in limestone and manicured to perfection.
The large patio doors leading to his father’s office were open to let in the fresh, fragrantly scented air of roses and honeysuckle planted nearby. He could hear his father’s voice speaking on the videophone, his familiar deep baritone voice emanating confidence and command.
He longed for their old times together, to once again feel protected and loved. And yet, he couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him. It was surely many months ago, as if his father had decided it was time to wean him out.
He had almost stepped inside when he heard parts of the conversation, “Yes, it’s been taken care of… in the incinerator, of course… yes, it’s confirmed… the boy does not even know he’s a clone… soon... it’s going to look like an unfortunate accident… don’t worry, I’ll take care of it…. I had to, he knew too much… the other one will die as we planned initially… all right then,” and he hung up.
Nothing had affected Allan more in his entire life than that one conversation. He felt completely numb. His knees seemed to give up on him, then his body started to shake uncontrollably, as if the dead of winter had settled into his bones. Who is this monster? My own father. What is going on?
His mind was going in circles, one question leading to others even more frightening. What, and why and when had it started? Who was involved? How many of them were in on this terrible plot of assassination and was he the primary target or just a peon in a big war game of sorts?
F rom deep inside him came a will to live, a will so fierce it enveloped him like a tidal wave. He would prevail and he would see the end of this if it took him the rest of his life. Suddenly, he remembered his clone and the fact that he was also in danger of being killed at some appointed time in the future.
I don’t even know what I’m not supposed to know.
He pondered briefly and then put the thought on hold to attend to more pressing business: saving his clone , and hopefully making an ally of him. None of me will die . In spite of the dire situation, he found that latest thought hilarious.
He turned around carefully and tried another back entrance to the house, one that took him to the kitchen. It was used by the Servers coming in and out during the week.
The door was closed, but rarely ever locked, so he opened it carefully and slipped inside. He took the Servers’ staircase up to the second floor where his apartment was and opened the door to his study room.
As he stepped inside, he felt a blow to h is head, and crumpled to the floor.
“My God, you’re my clone,” he heard a voice. “What are you doing here?”
He opened his eyes and looked at his mirrored image, “ You are my clone.”
“Are you okay?”
“Back off man. What was that, a bat?”
“You bet it was. You entered my house. I thought you were a burglar.”
“Listen closely.” He sat up with a groan. “ I am Allan, the original Allan. You’re my clone and you took my place a day and a half ago.” Noticing that his counterpart looked frightened and ready to scream for help, Allan took a step back, raised his arms above his head in a surrendering motion, and continued.
“Please, don’t say anything until I’m finished. It’s a matter of life and death, for both of us.” He saw the clone looking as if he was ready to listen, and he continued . “Did something unusual happen to you last Thursday night?” Then he lowered his arms and sat on the floor.
The clone hesitated for a moment. “Actually, yes. After a hard training day, I went to the Imaginarium, then came home and went straight to bed. I woke up some time after midnight with a terrible headache and a feeling of not knowing where I was. I’d had a dream of floating in a tube and it felt so claustrophobic… I woke up in a sweat. Then I relaxed because I realized I was in my own bedroom.”
“The tube,” Allan explained,
The large patio doors leading to his father’s office were open to let in the fresh, fragrantly scented air of roses and honeysuckle planted nearby. He could hear his father’s voice speaking on the videophone, his familiar deep baritone voice emanating confidence and command.
He longed for their old times together, to once again feel protected and loved. And yet, he couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him. It was surely many months ago, as if his father had decided it was time to wean him out.
He had almost stepped inside when he heard parts of the conversation, “Yes, it’s been taken care of… in the incinerator, of course… yes, it’s confirmed… the boy does not even know he’s a clone… soon... it’s going to look like an unfortunate accident… don’t worry, I’ll take care of it…. I had to, he knew too much… the other one will die as we planned initially… all right then,” and he hung up.
Nothing had affected Allan more in his entire life than that one conversation. He felt completely numb. His knees seemed to give up on him, then his body started to shake uncontrollably, as if the dead of winter had settled into his bones. Who is this monster? My own father. What is going on?
His mind was going in circles, one question leading to others even more frightening. What, and why and when had it started? Who was involved? How many of them were in on this terrible plot of assassination and was he the primary target or just a peon in a big war game of sorts?
F rom deep inside him came a will to live, a will so fierce it enveloped him like a tidal wave. He would prevail and he would see the end of this if it took him the rest of his life. Suddenly, he remembered his clone and the fact that he was also in danger of being killed at some appointed time in the future.
I don’t even know what I’m not supposed to know.
He pondered briefly and then put the thought on hold to attend to more pressing business: saving his clone , and hopefully making an ally of him. None of me will die . In spite of the dire situation, he found that latest thought hilarious.
He turned around carefully and tried another back entrance to the house, one that took him to the kitchen. It was used by the Servers coming in and out during the week.
The door was closed, but rarely ever locked, so he opened it carefully and slipped inside. He took the Servers’ staircase up to the second floor where his apartment was and opened the door to his study room.
As he stepped inside, he felt a blow to h is head, and crumpled to the floor.
“My God, you’re my clone,” he heard a voice. “What are you doing here?”
He opened his eyes and looked at his mirrored image, “ You are my clone.”
“Are you okay?”
“Back off man. What was that, a bat?”
“You bet it was. You entered my house. I thought you were a burglar.”
“Listen closely.” He sat up with a groan. “ I am Allan, the original Allan. You’re my clone and you took my place a day and a half ago.” Noticing that his counterpart looked frightened and ready to scream for help, Allan took a step back, raised his arms above his head in a surrendering motion, and continued.
“Please, don’t say anything until I’m finished. It’s a matter of life and death, for both of us.” He saw the clone looking as if he was ready to listen, and he continued . “Did something unusual happen to you last Thursday night?” Then he lowered his arms and sat on the floor.
The clone hesitated for a moment. “Actually, yes. After a hard training day, I went to the Imaginarium, then came home and went straight to bed. I woke up some time after midnight with a terrible headache and a feeling of not knowing where I was. I’d had a dream of floating in a tube and it felt so claustrophobic… I woke up in a sweat. Then I relaxed because I realized I was in my own bedroom.”
“The tube,” Allan explained,
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