The Eden Experiment

by Sean Platt

  “If you don’t tell me which fucking facility …”

  “EZ Store. On Route 15.”

  This took a moment to register. Then Ephraim practically bellowed, “She’s in a motherfucking storage unit?”

  “Take it easy. We’ll relocate her. This was easiest for now.”

  “How big is the unit?”

  The man to Ephraim’s right was easing him down. “Take a seat, sir. You need to take it easy.”

  “How big?” Ephraim insisted, begrudgingly finding his seat.

  Fiona glanced at Maria. Something passed between them; Fiona seemed to encourage Maria. Fine. Go ahead and tell him.

  Maria said, “Three by five.”

  “Three fucking feet?”

  “Calm down, Ephraim,” Fiona barked. “Be self-righteous on your own time. We can all feel sorry for you and your new toy later. For now, clear your goddamn head. Think. This was the only way. I’m sorry we couldn’t let you know in advance, but it had to be done. The clone couldn’t fall into GEM custody no matter what, and there was no way to warn you.”

  But that wasn’t true. Maybe he couldn’t have been trusted to lie convincingly, but they for damn sure could have warned him. Somehow, someone had spelunked into Ephraim’s apartment under Hershel’s nose and pulled Sophie out while inserting Victoria. That didn’t sound quick or easy. Had they come in through the fire escape? Gone up to Mr. Bellham’s apartment to drill a giant hole? Regardless, if they got to Sophie while she was sleeping, they could have gotten to Ephraim. A tap on the shoulder and a whisper would have been plenty.

  Hey, Ephraim, we’re stealing your clone and framing you for assault, so roll with it, and Fiona’s bloodsuckers will rescue you from Wood’s interrogation room later. Thanks; see ya; been a pleasure.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Ephraim demanded.

  “Nothing invasive. Nothing harmful.”

  “But something that benefits you, right? This isn’t just about keeping her out of GEM’s hands. It’s about your needs, too. Just like what you did with Jonathan’s MyLife.”

  Ephraim’s jaw rocked back and forth. His nerves and muscles were taut. His head was fuzzy; his eyes were restless. There were too many problems. Thousands. Millions.

  “It’s like I’ve been saying, over and over,” Fiona said, firmly back in control of this conversation, “the more I understand what Eden is doing, the better we’ll be able to fight them. It’s not enough to ‘expose’ something like this. There’s that piece, sure, but then what? People don’t care how the sausage is made; they just want to eat. There’ll be some uproar over the slave trade if you blow the whistle now, and some Hollywood types will get up in arms. But what are they going to do about it?

  “Eden is a sovereign territory in international waters. They’re militarized with partner nations offering them an ad hoc navy. You can bet we haven’t seen the last of Wallace’s crew; you saw how they escaped to a drilling platform as if they’d meant to jet over there all along. Eden will be back no matter how much stink you try to make over this one clone — but once everyone is tired of being angry, they’ll start wanting to be young again.

  “Maybe the PR machine will churn out an apology commercial featuring Granddaddy Connolly, hologram or not. He’ll promise to be good, then offer everyone half off prices for their return visits. Who will stop them? Can you convince the UN that Eden is hostile, that they should send troops? Nope. The only way to hit Eden permanently is in the wallet. We can’t just show the world what they’re doing. We have to either shut it down for good or offer them competition.”

  Ephraim’s lower lip parted from his top one, his mouth sagging open. This was the first time he’d heard this exact bit of Fiona’s plan so precisely spelled out. In so many ways, it made perfect sense.

  He failed to stifle a tiny, but-of-course laugh.

  “You want their technology so you can offer the same services. Sell the same things.”

  “I don’t want to open a spa island in the middle of the ocean or duplicate people and sell them into the sex trade. But right now? Eden is Oz. People act like it’s magic. Whatever it takes to shut it down, we’ll do.”

  “It’s only ‘magic’ because of the smoke and mirrors. You said yourself that Evermore can’t turn back the clock. They’re making clones, then eliminating the originals. Those clones may not be perfect, but they’re close enough.”

  “That’s exactly my point, Ephraim. The idea isn’t for me to make a new Eden. It’s to pull back the curtain and show the world what the island does by doing the same things, but this time in public, under a microscope, in full view of entities like GEM, who will stick their noses into every inch of it.

  “If Riverbed can duplicate Eden’s procedures, it’ll strip the magic away from Connolly’s operation. People will see that there is no way to do the biggest of the things Wallace’s PR machine claims to do. The rest — without the lush setting, fancy spa rooms, and opulence — it’s just science. It’s downright medical.

  “We demystify what they do, and it stops being sexy. Even the services Eden can successfully offer will have to drop to half as expensive, maybe less. You might pay through the nose for a wizard’s work, not so for a medical tech. And without those ‘magical’ prices, how can Eden possibly survive with all the overhead it’s keeping out there on those islands? They’ll never be able to. They’ll crumble under their own weight.”

  Ephraim tried to process. His mind wasn’t working right, but his gears were slowly turning. Like always, Fiona seemed to make sense. But while Ephraim believed it, he didn’t trust her motives. Fiona had a history of promising in one direction, then heading in another.

  “What now?” Ephraim asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’ll relocate the Sophie clone once my lawyers make sure Wood has no grounds to snoop. I understand that you may want to see her and make sure things are above board. As I said, I would’ve involved you before now, but you’re unstable. You’ve been a risk to everyone, including yourself. I even talked to Dr. Scully. He said that you haven’t checked in with his office, but that he’s been following the Eden story on the news and has tried to call you several times. He said that what’s been happening to you looks like classic breakdown — at least the stuff that’s public. I filled in a few blanks, and he said you needed help, fast. So that’s what I’m juggling: an enterprise on the one hand, and you, as a wild card, on the other. You’ve hardly been a reliable partner for me, Ephraim. Maybe it’s cruel to say, but it’s the truth. I’ve worried, many times, that you’re losing your goddamn mind.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe. But this isn’t just about you. I’ll do what I can to make you feel … better. But we’re not going to build this all around you. It’s not practical or wise. You must be able to see that. But if you want to prove that you’re worth trusting? Then you can go all-in on this instead of hanging out in the middle. I’m doing my best to build our case against Eden, just as we’ve always agreed. Now you can do your part. If you don’t want to be accused of all that Hershel threatened you with, turn things around on him. Everyone at Riverbed believes you already. We’ve seen the clone. I can’t show it to the world just yet; there’s an advantage we need to gain first. But that doesn’t mean you’re helpless, Ephraim.”

  “What the hell can I do without the clone?”

  “You can get inside Hershel’s head for me like I asked. See what he truly believes versus what he’s threatening. See if he has leads on Eden that we don’t have. Hershel could join us and help our cause if he weren’t so stubborn, so hell-bent on going against all that he and I agreed on. So that’s what you can do. Get that information out of his head so this can all end a lot sooner. Call his bluff before he calls yours.”

  “You mean, use the Quarry on him.”

  “That’s right. Exactly as planned,” she said it in a final sort of way, as if to underscore the idea that none of this was a surprise to those who’d been payi
ng attention. Only Ephraim, she seemed to say, was confused or thought anything amiss.

  “Are we in agreement?”

  After a long moment, Ephraim nodded. Barely.

  “Good.” Fiona looked at Maria. “Take him home. Ephraim, my lawyers have cleared you. GEM agents or police may be watching your apartment, but it’s not bugged or anything like that. Maybe you’re a suspect on the sly, but you’re not one on record. We’ve handled that. They didn’t search your place; my lawyers got in their faces just minutes after they took you and Victoria away. The Quarry will be where you left it. Go home, get the device, and make an appointment to talk to Wood when he calls. Not at GEM; meet on neutral territory. Then do whatever you can to get the Quarry on him. Get us what we need — and then you’ll finally be the one holding the aces.”

  Ephraim was numb, barely aware that he was being shuffled toward the door. He turned, halfway out of the room. “Fiona?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to Jonathan?”

  A pause. Then, “I don’t know.”

  “If Jonathan were here, would you have to explain all of this to him as you did to me? Or would your plans be obvious to him?”

  Fiona didn’t seem to understand. She blinked, looked to Maria for help, then finally said, “I’m sure he’d see the logic.”

  “And Fiona?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you had a path and Wallace a similar path — and if you already had a relationship with Jonathan so it was probably more natural for him to keep working with you — why do you think he went to Eden to work with Wallace instead?”

  “I don’t know. I guess he had to leave the country after what happened at UCLA. I was in the country, but Wallace wasn’t.” Her answer was rote, but she was clearly disarmed.

  “Did you encourage him to run? Or to stay?”

  “I’m not sure I see where you’re going with the question.”

  Ephraim shrugged. “Never mind.”

  But by the time he was out in the parking lot, Ephraim had decided why that particular piece of the puzzle had been bugging him.

  Fiona had a way of telling anyone to do anything. She was beyond persuasive, almost bullying. The way Hershel told the story, Fiona was the mentor and Jonathan had been her protégée. Jonathan had looked up to her. If she’d wanted him to stay, he would have.

  And that meant she’d either told Jonathan to run to Wallace’s archipelago for reasons of her own, or she’d told him to stay, but he’d run to Eden anyway over her staunch protests.

  Either way, Fiona had lost, and Eden had gained an asset in her most important field of research.

  That must have pissed her off.

  One of Fiona’s lawyers drove Ephraim all the way back to his apartment; their ride spent in silence. Dropped him off. Watched as he went inside. The entire time, Ephraim thought: Losing Jonathan must have set Fiona back five or ten years. If he hadn’t defected from Riverbed and run to Eden, it probably would’ve been Fiona, not Wallace, who’d have built paradise, made billions, and cured her own paralysis.

  Sure seemed like Fiona would have hated Jonathan Todd a lot, right up until the day he died. And when Fiona hated someone, she had a way of doing something about it rather than just sulking.

  Jonathan was dead.

  And Fiona, he felt increasingly sure, had been behind it.

  Ephraim picked up his Doodad. He dialed.

  “Hershel Wood,” said a voice.

  And Ephraim said, “I’m in.”

  CHAPTER 38

  RISING FROM THE ASHES

  Ephraim’s Doodad buzzed. It was Sophie. The real one.

  “Ephraim? I’ve been trying to reach you forever!”

  Ephraim felt numb. “Here I am.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You haven’t been answering my calls. And the last time I heard from you, you seemed so …” She couldn’t finish.

  “Crazy?”

  “Confused.”

  “Shit out of my mind? Lost my marbles? Cuckoo bananas?”

  “Ephraim.”

  “It’s okay, Sophie. You can say it. Everyone else has. Hop aboard. Let’s all go for a ride on the no-brain train.”

  There was a sniff. Was she crying already? Ephraim didn’t have time for this. Everyone thought he was nuts and he’d just signed two deals with a pair of devils. On the one hand, he was going to help Hershel get the goods on Fiona and Eden; on the other, he’d told Fiona he’d get the goods on Hershel and Eden. If there was a single “enemy of my enemy” in this mess, it was Wallace Connolly’s operation. How things had changed.

  “I wanted to check up on you. You know, see how you were doing?”

  Now she wanted to see how he was doing? After turning her back and deciding to be famous again? Apparently, there was no room for insane baggage in La La Land. And fuck her at this point.

  “I feel like hell, but thanks for the concern. It’s as helpful as all the other concern you’ve shown me. Honestly, I don’t know how I’d live without you.”

  “Ephraim …”

  “How are things in LA? How’s that phat pad of yours? I hear they’re talking Oscar for Bait.”

  “Come see. Come and visit me here, Ephraim.”

  But Ephraim didn’t trust her offer. It had the sound of an impulse — one that she’d regret later.

  “I can’t leave town,” he said.

  “Sure you can.”

  “No,” he stressed, “I can’t. I’m wanted for arson and manslaughter. Probably murder. Remember when I cut my brother’s face open to save us? Oh, we’ve had such good times, you and me.”

  Another sniff. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Your worry is so helpful. Too bad there’s nothing you can do to make things better.”

  “We talked about this. I can’t just—”

  “Yes. We did ‘talk about it.’ And the talking? Again, so helpful.”

  “I can’t just open up about it all. Especially now, after denying to comment on Eden for so long. It’s complicated.”

  Ephraim flicked at the Doodad’s case with a restless finger. The expression on his face felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  “It isn’t,” he said, something snapping inside. “Here, I’ll give it to you in a nutshell. See, right now, I’m either going to jail or an asylum. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll be able to betray everyone and everything before finally snapping. Fortunately, I don’t have to keep track of much, because my MyLife doesn’t work when I need it to and a lot of the time I feel like someone is watching me through it. Sometimes I think they are talking to me through it.

  “Every day is different, and I don’t mean that figuratively, in the sense of having a great time in all my variety. I mean that each day is literally different. Not different from the day before, but different from itself. Take yesterday for example. Did I take delivery of a clone I’d recently purchased? Or was I raping some receptionist before I got arrested? I don’t know, and that’s funny because Fiona dragged me into her office and explained exactly what happened.

  “Yet I started to doubt even all that Fiona said the minute I was home. And do you know what, Sophie? Maybe I’m not even talking to you right now. I could be sitting in a padded room in some nuthouse, trying my best to jerk it with my straight jacket on.”

  “Ephraim, I …” A shuffling noise, as if changing directions mid-thought. “Maybe I can come out to you.”

  “No. It’s cool. I don’t need you anymore. I have a new Sophie now, and she’ll help me since you can’t. I told her I was a clown and she supported me. A fucking clown, Sophie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to go. I have mice to torture. I’m crazy, remember?”

  He hung up.

  The Doodad buzzed again, but he declined the call. Let her cry and bitch and moan to his voicemail about her perfect life.

  Annoyed, Ephraim turned on the TV. He had an entir
e archive of mindless reality shows to take his mind off his troubles and put it on the troubles of others: Sharkbite, Pranx, The Man in Me, How Much Pain?, and obviously Eat From Your Life and the other extreme weight torture shows — some on the gorging side, others focused on starvation.

  What was it with food and entertainment these days? It was like the people running the non-porn channels didn’t know what to do without sexuality, so they used the next best thing. More than once, Ephraim had seen a contestant down an eclair or a hot dog with all the pleasure of deep-throating a penis. Not just women and gay men, either.

  But unfortunately, none of the shows looked entertaining enough to distract him. Not even on the porn or religious channels, or the always-entertaining religious porn channels. Even the commercials there were amazing. What was the viewer demographic for Spank Me, Father? Because the commercials were always for vacuums. Apparently, lots of people got their Catholic freak on then felt an urge to clean house.

  Ephraim paused. Then he flipped back. He hated flipping through channels; non-on-demand programming was like jumping through hoops, doing things on the network’s schedule, accepting their brainwashing with a thank you. But then again, how was that any different from what he was already doing for Fiona and Hershel?

  He stopped, noting an Eden commercial. Why were Eden’s commercials still running?

  But then he realized that this one was new — a brand new spot from the paradise he’d watched burn.

  On Ephraim’s screen, the white-robed, gray-bearded form of Wallace Connolly crossed a field of lavender and heather. “Like the phoenix,” he said, slowly raising both hands like Jesus calling his flock, “you can rise from your own ashes.”

  This bit of cliché was followed by an over-the-top fire effect. A flashy screen full of sparkles. Despite being rumored as fantastically expensive to produce and loved world ‘round, Eden commercials were undeniably terrible. They looked like something from the 1980s when people first used computers for graphics.

  The shot cut back to Wallace. Now he was standing in a lush spa — something that had to have been shot before Ephraim had forced Neven to redecorate with fire. Wallace, looking like a guru, said, “Experience the new you in our newest paradise. And find what you’ve been missing.”