Replication

by Jill Williamson

  She scanned the dark forest around her, unable to see anything to pinpoint her location. Johnson swept up her legs again, and the heavyset man stepped into the dark hole.

  “No!” Abby’s head sank below the ground. “Why are you doing this?”

  The men didn’t answer, only led her down a staircase into darkness.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Johnson dropped her ankles and climbed back up to shut the door. Abby gave one last piercing scream, eliciting laughter from her beefy captor.

  “Scream away, girlie. No one can hear you.”

  Abby waited, watching the tiny beam of light from Johnson’s flashlight descend the stairs and pass her. The beam illuminated a silver surface, then a lockbox. A vault door. A second entrance into the Farm? She hoped the cops had taken her advice and were watching the place.

  “Got your card, Rolo?”

  Rolo grinned as he dragged Abby toward the lockbox. He released her long enough to shift his grip to Abby’s sore arm and pull a keycard from his pocket. His hand stayed poised near a slot in the box.

  Johnson stepped away, taking the light with him. A second lockbox entered the beam.

  “Hurry up,” Rolo said. “I’m sick of this kid. Glad we don’t do girls here.”

  “One. Two. Three,” Johnson said, and the men swiped their cards.

  The door clicked and Johnson pulled it open. Abby stood tall and walked through the door, despite the violent push from her captor.

  Hopefully they were taking her to Marty or her dad.

  A stone corridor stretched before her, lit with dim bulbs every twenty steps or so. Abby walked maybe two hundred yards before the tunnel veered right to another vault door. Johnson and Rolo swiped their keycards again.

  This door opened to a white hallway floored with gray, industrial carpet. Halfway up the wall on her left, a dark window stretched the length of the hallway, looking in on an empty cafeteria. As the men led Abby into the building, she realized she was looking in on the Farm itself.

  They stopped at an elevator and Abby looked over her shoulder. Straight across from the elevator, a set of double doors split the tinted windows, but the two-way mirrors continued on the other side of the doors, overlooking a black barred children’s playground with a bright orange slide that was just as Marty had described it.

  At least they gave the boys that much.

  The elevator dinged and Rolo maneuvered her inside while Johnson swiped his keycard and hit the button that said L1. The elevator rose, and the doors opened to a stark, white waiting room. Abby shut her eyes against the brightness, then blinked, not wanting to miss where they were taking her.

  Straight through a reception area. She thought back to Marty’s drawings of the Farm. This level had a hallway that ran in a U shape from one side of reception area to the other, with Dr. Kane’s office and the computer lab in the center. The guards were headed for the office.

  The men led Abby through a doorway into a vast and richly decorated office. For a place that had little color, this room was an exception. A wide mahogany conference table stretched across the front end of the office, the edge and legs intricately carved. Matching chairs upholstered in black leather surrounded it. An Oriental carpet probably worth fifty grand covered the floor. At the other end of the room, Dr. Kane sat behind a massive antique desk and motioned to one of two high-back chairs that sat before it.

  The guards dragged her to the chairs.

  “Please, sit down,” he said. “Can I take your coat and gloves?”

  “No, thanks,” Abby said, grossed out by the way his voice sounded like JD’s. “I’m not staying.”

  The guards pulled back one of the chairs and negated her choice. She resituated herself on the soft, low seat, perching on the edge and sitting as tall as her spine would stretch. Apparently the doctor liked sitting above everyone else.

  Abby glanced around the room. Fresh flowers brought a sweet smell to the underground office. Candy dishes filled with M&M’s sat on every wooden surface. A huge painting hung on the wall: a family portrait of Dr. Kane, his wife, and JD.

  How bizarre to have a life-sized painting of you and your clone.

  “A handsome family, don’t you think?” Dr. Kane asked. He watched her from behind his oversized desk with familiar, hungry brown eyes.

  Abby shivered. “There is quite a resemblance. Do you have paintings with the other fifty-five?”

  “The Jasons are not people, Miss Goyer, like you and me. These are duplications of me, photocopies if you will.”

  “Then your son isn’t a person?”

  “JD is different. An exception. A gift. My wife wanted a child more than anything, which is what started this all. I know you think it was my illness, but that came later. Creating life is a deep human need. When you can’t succeed, it creates a certain … frustration, almost a madness. I had to find a way for Helen to conceive. As a result, she became JD’s surrogate, which is what makes him so different from the others. He is the only one who got to stay with his birthmother.”

  “So she knows her only son is not real?”

  “Oh, JD is real. A real copy of the original. But, yes, she knows he’s my clone. Why do you think she won’t allow him to date?” Dr. Kane chuckled. “Of course children always want what they can’t have. I guess our rules and your rejection were too much challenge for JD to ignore.”

  “Free will is also a deep human need, Dr. Kane.”

  “Not in my clones. They know their purpose and that’s what they live for. JD is no exception, although his purpose is different from the others. To be a child to us.”

  “JD knows he’s a clone?”

  “Of course not. I define purpose for my clones, Miss Goyer. I do not want them confused. JD’s purpose is to live as my son. J:3:3’s purpose is to give his life as a sacrifice for a good cause. In fact all the boys at this facility share that purpose, for now. Come, see what I mean.”

  Rolo grabbed Abby’s left arm and tugged her to her feet. She gritted her teeth, not wanting to call attention to her injury again. Together, they followed Dr. Kane out of the office, sliced across the reception area, through an archway, and into a white corridor. The only sound was everyone’s shoes squeaking against the white tile.

  They passed one door, and Abby noticed how the doors were identical, about ten steps apart from each other, and stretched down the outer wall of the corridor. Johnson opened the third door, and Dr. Kane led them inside. The interior reminded Abby of an examination room, similar to any that one might see at a physician’s office. The only difference was the microscope on the counter. But the man dressed in a white lab coat definitely wasn’t a standard physician.

  “Dad!” Abby wrenched away from Rolo and threw her good arm around her father.

  “Abby, darling. I’m so glad to see you. Talk about working overtime.” Dad chuckled and stepped out of her embrace.

  Something was weird. Dad never called her darling. That was his name for Mom—when they hadn’t been fighting, anyway. Abby let the questions queue in her mind, waiting for the right time to ask.

  She glanced around the room and choked back a scream. Marty was strapped to an examination table, morosely staring at his feet. His head and face were freshly shaven, and he was dressed again in the gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that had J:3:3 printed in black on the sleeve. The doctor who came to the police station with Dr. Kane stood on the other side of Marty’s exam table, clipboard in hand.

  Abby lunged to Marty’s side and took his limp hand, wanting to rip off the cruel restraint at his wrist. The bruising on his eye was gone. It was him, wasn’t it? Yes, she could see the faint scratch on his cheek from the tree branch. “What did you do to him?” She unhooked the strap and glared at the doctor who stood on the other side. The tall, scarecrow-like man barely reacted. “Let him out of these bindings.”

  “Very well, Miss Goyer,” said Dr. Kane. “Dr. Elliot, if you will?”

  The tall man removed the strap on Marty’
s other wrist. His arm slid lifelessly off the table.

  Abby squeezed Marty’s hand and shook it. “You’ve … drugged him or something.”

  “No drugs, Miss Goyer,” Dr. Kane said. “Only instruction. J:3:3 experienced a glitch when he escaped. We’ve corrected that glitch.”

  “With drugs?”

  “With persuasion. J:3:3 knows better than to disobey. He has been told to forget what he saw outside of the Farm, including you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You can’t force people to forget.”

  Dr. Kane chuckled, a darker version of JD’s cocky laugh. “I can be very persuasive. J:3:3 is due to expire on the twenty-eighth. He would like to spend much of that time with his close acquaintances, isn’t that right, Dr. Goyer?”

  “Yes.”

  Abby turned to glare at her dad and caught a tiny wink. Hope burned in her chest like a sip of scalding cocoa. She pulled off her gloves and tucked them in her jacket pocket, then turned back to Marty and squeezed his limp hand again.

  “Marty, it’s Abby,” she whispered. “Look at me, Marty. You don’t have to expire. We can still get free. Have faith—God will help us.”

  Marty continued to stare at his feet, but his fingers trembled and a tear welled in the corner of his eye. He was still in there, pretending not to be, for some reason. Was this Dr. Kane’s persuasion in effect? Had he threatened Marty in some way to be submissive?

  Abby rounded on Dr. Kane. “Where is Baby? I want to see him.”

  “I’m not sure who you mean.”

  “You know exactly who I mean. Marty’s friend, Baby. Show him to me. Now.”

  “Your daughter is tenacious, Dr. Goyer.”

  “What harm could come from Abby seeing J:4:4 at this point?” Dad asked. “My daughter is extremely intelligent, and J:4:4 is a fascinating subject. I say what I said before. Abby would be an asset to your work here.”

  Abby spun back to her dad and caught his stiff grin. He wanted her to play along.

  Dr. Kane heaved a sigh. “Dr. Goyer, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what I’ve told you. If I allow the Jasons to see a female, I cannot guarantee her safety.”

  Abby tensed at his vague reference to Dr. Markley’s death.

  “J:4:4 is in Dr. Elliot’s lab,” Dad said. “No one will see her but him, and he’s restrained.”

  Marty, still feigning a comatose form, squeezed Abby’s hand.

  She fought back tears and squeezed back. “Take me there. I want to see him.”

  Reluctantly, she released Marty’s hand and stepped toward the door.

  “Fine, fine. But first, Dr. Elliot?” Dr. Kane snapped his fingers.

  Within seconds Rolo forced Abby into a chair by the door while Johnson unzipped Abby’s bomber jacket and yanked it off, jerking her sore shoulder in the process. Abby gritted her teeth. As soon as he tossed her coat on the floor, Johnson grabbed her forearm and pushed her left sleeve up over her elbow.

  Dr. Elliot tied a rubber strap around Abby’s left upper arm, pinching her skin in his haste. She fought but could hardly budge against the strength of the two men now holding her down. She glanced at her dad. “Daddy?”

  Dad’s wrinkled forehead gave away his worry. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Only insurance.” Dr. Kane’s smile had an eerie resemblance to JD’s when he decided to get his way. “You’re the best of the best, Dr. Goyer, without a doubt. And while I do believe your daughter is as brilliant as you claim, word at the high school already pegs her as a crusader. I’m sure you can’t blame me for taking a small safeguard. I would hate to come into work tomorrow and find I no longer have a lab.”

  “I’m not a terrorist.” Abby winced and shut her eyes as Dr. Elliot plunged a needle into her arm. She cracked one eye to get a peek. He wasn’t injecting her, but drawing blood. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve no intention of cloning females, Miss Goyer. They’re weak—physically and emotionally. They can be taken advantage of, and I want order on my farm. Women arouse disorder. But …” He reached his index finger toward her hair and hooked a curl, drawing it back so that it coiled around his finger, then bounced free. “If you attempt to thwart me in any way, I will not hesitate to experiment with your DNA. Many scientists would be interested in testing female subjects. I’m sure they’d pay top dollar for your clones.”

  [CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE]

  ABBY SHUDDERED AND GLANCED AT MARTY.

  Please, God. Help us. Make this right.

  Dr. Elliot withdrew the needle and taped a cotton swab over the bead of blood forming on Abby’s inner elbow. He left the room, carrying her blood. The potential for a host of Abbys.

  Panic temporarily hit Abby, but she didn’t want Dr. Kane to see that. She wanted to say something that might scare him as much as his actions were scaring her. “You may not like women, Dr. Kane,” she said, as calmly as she could, “but you clearly haven’t thought things through. Right now, neither gender is dominant. Men and women need each other. God designed it that way.” She paused, doubting God would ever allow her next words to happen, yet said, “But you’re changing all that. Since it’s possible for babies to be cloned from women without the need of a male, men become insignificant to reproduction and expendable. In a hundred years, thanks to your research, women might just take over the world.”

  Dr. Kane stared at Abby with a cold expression. “Another reason why women will never work in this lab.” He set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Your father ensures me you are brilliant, Miss Goyer, but have no delusions. You will never see enough of my research to do any harm—no woman will. Your involvement will be extremely limited. Your father has bargained for your life; if you can be of use, so much the better. But should you become a liability”—his dark eyebrows rose—”you could be a surrogate.”

  Dad gasped. “Now, hold on a minute. That was never part of our agreement.”

  Dr. Kane released Abby and pulled open the door. “Now …” He paused to look back at her. “You had asked to see J:4:4, is that right?”

  Abby nodded, assuming J:4:4 was Baby. The guards hovered near her as she got up and followed after Dr. Kane. He entered the lab next door to her dad’s and flipped on the lights. The lab was set up identically, including the presence of a boy strapped to the table. He flinched when the halogen bulbs flickered to life. His eyes squeezed shut and his head thrashed from one side to the other while he whimpered and squirmed. Martyr had said Baby was small, but she hadn’t been prepared for the reality before her. He was a dwarfed teenager. His white T-shirt bunched around his waif-like torso and skeletal arms. His head seemed abnormally large, although it was probably the only thing about him that was the right size for his age. Purple and green bruises covered his face, neck, and arms.

  Abby broke free from the guards and stepped closer. “What happened to him?”

  “Some of the older boys,” Dr. Kane said. “Without J:3:3’s protection, J:4:4 was an easy target. They attacked him the first day J:3:3 was gone.” He walked over to the table and stroked Baby’s forehead. “J:4:4 has a form of hypochondroplasia. His body has not grown in comparison to his head. He’s somewhat intelligent—likely mute of his own volition. Only J:3:3 seems to understand him. Those two have developed their own communication, a form of sign language. Fascinating, really.”

  Baby opened his eyes and Abby’s heart broke. They were the same eyes as JD and Dr. Kane’s, but with a warmth like Marty’s. “Based on his name and the way Marty talked, I was expecting a child.”

  “The guards give out pet names as it’s easier for them to keep track that way. J:4:4 sucks his thumb and doesn’t talk, earning the nickname Baby. J:3:3 rescues him from the other’s assaults, rescues anyone unfortunate enough to be targeted by the bigger boys, earning himself the nickname Martyr.”

  “Why strap them to these tables if they’re here of their own free will?”

  “The bindings are for the subjects’ own safety. J:4:4 is here as leverage.”

/>   Abby sucked an angry breath through her nose. “To get Marty to behave.”

  “You see how well it works. J:3:3 obeys because I control his environment.”

  Abby scoffed. “It’s not obedience to you that causes him to submit. You’re not bending his will to yours if he makes his choice to protect Baby. He sacrifices himself for a friend, proving he loves another more than himself. Proving he’s no photocopy of you. Proving you’re not in control. You, Dr. Kane, are not God.”

  With Dr. Kane gone, Martyr snapped out of his lethargy and looked to Dr. Goyer.

  “We have very little time,” Dr. Goyer said as he helped Martyr sit. “Don’t forget to tape off the sprinkler heads before starting the fire. And the servers are—”

  “Under the table,” Martyr said. “I remember.”

  “We’ve got to make this work. You’ll have to really hit me hard.”

  Martyr did not want to strike Dr. Goyer, but he understood how it would look if he did not. Dr. Goyer stepped back and Martyr jumped down from the table. The tile floor felt cool under his bare feet. He missed wearing socks.

  Dr. Goyer withdrew two keycards from his pocket, held them up, and set them on his desk. “The briefcase might be your best bet.” Dr. Goyer pointed to the narrow black box on the floor by his desk. “A good swing to my temple should do the trick.”

  Martyr picked up the briefcase and paused.

  “It’s now or never, Martyr. Give it to me good. Pretend I’m Dr. Kane. Or Rolo or Johnson. Pretend I’m Dr. Elliot.”

  Martyr sucked in a sharp breath, winced, and swung the briefcase at Dr. Goyer’s head with all his strength, thinking of Baby in Dr. Elliot’s office and how Dr. Elliot had promised to hurt Baby when Martyr was gone. Dr. Goyer fell back against his shelf, knocking test tubes and flasks over. Some crashed to the floor.

  Martyr dropped the briefcase and stared at the drop of blood growing on Dr. Goyer’s temple. He needed to go before help came. He hoped Dr. Goyer was all right. He snatched the keycards, wedged them under the waistband of his sweatpants, and stepped out into the hall.