophisticated housefly.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. Of course she didn't know about the AGH. How could she? “I think I'll be all right. If it's okay with you, I'd like to get back to work. Helps me keep my mind off things.”

“Of course, Fisher,” she replied, straightening up. “I've got plenty of my own work to get to. Dad said he'd fix lunch at one, okay? Let's hope he and the oven don't get into it again. I think it's been charring the meat on purpose—it's still upset about what your father said about the broiler.” Fisher nodded sympathetically as his mom backed out of the room and closed the door. He breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

Then he was back to work.

Clone Log. Saturday, 10:00
a
.
m
. Trying a new combination of the AGH and other chemicals. Confident this new combination will not result in fire.

Clone Log. Saturday, 10:10
a
.
m
. Confirmed, new combination skipped the fire stage and went directly to
smoke. Previously untested laboratory venting system working very well.

Clone Log. Saturday, 2:00
p
.
m
. After time taken off from experiment to brainstorm and perform new calculations, have decided that formula needs more external stimulation for process to begin. Stand by.

Clone Log. Saturday, 2:15
p
.
m
. Preparing to apply stimulating electrical feed, after rerouting certain labora
tory wires. Stand by for upda—

The screen went black in the middle of his log entry. The lights followed. With all of his blinds closed, the room was plunged into darkness. Fisher heard FP's hooves clicking as the pig jumped in surprise, then let out a squeak of fear.

Fisher felt around for his battery-powered emergency light. Finding it, he flipped the switch. The light beamed on—directly into his eyes. Blinded, he stumbled backward just as FP crossed his path. He pitched over backward and lay in a heap for a few minutes.

“I guess I'm lucky I'm short. I don't have very far to fall.” He sighed. FP walked over to him and started prodding him with his nose. “And I'd have to rely on your snout-based first-aid skills.”

Fisher pulled himself to his feet, walked to his door, and slid open a wall panel. Ever since his mom had caused a short circuit that set the living room couch on fire, each room in the Bas house had been connected to its own circuit breaker. Fisher switched the circuit breaker off, then on again, bringing his lights, equipment, and computer humming back to life.

The power's return made FP jump again, and this time he took off, landing squarely on Fisher's head.

“Mmmn grrrnf,” Fisher said, reaching up to peel the terrified FP from his forehead. “Relax, boy. This isn't that bad. Remember when Mom made that robo-teapot, and it was running around the house dousing everything with scalding-hot Earl Grey?
That
was scary.” FP shuddered a little bit, and Fisher put him down. “Now let's get back to work.”

Clone Log. Saturday, 2:36
p
.
m
. After a brief electrical setback, attempting to stimulate again at reduced voltage.

Clone Log. Saturday, 3:40
p
.
m
. Apparently, I made a calculating error. I have produced not a human body but a large, cushion-shaped mat of hair. The pig is finding that it does, in fact, make an effective cushion.

Clone Log. Saturday, 5:00
p
.
m
. Further unsuccessful attempts to begin cell division have produced results including a single large tooth, a circular object made entirely of biceps, and finally a one-fifth-scale skeleton. Unfortunately, an action figure is not the desired product of this experiment. Must sleep now. Still have two days to go. I'm not giving up yet …

Fisher collapsed onto his bed and was asleep almost instantly.

He dreamed of an army of Fishers, completely identical, faces blank, marching in lockstep along a road. The sound of hundreds of Fisher feet striking the pavement seemed to make the world jump and dance like a chimpanzee on a trampoline.

Then the dreams switched, and he was watching as his clone grew in the lab, just like it was supposed to— except the clone didn't stop. The new Fisher kept getting bigger and bigger, knocking shelves over, splintering and crashing through the ceiling, and the whole house began to collapse… .