The Sixth Day

by Terry Bisson

  Hank got up and crossed the room to open the front door. Before he got there, Adam rushed in, almost knocking him over.

  “Have they been here?”

  “Who?” asked Hank.

  “Hello Adam,” said the virtual girl, who had morphed into a slightly (but only slightly) less revealing outfit. “Want a beer?”

  Hank stared at his friend, who was moving swiftly around the room, killing all the lights. Adam pulled the curtains back just enough to peek out the window, into the parking lot.

  “Look, Adam,” said Hank, “I really didn’t mean to miss your party.”

  “How about something to snack on?” asked the virtual girlfriend.

  Adam ignored her. He turned away from the window and faced his friend, as though seeing him for the first time. “You missed the party?”

  “Currently,” said the hologram, “Hank’s refrigerator contains mustard and a lemon.”

  “Yeah,” said Hank. “Suddenly I’m at Kelly’s and it’s eleven. I don’t know what happened! I feel terrible…”

  “You’re not hungry?” the virtual girlfriend babbled. “I know what. Why don’t I do my special dance!”

  Adam grabbed Hank’s arm. “You feel terrible? I lost my wife, my daughter, my whole goddam life tonight. So forget the party. I need your help.”

  “Adam hasn’t seen my special dance,” said the hologram. “I think he’ll like…”

  “Not now, cupcake.” Hank reached up and touched a spot on the wall, and the virtual girl disappeared.

  “Okay, Adam, I’m with you. What’s—

  A sudden slight noise from the other room caught Adam’s attention. He pulled Wiley’s pistol from his pocket.

  “Holy shit!” said Hank. “That’s a real gun! What’s going on?”

  Adam raised one hand for quiet. He moved to the doorway, raised the gun and pivoted into the kitchen in one swift movement that betrayed years of training, foosh gun at the ready.

  Crash!

  He aimed and was just about to fire—when he saw the cat. It had knocked over a lamp while playing with Hank’s computer mouse.

  “Shit, Adam,” said Hank from the doorway. “You almost killed my cat.”

  Adam didn’t answer. He leaned on the counter and took a breath.

  Hank picked up the cat and petted it. “Adam, come on, man. What’s happening. What are you doing with a gun?”

  Adam exhaled slowly. He spoke calmly. “If you weren’t at the house tonight, then you didn’t see him.”

  “Who’s him?” asked Hank.

  Adam clicked on the safety and slipped the laser pistol into his pocket.

  “I’ll show you,” he said. “Come on.”

  Twenty

  The house was quiet. The party was over. All that was left was the cleaning up, which tonight was a little more complicated than usual.

  Adam, or a man who looked very much like him, was hanging a tarp over the broken garage door.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” whispered Hank. He and the “real” Adam were hiding in the bushes across the driveway from the garage. “I told you to get your dog cloned, not yourself.”

  Adam didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled over slightly and pulled the foosh gun out of his pocket. He opened the slide and checked the charge.

  Hank watched in alarm. “What’re you gonna do?”

  “Take my life back.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Hank placed a hand over his friend’s wrist. “You mean you’re going to kill him?”

  “Why not?” Adam whispered grimly. “He’s not real. There’s no law against it.”

  Hank’s whisper was fierce: “You’re not serious!”

  Adam’s reply was almost casual. “I’m totally serious.”

  “But he’s exactly like you!” said Hank. “Technically, this could be considered suicide. You’ll burn in hell.”

  Adam considered this coldly. He stared for a moment at Hank, all but lost in the shadows; then at the new Adam, looking solid, real, and perfectly normal in the light from the garage, as he continued hanging the tarp over the smashed door.

  “But he’s not me,” Adam said in a fierce whisper. “He’s not even human.”

  Hank wasn’t ready to give up. “How do I know he’s not you and you’re not him?” he protested. “I mean, look at him. He’s even a shitty carpenter.”

  Adam shook his head. “Come on, Hank. You’re telling me you can’t tell the difference?”

  Hank studied his friend. “Lemme see your chin.”

  “My chin?”

  “Yeah.” Hank reached out and touched Adam’s chin. “You cut yourself shaving…”

  Adam lifted his chin into a sliver of light that fell through the bushes.

  “Right, it’s there. You’re you.”

  “Good,” Adam said dryly. He closed the gun and clicked off the safety. “As soon as he comes back for another tarp, I’m going to step out and kill him. Then I’ll finish hanging the tarp without missing a beat.”

  Hank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What about…”

  “That’s where you come in,” Adam went on. “I’ll push the body in here next to you. You drag it to the car and get rid of it.”

  “What!” Hank shook his head violently. “Adam—”

  “Ssssshhhh!”

  The new Adam was crossing the driveway to get another piece of tarp. As he bent down to pick it up, Adam stood up behind him, and pointed the laser pistol at the back of his head.

  All he had to do now was pull the trigger, but his finger wouldn’t work. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  * * *

  Hank squeezed his eyes shut.

  He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want any part of this entire bizarre business.

  When a body landed beside him in the bushes, he grimaced. He thought it was the clone, shot dead.

  But no. It was Adam.

  “I just couldn’t,” he muttered.

  Good, Hank thought.

  “Adam?”

  It was Natalie’s voice. She was walking right past the bushes, toward the garage.

  “Over here,” said the other Adam.

  “You forgot something,” Natalie purred seductively.

  She stepped into the garage. She was carrying the cigar box.

  The clone smiled when he saw it. He looked around furtively. “Is Clara asleep?”

  Natalie nodded.

  The clone set down his hammer. Natalie opened the box.

  Adam watched in horror from the bushes as the clone put the cigar in his mouth and Natalie lit it for him.

  The clone took a deep drag, coughed harshly, then offered the cigar to Natalie. “Pretty good. Want some?”

  “Smoking’s illegal,” she said, even as she took a drag. “I’m a mother.”

  She coughed too. They both laughed.

  In the bushes, Adam watched, his jaw clenched. His rage grew as Natalie put her head on the clone’s shoulder.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the RePet,” she said. “I really am. I was just so worried about ruining your birthday party. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s all right,” said the clone. “I didn’t know how I was going to tell Clara anyway. Thought if I gave her the Sim-Pal, she wouldn’t feel so bad.”

  They hugged. Adam watched, grinding his teeth.

  His wife. His life. His …

  “Daddy?”

  He and Hank both turned to see Clara, in her pajamas, who had discovered them in the bushes.

  Adam quickly slipped Hank the gun. Hank stuck it into the back of his pants, as Adam stood up and picked up his little girl.

  “Clara. What are you doing out here?”

  “I had a bad dream,” said Clara, who didn’t seem to think it strange at all that her father had been lying in the bushes by the driveway.

  Adam glanced behind him toward the garage, where the clone and Natalie were sharing the cigar, and an intimate moment.

  Clara hadn’t seen t
hem.

  Yet.

  He picked her up, and turned her away from the garage. “Come on, Sweetie,” he said.

  To Hank he whispered: “Stay here.”

  * * *

  Adam took Clara into the house and up to her bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed. Still sleepy, she opened her eyes.

  “Daddy, did Oliver die?”

  Adam wasn’t sure what to answer.

  “Is he a RePet?”

  “What makes you say that?” Adam asked.

  “You haven’t been playing with him like you usually do. You locked him outside.”

  “Did I?” said Adam. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself lately.”

  Lights flashed across the ceiling.

  Adam looked out the window. A strange car was driving by slowly … too slowly.

  Adam hurried back to the bed and pulled the covers up over his daughter. “Honey, go to sleep now,” he said. “It’s late.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes tightly. Adam kissed her and closed the door softly—then ran down the stairs, as quietly and as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  Hank was in an uncomfortable spot.

  The clone and Natalie didn’t know anyone was watching, that was for damn sure. They shared another drag of the cigar. Then the clone pulled Natalie closer.

  “How long has it been since we did it in the backseat of a car?”

  Natalie smiled dreamily. “We should smoke cigars more often.”

  She unbuttoned her blouse and they got into the back of the minivan.

  They kissed …

  Hank turned away. He couldn’t watch any more. He backed out of the bushes and headed across the lawn, toward the front of the house and the street, to look for Adam.

  * * *

  At the bottom of the stairs, Adam looked out the front window of the house. Two people were coming up the walk.

  Both were familiar. He had recently watched one of them die. It was Talia and Marshall, the martial arts/MBA babe, and Drucker’s main enforcer.

  Adam stepped back into the shadows, looking for a weapon. He found one by the stairs.

  The doorbell rang and Adam opened it with a golf club in his hand.

  A nine wedge.

  “Mr. Gibson?” Marshall asked.

  “Who are you?” Adam asked. As if he didn’t know! He wondered briefly about the clone. What did the clone know?

  “Millennium Security,” said Marshall. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  Talia stood to one side, eyeing Adam warily. He eyed her back just as warily.

  “You got some ID?” Adam asked.

  Marshall flashed a badge. Adam pretended to study it. He realized they didn’t know who he was. Not for sure, anyway.

  He decided to retain that advantage.

  He set down the golf club. “Sorry,” he offered. “I’m a little jumpy. We had a break-in earlier tonight.”

  While he spoke he was aware of Talia staring at him, sizing him up. Which Adam was he?

  “We know,” said Marshall. “We heard on the radio that your car was found abandoned and totalled in the river.”

  Adam winced. He only had to fake the surprise, not the pain. The pain was real. He had loved that old Caddy.

  “I don’t suppose they caught the bastard who stole it?” he asked.

  “No,” said Talia. “But they will.”

  She knows, Adam thought. He tried to look innocent but she stared him down.

  Just then, Hank came around the side of the house. Talia stepped back, and in a flash her gun was out and aimed at his forehead.

  “Whoa, whoa!” said Hank, putting up his hands.

  “It’s all right,” Adam said. “He’s my friend.”

  Still suspicious, Talia slowly lowered her gun.

  “He’s helping me fix my garage,” Adam said.

  “Yeah,” said Hank, agreeing a little too readily, nodding a little too eagerly.

  “We’re just following up,” Marshall explained. “Making sure you haven’t had any other disturbances.”

  “No,” said Adam. “Nothing.”

  Suddenly something large and furry slipped through Adam’s legs onto the porch.

  The almost-dog. The RePet, Oliver.

  Woof woof! He started barking at Talia …

  * * *

  Woof!

  Woof!

  “Now what?” asked Natalie, pulling herself free from the arms of the man she thought was her husband; or was it the husband she thought was a man…?

  They were in the garage, in the backseat of the minivan.

  “Stay here,” said the clone.

  He left her sitting up, buttoning her blouse. He slipped out of the garage and crossed the yard, heading for the house.

  * * *

  Adam yanked the dog back by his collar.

  “Oliver, no! Heel!”

  The dog quit barking and started snarling.

  “Sorry,” Adam said to Talia. “He’s a RePet. Used to be a good watchdog. Now he lets my car get stolen and barks at security guards.”

  Marshall laughed politely.

  “I hate clones,” said Adam. “Don’t you?”

  Talia glared at him, saying nothing.

  Marshall chuckled. “Yeah. I hear they can be difficult.”

  Adam stepped back, so that Hank could come into the house. Talia and Marshall turned to go back to their car, which was waiting at the curb.

  “We’ll keep an eye on your property,” said Marshall. “You try and have a good night.”

  “Thanks,” said Adam. “I’ll sleep a lot better knowing you guys are around.”

  Hurrying Hank inside, he closed the door.

  Meanwhile, the clone was opening the back door of the house.

  He heard a door close in the front of the house. He crept through the kitchen toward the living room.

  Woof! Woof!

  He found Oliver in the living room, barking at the window.

  The clone looked out—and saw only an empty street.

  “Oliver, cut it out!” he said, pulling the dog away from the window.

  The dog continued to growl. “Man, you’re glitchy!” the clone said, leaving the dog in the living room and heading back out through the kitchen to the back door.

  Oliver jumped up onto the couch, and looked behind it—to where Adam and Hank were hiding.

  “Good boy, Oliver,” Adam whispered. He stood up, and motioned to Hank. “Come on. This was a bad idea.”

  Now it was Hank who needed convincing. “But you can’t just leave Natalie and Clara here with him … with it … with that…”

  Adam put a finger to his lips. “Those were the guys that tried to kill me. It’s dangerous for Natalie and Clara if I hang around here.”

  Hank considered this—strange as it was—and agreed. Shaking his head in confusion and frustration, he followed Adam out the door, into the night.

  Twenty-one

  Hank’s place was as generic as a rental car, and about as comfortable.

  While Hank locked the door, Adam collapsed unthinkingly into the easy chair, which looked like a cross between a BarcaLounger and a thrift shop special.

  Instantly, a headset emerged from the back and folded around his temples.

  The lights dimmed.

  A nubile young lady wearing only a slip appeared on the arm of the chair.

  “Hi. Adam. I’m a one-man virtual girl. But if you insert the installation disk…”

  Hank reddened and slapped the wall switch. The hologram disappeared, the headphones retracted into the chair, and the lights came up again.

  Adam jumped to his feet with a terrified expression on his face. “What the hell was that?”

  “Nothing,” said Hank.

  “Nothing, my ass. It felt like fingers going for my zipper. That’s disgusting.”

  “Oh, that’s disgusting?” Hank shot back. “I had to totally look away when you and Natalie.…”

  Then he suddenly realized what
he was saying.

  “Want a beer?” Hank started for the kitchen. “I sure do.”

  Adam was right behind him. “You saw that clone do something with Natalie after I took Clara inside, didn’t you?”

  Hank shook off Adam’s hand. “No, no. They did nothing.”

  “That’s not what I would’ve done,” said Adam. It occurred to him that he knew his adversary as well as he knew himself.

  Exactly as well.

  “What would you have done?” Hank asked, opening the refrigerator.

  “Nothing,” said Adam.

  “Well, that’s what they did,” said Hank, grabbing two beers.

  “Shit,” said Adam. He looked his friend in the eye. They’d been friends too long to lie. “In the minivan?”

  Hank opened a beer and handed it to Adam. “In the minivan. You know what tobacco does to people.”

  “He smoked my stogie too?”

  Hank nodded. “The bastard.”

  “And she couldn’t tell it wasn’t me?”

  Hank had quit lying. “Didn’t look like it.”

  Adam slammed his beer down onto the table. “I cannot tell you what it was like, seeing her with him. And this was going to be my night. It was perfect. Damn! I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

  Hank took a long pull of his beer. “Could’ve been worse,” he said. “Could’ve been somebody else. At least she’s not cheating on you. Technically.”

  Foosh!

  Hank staggered and looked down, still holding his beer. There was a one-inch hole in the center of his chest.

  It started oozing, then pumping blood.

  “Oh shit,” he said softly as he crumpled slowly, almost gracefully, to the floor.

  “Hank!”

  Adam knelt by his friend and reached for his wrist, to feel his pulse. Then he heard a footstep.

  He looked up to see Tripp—the new snowboarder, dreads and all—step into the apartment from the balcony, holding a foosh gun.

  “Back away,” said Tripp. “I’m not after you.”

  Adam backed away and let Tripp pass. With one hand he reached behind him and touched the wall switch he had seen Hank hit earlier.

  “Is that you Hank?” asked the virtual girl, appearing suddenly in a see-through negligee.

  Foosh!

  Tripp wheeled and fired. The blast passed right through her and charcoaled a kitchen cabinet

  Adam was already in the air, diving at Tripp, grabbing for the gun.