Replication

by Kevin Hardman

  I frowned. “What’s a ‘couple’?”

  “Five…maybe ten.”

  “Ten years!”

  “Yeah, but it goes by fast,” he said with a wink.

  I shook my head in derision. “I can’t even think that far down the road. But even if I could, what makes you think I won’t get corrupted like others around you?”

  “There’s no guarantee you won’t,” he admitted, “but from what I’ve seen, I think it’s less likely than most. I mean, you’re incredibly powerful now, but you’re not abusing your gifts the way others might. You’re not sneaking into movies, stealing money out of locked vaults, teleporting people you don’t like into City Hall naked, or turning invisible and slipping into the girls’ locker room. You’re using your abilities responsibly.”

  Empathically, it felt like he was being honest and forthright, with no hint of guile or deceit. Taken with the things he’d said, it almost felt like we could actually work together – something I couldn’t have even fathomed a week ago. And then I remembered: this was a master manipulator I was dealing with, a guy who was using me as his stalking horse in the situation with Jack. I might be forced to work for him, but it would be a mistake to trust him or let my guard down around him.

  “Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” I suggested. “We need to deal with my evil twin first and then we can figure out the details of our future working relationship.”

  “Fine, fine,” Gray intoned, nodding.

  “So, is there anything else I need to know about Jack?”

  “Actually,” Gray muttered, his eyes narrowing, “there is one thing…”

  Chapter 81

  I floated in the air outside a dilapidated, three-story building on the outskirts of the city. It was the former headquarters of a cement company that had shuttered ten years earlier during the last major downturn in the economy. Although the main entrance to the building had a sign posted that said “Keep Out,” a busted lock and the way the door stood ajar signaled that the sign had failed to fulfill its duties. It was obvious that, over the years, various individuals entered and exited at their leisure. At the moment, however, I was only interested in one: Jack, whom the tracker indicated was inside.

  Mentally, I went over my plan once again. It had pretty much been made on the fly following my meeting with Gray about an hour earlier. With little planning, it obviously wasn’t perfect but was probably the best that could be achieved under the circumstances.

  My thoughts were interrupted a moment later by my cell phone going off. It was on vibrate, but had been ringing almost constantly for the last sixty minutes. I knew without looking that it was Mouse.

  I was tempted to simply let it go unanswered, as I had since my mentor had begun calling. However, bearing in mind what was next on my agenda, it was possible that I wouldn’t get another opportunity to speak to him again. With that in mind, I hit the “Answer” button.

  “Jim,” Mouse said without preamble, “I know you’re upset, but think about what you’re doing.”

  “I already have, and I’ve decided.”

  “But you don’t have to do this. Your grandfather’s going to be fine, and he wouldn’t want this.”

  “I know, but what if I hadn’t been there? What if I’m not there next time? Do you know how I’ll feel if somebody dies because of Jack – because I didn’t stop him, or even try?”

  “We’ll find a way to stop him,” Mouse argued. “I promise. But not like this.”

  “I’m sorry, Mouse,” I said softly. “I have to go.”

  I hung up before he could say anything else and put my phone away. Then I phased and flew into the building.

  *****

  I found my quarry on the second floor near the middle of the building, in what appeared to have been an office bullpen. The space was divvied up into cubicles, each of which had a desk and chair. A thick layer of dust covered almost every visible surface, indicating that it had been a long time since the space had been utilized for its intended purpose.

  Jack stood in what appeared to be the main walkway between cubicles, dressed as he’d been the night before. He smiled as I flew towards him, then began to clap his hands in applause.

  “It’s about time,” he said. “I was starting to think I’d have to do all the work in this relationship.”

  “You were expecting me,” I noted as I stopped and hovered in the air a few feet away from him.

  “Naturally. Nice to know you’re willing to seek me out whenever we need to talk, instead of the ball always being in my court.”

  “You think I’m here to talk?” I growled angrily, letting my arms hang loosely at my side.

  “Well, I was hoping you’d give me a chance to explain what happened this morning.”

  “Aren’t you curious as to how I tracked you down?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I assume it was the homing beacon.”

  I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You know about that?”

  “Of course,” he said, laughing, as he reached into a pocket. “Here it is.”

  He held his palm out towards me. On it was a small circular object about the size of a watch battery.

  “I know that people are tracking me, so I usually have it on my person,” he explained, “although occasionally I leave it somewhere random if I don’t want my movements known.”

  Moving closer as I looked at the homing device, I asked, “Why’s it in your hand?”

  “Huh?” Jack murmured, frowning. “Oh! You thought it was…” He trailed off, pointing at his neck. “No, no, no. I took it out a while back. Teleported it out, actually.”

  “How’d you even know it was there?” I queried, sidling closer with my arms still dangling freely.

  “Oh, this isn’t the original,” he explained. “The first one went on the fritz, so they replaced it. I woke up on the operating table during the middle of the procedure.” He then whispered conspiratorially, “My handlers were bush league when it came to anesthetics.”

  Giving me a wink, he then went on, saying, “Anyhoo, I shut down my pain receptors and just listened for the rest of the operation and learned all kinds of interesting things. For the record, though, surgery without anesthesia? I wouldn’t recommend – Ooof!”

  Jack’s words were cut off as he went sailing backwards through the air, bent over at the midsection, while I stood there watching, my hands gripping what most people would think was an imaginary bat.

  The bat wasn’t imaginary, however – just invisible, thanks to my power. I had worked hard to keep my arms positioned in what seemed a natural manner while gripping the unseen metal bat by the knob in one hand. Using the pretext of examining the homing beacon to get closer to Jack, I had then shifted into super speed, gotten a grip on the bat with both hands, and then swung at his torso for all I was worth.

  The bat had struck around his stomach. Frankly speaking, given his precognitive abilities, I was actually surprised that the blow had connected, and the force of it sent Jack smashing through several cubicles before smacking soundly against the far wall and falling to the floor. However, he recovered quickly, and was already coming to his feet as I dashed towards him.

  “Okay, that’s your freebie,” he announced.

  “What?” I asked, stopping a few feet from him, still gripping the bat. (However, no longer having the element of surprise, I allowed the bat to become visible.)

  “That’s your free shot,” he said. “I owed you that for what I did earlier.”

  Now I understood; my swing with the invisible bat hadn’t caught Jack unaware. He’d let me hit him.

  “For what it’s worth, it was an accident,” he insisted. “I’d never intentionally hurt Gramps.”

  “Don’t call him that!” I hissed. “He’s not your grandfather. You almost killed him.”

  “Almost?” Jack repeated, sounding incredulous. “You mean he’s alive?”

  He seemed elated by the news, which was infuriating since he was th
e one who had caved my grandfather’s head in. And then, rather than teleport Gramps to a hospital (which you’d expect had it actually been an accident), he had fled, leaving my grandfather to die. Just the thought of what he’d done set my teeth on edge. A moment later, boundless rage abruptly exploded in me, and I went on the attack.

  Shifting into super speed, I charged, swinging wildly with the bat. On his part, Jack brought up his arms, obviously to protect his head, but it left a lot of target areas open: legs, sides, back, as well as the arms themselves.

  I swung at him with abandon, with every blow connecting solidly as I dashed around him lightning-quick. Remarkably, he held his ground this time, absorbing the blows that rained down on him from all sides. As I continued pummeling him, I heard him muttering something.

  “Enough,” he uttered as the bat continued striking. “Enough. Enough! ENOUGH!!!”

  His last utterance came out as a bellow, forceful and deafening in the office space. At the same time, he reached out amazingly fast and snatched the bat from my hands. Gripping it by the handle and the barrel, he then brought the bat down angrily as he jerked a knee into the air. The bat struck the raised knee and bent in half.

  I stared in shock at what I was seeing. In addition to the Bolt Blast, Jack also had super strength.

  “I said that’s enough,” he stated as he flung the bat away. (Oddly enough, bent as it was, it actually looked like a boomerang and I half-expected it to come back at him.) Then, seemingly noticing something on the back of his hand, he wiped it against his pants leg.

  “Now, I understand you’re upset,” Jack said, “and again, I apologize. But this continued assault on me isn’t healthy for either of us. We need to find a way to move past it. With that in mind, I suggest…I suggest…I, uh…I…”

  As he began stammering, Jack’s eyes started to blink almost spasmodically and his skin took on an unhealthy pallor. He shuddered once, like he’d taken a sudden chill, and then a second time. Without warning, he turned to the side and, bending over, abruptly spat up what looked like black blood. (Except he didn’t so much spit it up as send it spewing out, like projectile vomit, all over a nearby cubicle.) Eyes almost glowing with fury, he turned to me, scowling.

  “What did you do?!” he screeched, his face contorting in pain.

  I simply smiled, but didn’t say anything. What was happening to him was the last thing Gray had told me about with respect to Jack – a final failsafe in case there was ever a need to shut him down permanently. Basically, Jack’s creators had inserted an artificial organ in him. However, rather than serve a beneficial purpose, like one’s heart or lungs, the purpose of this one was malignant. It was full of vile, venomous toxins.

  “It won’t kill him,” Gray had said, “but when the toxins are released, it’ll shut down his bodily systems and place him in a coma.”

  It didn’t seem as good as having Jack dead, but it was a reasonable compromise, and so I had acquiesced. Getting the organ to release the toxins, however, required a specific catalyst – namely, a specially-developed bio-agent.

  “The catalyst can be administered orally, intravenously, or directly on the skin,” Gray had informed me.

  “Well, if you guys have had this all the while, why haven’t you taken him down?” I’d asked.

  “Can you see Jack letting someone come up and inject him with a needle?” Gray had retorted. “Or pour some unknown liquid down his throat? Plus, the catalyst only remains viable for three seconds after exposure to air, so there’s only a small window for getting the job done. All of that combined with the fact that he’s clairvoyant just made it too risky for any of my people.”

  And so the job had fallen to me, and my personal window of opportunity had come while I was hitting Jack with the bat. At super speed, it had taken practically no time at all to pull out a little vial of liquid that Gray had provided – the catalyst – and squirt it on the back of his hand. The blows from the bat were coming at such a rapid pace at that juncture that Jack didn’t even notice. (It wasn’t until he flung the bat away that he seemed to realize that there was a foreign substance on him.) Moreover, the initial swing with the bat – the one he’d allowed to connect – had been the seminal event on this occasion, so the subsequent threat with the toxins was something he hadn’t foreseen.

  Watching Jack now, his face a grimace, I started to wonder if I had overreacted. Despite what he’d done to Gramps, did I have the right to play judge, jury, and executioner – essentially robbing him of any type of life going forward? I shook my head to clear my thoughts; regardless of whether I’d had the right to do what I did, it was too late now. The damage was done. Or so I thought.

  As I watched, Jack unexpectedly stood up straight. He had his right hand on his chest and was howling in pain. And then I did a double-take as I saw what was really happening. His right hand wasn’t on his chest; it was in his chest. In an incredible display of iron will, he had dug his own hand into his body, through flesh and bone – and I had an inkling as to why. A moment later, I was proved right when he withdrew his hand, holding in his grip what look like a pulsing black heart. However, instead of blood, it oozed out a noxious green-black fluid.

  Breathing heavily, Jack flung the item down, where it struck the floor and splattered the dark liquid in a wide arc.

  “As…I…was saying…,” Jack muttered, plainly winded by his ordeal, “you…gotta…get past…this.”

  “You’re dangerous, Jack,” I countered. “There’s no getting past that.”

  He gulped, and I noticed that his color was coming back. “I’m still…gonna consider…all of this…part of…your free shot.” He then gave me a stern look before continuing. “But if you come at me again…it’s game on.”

  And then he teleported.

  Chapter 82

  “So you failed,” Mouse said.

  “That’s subject to interpretation,” I countered.

  “What is there to interpret? You went after Jack, and you didn’t get him. That’s a fail.”

  I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say anything. We were in Mouse’s lab, where I had teleported immediately after my most recent interaction with Jack. I had just finished relaying everything to him, and was now getting the benefit of his frank criticism.

  “Anyway,” Mouse went on, “I can’t say I’m sad about the outcome. I didn’t like the idea of you killing anybody.”

  “For the last time,” I uttered in exasperation, “the final version of the plan did not include Jack’s death.”

  “Well, being forcefully put into a coma isn’t considered one of life’s great joys.”

  “He almost killed Gramps,” I said somberly.

  Mouse placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I know, and I agree that something has to be done about him, but I don’t want you going off half-cocked or trying to carry out half-baked schemes.”

  “Well, we may not have time for full-baked ones,” I countered. “The powers he has now, including the Bolt Blast and super strength, coupled with a callous disregard for life, make him infinitely more dangerous than we ever imagined.”

  “Then maybe the plan needs to be to take those powers from him.”

  “You mean like with a nullifier?” I asked.

  “That’s one way,” Mouse replied.

  I shook my head. “Forget it. He’s clairvoyant, remember? You’ll never get him within a mile of a nullifier.”

  “But you said he can only see the initial threat in any given situation.”

  I pondered on this for a second. “So what are you saying – attack him in some other way first and make the nullifier the secondary threat?”

  “Exactly,” Mouse said with a smile. “The only question is, what should the initial threat be?”

  “From what I understand, it can be anything. A shotgun, a grenade, a rocket launcher…”

  Mouse laughed. “How about we focus on something a little less likely to do damage to life or property?”

  “Like what
?”

  Mouse shrugged. “I don’t know. Jack’s based on you. Aside from a nullifier, what would you consider a threat?”

  “You mean other than death or being put into a permanent coma?” I asked sardonically. “Probably anything that would cause the permanent loss of my powers.”

  “Hmmm,” Mouse mused. “I think we can work with that.”

  Chapter 83

  Typically, Mouse’s plans are above reproach. His tactics are usually strokes of genius, his stratagems the best path to success. That said, I was not enamored with the plan he came up with pertaining to Jack. Frankly speaking, I hated it.

  Not that the plan itself was bad. As with all of Mouse’s ideas, it was actually pretty good. The problem was what it required me to do: Mouse’s plan necessitated that I get the crown.

  The crown was exactly what it sounded like: a bejeweled coronet that I had worn while on Caeles. Unlike its Terran equivalents, however, my Caelesian crown also had internal components that were designed to send minute electrical impulses into my brain in order to help me quickly learn the Caelesian language. However, the villainous Caelesian prince Vicra had rewired the crown to track the neural pathways used when I activated my powers, and then used the information to develop a neural blocker that stripped me of my abilities. Although I eventually regained my powers, I had treated the crown like a poisonous viper ever since, keeping it constantly under lock and key.

  And now, despite my personal misgivings, I had retrieved my royal coronet and had it with me in Mouse’s lab.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked for about the umpteenth time as Mouse took my crown.

  “Yes,” he answered, sounding exasperated. “But I’m happy to go over the plan again if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

  “Sure,” I replied.

  “Okay, once more,” Mouse muttered. “I’ll use the crown to develop a neural blocker. Since Jack is a replica of you to a large extent, the neural blocker should work on him, although I may tweak it to give it a broader range to account for any minor differences that might exist. We’ll use the neural blocker as an initial threat, which Jack will see through precognition and avoid. We’ll have a nullifier set up as a secondary threat, for lack of a better term, which he shouldn’t be able to see in his future, and we’ll use it to trap him. Got it?”