The Cloned Identity (14 page)

I turned to the Professor: “Her childhood – will she remember it?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, but not the one she actually experienced. I've given her a completely new one.”

“But why? Why did you have do that?” I asked with a disgusted look on my face.

“Roger, you must understand, you just can't add a new middle or later life; it has to be linked with an earlier life. There has to be continuity. Look at it this way: if we gave her a new identity for only the last twenty years, all her earlier memories would seem disconnected; so she would become bewildered and frightened. Her memories would be thrown into confusion. It would be like recording over a song on a tape without erasing the previous one – you would end up with a distortion of both recordings.” What he said made sense.

“But you have still got the data relating to her first life, haven't you?” I asked him.

“Yes, it's stored away,” he replied.

“Well, couldn't that data be turned into pictures?” I asked.

“Yes, it could, but it would take years, and what would be the point? She wouldn't remember any of it, so it would be meaningless to her,” he replied; then he went back to his toys.

I bit my lip. What if she did remember, or want to remember? What if trying to remember was like looking into a black hole, a void? Wouldn't that be just as frightening?

My deep thoughts were interrupted by a hushed moan from Jack. The Professor came over and we undid the straps. Then, supporting her between us, we took her back to her room. We laid her on the bed, and the Professor took a syringe from the dressing table and injected a colourless liquid into her slender arm. I covered her with a blanket, tucking it under her chin. I gently stroked her cheek with my fingers, and tried to wipe away a small, dark smudge of eye makeup that was staining the side of her nose. I looked guiltily at the Professor, but he hadn't noticed. He was too busy packing his instruments up.

We left the room together. I checked my watch.

“I had better be going,” I said as I took a card from my pocket and scribbled a number on the back. “That's where I'll be; I should be home by six, though.” I passed him the card.

He went with me to the door. Things were definitely frosty between us, and I took a deep breath when I got outside. I made my way to the court, stopping only to buy a sandwich for my lunch.

While I waited for my case to come up, I sat there thinking. I made up my mind to get Jack away from the lab as soon as I could. She could stay with me – she would have her own room. I could look after her – take her on holiday wherever she wanted to go. I smiled as I thought of her on a plane, probably for the first time. Then I frowned. Perhaps in her new identity she was used to flying. I suddenly realised how little I actually knew about her. I decided to ask the Professor to give me a list of what she now knew.

The court case was a waste of my entire afternoon as the defendant changed his plea to guilty, but I had an enjoyable evening, mainly spent planning for Jack's arrival. I went to bed feeling happy and pleased.

I was still feeling happy when I arrived at the lab the next morning. I even managed the security door. I could hear the sound of voices and laughter coming from the kitchen, and I quickened my pace.

I entered the room and said good morning with a smile on my face. My eyes focused on Jack, who was standing by the sink. The smile drained from my face and was replaced by a cold, sinking feeling when I noticed the dark, unfriendly look she gave me before she looked away. I looked at the Professor.

“Morning, Roger,” he greeted me.

I deliberately looked at Jack, who was staring at the floor, then back at the Professor, my look demanding an explanation. The silence was heavy and awkward. I didn't know what to say. Something had gone wrong with the programming. I felt the anger welling up inside me.

‘We should have stopped,' I thought.

Jack suddenly spoke. Looking at the Professor, she said, “I think I will go to my room. I feel tired”

The Professor nodded.

I watched her face as she left. She didn't look at me once, but just stared at the floor. I stood rooted to the spot, my fists clenched with the tension I was feeling. The Professor cleared the table and started to wash up.

As soon as I heard Jack's door close, I walked over to him.

“Well?”

He looked at me.

“What's gone wrong?” I demanded.

“I am not sure, Roger. She seemed all right until you came in; then her mood changed. I am sure it's only temporary – probably a reaction to the data. Perhaps we overdid it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Don't worry – it will sort itself out. Just give it time.”

The Professor's reassurances didn't make me feel any better. I could feel something was wrong.

I stayed for lunch, but Jack's attitude towards me seemed to get worse. She ignored everything I said, even when I spoke about the shopping trip. I thought, if anything could, that would spark some interest from her, some comment – but there was nothing. As far as she was concerned, the Professor was the only other person there. And he didn't help. He could have made an effort to include me in the conversation.

After lunch, when I decided to go home, I tackled him about it as he saw me to the door. He said I was seeing things that weren't there, and he told me not to worry so much; things would look different in the morning.

I drove home in exactly the opposite mood to the one I had arrived in. At home I took a bottle and sat brooding in the room I had selected for Jack. I just couldn't understand it. It had to be the last lot of sodding data. There must have been a confliction with the previous lot – but why me? Why not the Professor? Why not both of us? Could it be that I reminded her of someone from her past – someone who had harmed her?

I decided I would get the Professor to program her to like me – to love me. That would be the answer.

Somehow I must have got into bed, because the next thing I was waking up with a thumping headache and a mouth that felt as though it was full of sawdust.

It was nearly ten thirty before I felt safe to venture out and drive to the lab. I was feeling reasonably cheerful. My late arrival would give Jack more time, I thought. After all, women were usually at their worst first thing in the morning.

I parked the car and was just about to enter the lab when I heard the sound of voices coming from round the side of the building; so I made my way round the corner. I spotted Jack and the Professor walking away from me. Jack looked happy, judging by the way she was swinging along. The sound of her laughter floated through the still air like a transparent cloud to be sucked into my waiting ears. My hopes rose as I walked after them. As I got closer, my happy thoughts turned to anger. They were behaving like a happy couple out for a stroll. A feeling of jealousy cut clean through my self-control. They were so engrossed with each other that I was just a few feet away before they turned as one to face the intruder. I tried to smile at Jack, but just grimaced. Jack's face showed her fear of me, and she instinctively moved behind the Professor for protection.

The Professor greeted me and I stopped directly in front of him and confronted him with my anger and aggression. We stood facing each other like gladiators waiting to do battle. Neither of us spoke for what seemed an eternity, then the Professor turned to Jack and asked her to pop back inside as he wanted to talk to me. She hurried away without a glance at me. I saw the fear in her face as she went past.

I spoke first: “What's going on, Professor? Don't tell me nothing, because I'm not blind or stupid.” I stabbed his chest with my finger as I spoke, just to make sure he knew I meant business.

He put his hand up and rubbed the place I had poked him.

“Steady on, Roger. Calm down. I can assure you there is nothing going on. I'm trying to sort it out right now. That's why I was talking to Jack when you arrived. I've been up most of the night checking the data, and I think I may have the answer. Look – let's go into the lab and discuss it.”

We walked back in silence. I felt guilty for the way I had behaved. I could hardly blame Jack for being frightened of me if I behaved like a madman. I followed the Professor. I glanced into the kitchen as we passed, but Jack must have been in her room.

In the lab the Professor sat behind his desk and I sat in front.

“Look, Professor – I've got a gut feeling about this. She was getting on well with me right up till you put the last lot of data in, so what exactly did that data consist of?” I asked accusingly.

“Well…” He fumbled for words.

“Well?” I asked again.

“Just a few loose ends – improvements.” He looked uncomfortable as he spoke.

“Are you sure you didn't instruct her to hate me for some reason? It has occurred to me that you might have done that to prove a point.”

“No, of course not!” he retorted, his face reddened with anger at my accusation.

I was feeling better now that he had lost his composure.

“Let me warn you, Professor, if I find out you have deliberately turned her against me, I'll expose your whole operation. I've got it all written down: dates, times – everything.”

He looked frightened. He stood up and leant forward across his desk. His eyes were blazing with indignation. He went to say something, then changed his mind. He sat down and his expression changed – softened.

“Roger, don't be a fool. You can't destroy my work, not on a silly whim. Be sensible. I've told you before that there are areas I don't yet fully understand. It's possible that you remind her of someone in her past – someone who has harmed her.” The Professor was regaining his composure; his voice was steady again.

“I've already thought of that,” I snapped; “but you said you had removed her past, so how could that happen?”

“It's possible I missed something. Roger, surely you can see the possibility!” He was almost pleading.

I got up.

“I don't know, Professor. I am not sure – not convinced by a long way. I need to think about it.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking concerned.

“To the loo.”

I left the room and locked myself in the loo. I stared into the mirror; a stranger glared back. I took several deep breaths and tried to control myself. The past thirty minutes had really shaken me to the core. Never before had I felt so wild inside, so primitive. I could easily have smashed the place up. I held my hands up in front of my face; they were trembling. I leant against the wall and squeezed my eyes closed, so all I could see was the blackness, and slowly the anger began to diminish. I opened my eyes and blinked to clear the mist.

‘Think!' I told myself. ‘Think! The Professor can put it right – you know he can. I have to butter him up, apologise, crawl. That is it – problem solved!'

I realised I was sweating as I felt a cold tickle run down my side. Opening my shirt, I dried my armpits with some loo paper; then I held my hands under the cold tap and absorbed the refreshing feeling as the temperature in my hands dropped. I returned to the lab a different man.

The Professor was sitting at his desk, drinking from a cup. He smiled as I entered.

“Look, Roger – I am sorry about this misunderstanding. I am sure I can put things right. Just be patient.”

“Yes, I am sorry too,” I replied as I sat down.

“Help yourself to a cup of tea. I've only just made it.” He gestured towards the tray on his desk.

Grateful for something to do, I poured a cup and helped myself to a couple of biscuits. I sat back in my chair and dunked my biscuits and sipped my tea. I listened as the Professor outlined the next part of his program. As I sat there I found his voice becoming a drone – a distant drone.

I heard him say, “Does that sound all right, Roger?”

I felt like I was floating. Did I answer? I listened carefully, head on one side, trying to pick up the words, but they wouldn't register; they wouldn't join together; they wouldn't make a sentence. I looked at the Professor, but he wouldn't stay still. He kept moving from side to side. I could feel a pressure on the sides of my head, like when your eyes are straining. I tried to get up, but nothing was working. It all felt like a dream. I could see Jack's smiling face and I smiled back.

“Come on, Roger – come and have a lie-down.” I could hear the voice, but I couldn't see where it was coming from.

My eyes were closed. They were so heavy. I couldn't feel anything. My legs, my arms – where were they? Why weren't they there? I couldn't understand.

“There you are. Lie on the couch. You will soon feel better.”

Where was I? The lab, the couch – what was happening? My God, he's going to program me! I tried to scream, but the silence echoed back at me. I couldn't move. I was a mind in a carcass.

The voice came at me again: “Now, don't worry, Roger, all your worries will soon be gone. You know, that was a very silly thing to do, to threaten me like that. You were quite right, though: I did program Jack to hate you. It worked very well, don't you think? You gave me no choice. I could see you were falling in love with her. Next you would have been wanting to take her away from me. No, I couldn't allow that. No, Roger, she's mine. She'll do anything I ask.” The voice rambled on through the mist. “Just think, Roger: we can have children – virgin minds! I can work on them as soon as they are born. My very own supply of research material! Now I am going to give you a shot under your arm so they won't spot the mark – you won't feel anything – then I am afraid it's goodbye, Roger. There, that didn't hurt, did it? Such a waste! Still, I don't really need you now.”

* * *

I sat on my desk as I looked over at Roger. ‘Five minutes should be enough,' I thought as I looked at my watch.

I put the cups back on the tray and went through to the kitchen, and I washed the cups and teapot out with boiling water. I grinned to myself. I bet he never thought for one minute he was pouring out his own death warrant. I suppose you could almost call it suicide – administered by his own hand, milord. I chuckled. Of course I could have programmed him, but that would have been awkward, what with his job. My research still had a long way to go, so I decided not to take the risk. I checked my watch and returned to the lab. I checked Roger's pulse and listened to his chest. Satisfied he was dead, I folded the plastic sheet I had put on the couch over him and, using the dreaded brown plastic parcel tape, I taped my parcel up. Finished, I stood back and admired my handiwork. He looked quite good, like a mummy, only this one wouldn't be coming back to life. I left the lab and went to Jack's room, knocking before I entered.