The Eden Experiment

by Sean Platt

  Neven held a featureless, semi-round glass with a splash of amber liquid. He gestured with it, then continued.

  “It’s important that you think about that. Let it sink in. It won’t be an easy fear to let go of, and I’m sure it’ll take you time. Uncertainty is worse than fear, worse than pain. I understand. And I’m sorry. I can only promise that what we did to you was necessary.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Me, and others.”

  “What others?”

  “I promise to tell you, in time.”

  Ephraim shifted tacks. “And what did you ‘do to me’?”

  “We’re able to access your MyLife. We could turn it on and off. We could also mess with its contents, among other things. I’m sure the effect was disorienting, even disturbing. I know you’ve doubted some of what you’ve seen, and even the things you’ve done. But your mind isn’t at fault, Ephraim. It was us altering your trajectory, using the device in your head.”

  “You can’t hack into a person’s MyLife.”

  Neven took a sip. “It’s different for you.”

  “Why?”

  Neven didn’t answer. He walked slowly across the room.

  “With access to your MyLife,” Neven finally said, “we could whisper into your mind. You would have received those whispers, if we did it right, as something like post-hypnotic suggestions. You wouldn’t have realized you were following instructions because you would believe that all the ideas were your own.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Come on. Are you trying to tell me you haven’t questioned why you’ve been doing certain things? Haven’t you wondered at the way you’ve ended up somewhere, or why getting there was so easy when it should have been difficult?”

  Ephraim had. But admitting it felt like a defeat.

  “What were you ‘suggesting’ I do?”

  “That you talk to Hershel. And Fiona. That you say what needed to be said.” Neven took another sip. “That you believe yourself unstable or insane, unfortunately.”

  “You wanted me to believe I was crazy?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “Why?”

  Neven exhaled. “It will all make sense soon.”

  Ephraim doubted it. Despite all the ups and downs, he knew what he’d done and why. And despite a few odd coincidences, none of it seemed to have come from phantom voices in his ear — though he did sometimes hear his aberrant thoughts like everyone did.

  In the end, Ephraim was his own person. He made his decisions. Maybe Neven was responsible for the glitches in his MyLife and hence his decreasing trust in his mind, but only Ephraim was responsible for his ideas. That wasn’t how things worked.

  Or was it?

  Even if Neven was telling the truth, his version didn’t make sense. If Neven had been pulling Ephraim’s strings, why were so many of Ephraim’s “ideas” lately about taking his revenge on Eden directly rather than taking it on Fiona?

  He’d come full-circle, all on his own. Not long ago, he’d been sure Fiona was responsible for Jonathan’s disappearance and death — sure enough that he’d been ready to leap across her desk and throttle her dead.

  But those feelings had changed. Maybe taking charge had done it, turning the tables on both Wood and Fiona. Either way, Ephraim no longer wanted to kill Fiona. Now he wanted to kill the man in front of him.

  His hands wanted to form fists. He wanted to jump at Neven and shove him into the fire.

  I want to end you so badly I can taste it. I’ll kill you, then clear my name by handing your father’s precious fucking empire to his biggest competition. Maybe that will show you who’s in control of me.

  But instead of lashing out, Ephraim forced himself to breathe.

  Control. I am in control.

  “Where is Sophie?”

  “She’s safe.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Another apologetic look. Neven wouldn’t offer an easy answer. He’d tried to kill Ephraim once, and in turn Ephraim had killed a few of his clones. Sophie was Neven’s insurance. If Ephraim hurt Neven, he might never find out where she was. The others might spirit her away. They might destroy her. She was only used merchandise to the island, after all.

  “I know you, Ephraim. I know you better than you realize.”

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  Neven shook his head. “You’re wrong. I know you very well. I’ve been watching you. I know how you are without all of our interference. And I know what you’d be like if you’d been raised in another life.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Neven made a face. He thought, then said, “You know about nature versus nurture?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does it mean to you?”

  “It means that some of what influences us comes from our genes, and the rest comes from our environment.”

  “Yes,” said Neven, pointing with one of the fingers around his whiskey glass. “But the ‘versus’ means that we don’t know how much weight each of those factors has. There’s been disagreement since the dawn of understanding. Some people think that all we are is in our genes, whereas others think that genes hardly matter and that environment and upbringing alone make the person. There have been studies on twins, who have the same genetic code at birth. When separated and raised independently, twins often develop eerily similar traits, as if only genetics are steering. I remember one set that never lived together, yet both read magazines from back to front. It’s amazing, what our genetic codes seem to dictate.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That there’s too much left to know. Just as some studies identify genes as being more influential than environment, others point to environment being more influential than genes. Think about it, Ephraim. Ask yourself what kind of a person would you be if you’d been raised differently? If you didn’t have the memory of your sister dying, or of that fight with your brother?”

  My sister. Damaris.

  An unresolved loose end, one Ephraim didn’t like thinking about. He’d always believed her death was one of the most significant events in his past. But after Eden, he’d come to suspect that it had never actually happened. But how was that possible?

  “What if, instead of watching your brother run off after the UCLA scandal, you’d run off with him? What if there’d never been a big blowout between you and Jonathan? What if, instead of being poisoned by a belief in his death and a years-long quest to avenge him, you’d come here to Eden with him, and both of you worked alongside me today?”

  “I’d never do that.”

  Neven shrugged. “You would if your environment had been different. If the circumstances of your life had unfolded in alternate ways. In that case, it wouldn’t be your genetics that defined you. It’d be what happened all around you. Nurture, winning out over Nature.”

  “Mumbo-jumbo bullshit. I am who I am.”

  Neven resumed walking. “I’ll bet that under different circumstances, you might not be as honest as you try to be today because you wouldn’t have had the formative experiences predisposing you to honesty. Or, if you hadn’t seen Damaris die, you wouldn’t be as compelled to help and save people.”

  “You said that Damaris didn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter if it happened. As long as you believe that it did, the memory of Damaris’s death formed a part of who you are.”

  Ephraim wanted to interject about this casual talk of gaps in his memory, but Neven rushed on.

  “What if instead of struggling and eventually begging Fiona to send you here, you’d gotten all you’d ever wanted? Instead of becoming her spy, what if you’d already, years ago, flown to Eden to live a life of privilege? Would you be as humble as you are? What if you’d never felt the pain of Jonathan going missing, presumed dead, after your big fight? What if there’d been no quarrel, or need to search for a killer? Would you be as righteous? Would you have turned out quite so determined if none of that had
happened?”

  Ephraim said nothing, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

  “I think that without the pain you’ve lived through, and some you only believe you’ve lived through, you’d be insufferable. Despicable. Impossible to be around.” Neven finally sat. “It’s the pain we’ve put you through, Ephraim, that’s made you the person you are.”

  “What is this about?”

  “It’s about Ephraim versus Ephraim. You versus you — the person that nature made, versus the one that we created.”

  “Metaphysical bullshit,” Ephraim spat, now barely refraining from leaping at Neven as he sat so close. “Even if you did hack my MyLife, that doesn’t make me a puppet. If you’ve been fucking with me and causing me hell, that doesn’t mean I’m going to thank you for making me into the person I am today.”

  “You misunderstand, Ephraim. I’m not being figurative. My father didn’t create Eden to play mad scientist. He created it to make the world a better place. After his death, I took Eden’s vision the rest of the way. Eden exists to take what nature began and do it better.”

  “You’re talking about eugenics. Playing God. I’ve heard all the debates. I’ve heard the stories of Connolly’s delusions.”

  But was that correct? If Wallace had died years ago and the stories were recent, wouldn’t that make them Neven’s delusions?

  Neven didn’t flinch. “What is God if not a creator of life?”

  Ephraim stood, disgusted. “Where is Sophie? I’m tired of this game. You’re not God, and neither was Wallace. You don’t create life. You make puppets.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  “I was out of options.”

  “Are you going to try and expose Eden again? Are you here to gather proof, the way you couldn’t gather any before? You couldn’t quite blow the whistle on us last time, could you, Ephraim? Even after you had all the proof you needed. Even after you had Sophie, nothing happened.”

  Ephraim’s eyes were hard. “Try me.”

  “Maybe you’re here because you belong here. Maybe you came back because Eden is your home. The only place that understands you.”

  It was enough. Ephraim’s nerves were worn to nothing, and now Neven was monologuing like a super villain. Maybe Ephraim had escaped to Eden after running out of mainland allies, but he’d come with a plan. He’d gather more evidence. He’d find a way to burn it all down, permanently this time. Maybe he couldn’t get the world to understand, but at least he could see justice before earning death or life in prison. Revenge, if nothing else.

  Ephraim leaped. There was a small table between him and Neven, and as Ephraim rose and dove to the opposite chair, he reduced it to kindling and glass.

  Neven’s drink went flying. It shattered somewhere behind him as the big chair rocked, refusing to tip or fall. Ephraim’s hands reached the man’s neck, wanting to cause pain even more than he wanted to choke the life from him.

  But beneath him, slouched now, Neven hardly seemed surprised. He’d lashed out but then stilled. His eyes had been afraid at Ephraim’s charge, then almost pleased. He laughed a little.

  “What’s so goddamn funny?”

  “I don’t know, Ephraim. You tell me. You’re the one at my throat.”

  “Where is Sophie? Tell me where she is!”

  “You like her.”

  Ephraim hauled back. Positioned as he was, practically astride Neven, it was awkward to hit him, but Ephraim did his best. The blow was poor. Neven flinched back, gums split, smiling more.

  “You do, don’t you? You like her plenty.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Do you like her more than the original Sophie?”

  “Goddammit, if you don’t—!”

  “She’s in the building. Let me up.”

  Ephraim flexed to back off too quickly. Too obedient. He paused.

  “Let me up, Ephraim,” Neven repeated.

  Ephraim moved only slightly, only now remembering his gun. Where had that gone? It wasn’t in his pocket. But Fiona’s Quarry device was right there as if it belonged on him, even as he fought for life and death.

  Neven straightened. He picked up a tablet from an end table and tapped.

  “Show her to me,” Ephraim demanded.

  Neven nodded at the tablet. “She’s on her way.”

  “I said, show—!”

  “She’s interesting, isn’t she?” Neven interrupted, his voice too calm. “I was talking to her earlier. Her suggestibility is only now starting to fade. She’s solidifying into what will eventually become her permanent personality, full of enduring memories. Some of those memories are real, like the one of you bringing her to Eden. So much of what Sophie thinks of as her memories belong to the original. But which of them is more ‘real’ to you, Ephraim? The one who turned her back on you, or the one who stands behind you no matter what?”

  Ephraim’s eyes flicked toward the door. Still no Sophie.

  “There’s just one thing she keeps asking,” Neven continued. “It’s something you said to her that must have been particularly pernicious. If she were a machine, I’d have said you stuck her in a loop. She keeps asking that same question of us. Over and over again.”

  “She’s probably afraid of you.”

  “She’s not asking me, Ephraim. She’s asking you.”

  “She hasn’t asked me anything,” Ephraim said.

  “She just keeps saying, ‘If you were a clone, would you want to know?’ You said that to her at a critical time, just as her mind was solidifying into permanence.” Neven wiped the blood from his mouth and sat up straighter. “But maybe saying it wasn’t such a great idea. Do you know what happens when a clone becomes self-aware? The mental stress of realizing what she is could kill her. It could cause a break.” He paused. “Or at least, that’s what the naysayers tell me.”

  A chill ran down Ephraim’s spine.

  Why was Neven saying all this? Where was Sophie? Why were they talking about her, Neven now suggesting the notion of mental failure?

  “I need to see her,” Ephraim said, suddenly urgent.

  Neven barely seemed to hear. “I know why you asked her that question. Do you?”

  “I—”

  “The problem is in how a self-realizing clone views clones as a whole. Do they believe clones are redundant and meaningless things or do they see a clone as a twin of the original? Those perceptions make a difference when a clone learns what they are. Will they view themselves as an echo? Or will they instead come to believe that they’re a newer, better instance of the voice?”

  There was a buzzing sound. Ephraim looked up to see a green light above the room’s only door. Neven’s head turned as well, seeing the same thing.

  He surged all the way upright and grabbed Ephraim by the collar, bringing their faces inches apart.

  Ephraim’s muscles froze in surprise. He met Neven’s eyes, seeing the urgency. “Listen closely, because time is almost up.”

  “Time for what?”

  “An upgrade,” Neven hissed, “isn’t the same as a copy.”

  The door opened. Sophie, escorted by someone uncomfortably familiar.

  She looked from one man to the other; from the person holding her arm to the one grappling with Neven by the fire.

  “I guess you didn’t need me to come here with her,” said the new Ephraim, looking at Neven, “seeing as I’m already here.”

  CHAPTER 53

  LIKE I SAID

  Ephraim stood in one jerky motion, backed up, hit the remains of the destroyed miniature coffee table. He heard the crack of glass and the splintering of wood, felt the scratch of some sharp object incising his skin. But he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t look down. Or look at Neven.

  He could only stare at his duplicate across the room.

  “Ephraim?” Sophie said from the corner of his unswerving attention. She seemed to be looking at the man who’d brought her into the room and the man already inside it in turns. But Sophie wasn’t the one f
acing a psychotic break right now.

  “When did you make that thing?” Ephraim asked Neven, gesturing at his doppelgänger beside Sophie.

  The other Ephraim dropped Sophie’s hand and stepped forward. He looked a little older than the face Ephraim saw every day in the mirror but other than that and the missing scar he seemed spot on.

  “Who are you talking to, Champ?” said the other Ephraim.

  Ephraim turned to Neven. “When the fuck did you make it?”

  The second Ephraim paused. He put a hand on his chest, feigning both shock and offense. “Are you talking about me? I know you’re not talking about me.”

  But Ephraim couldn’t hear the other Ephraim. It had to be a clone. Eden must have duplicated his mind, just like they’d done with Sophie, Altruance, and Jonathan. And so right now, Ephraim could only focus down at Neven, on his back in the shards of their tussle.

  But Neven didn’t look apologetic or like he wanted to explain more than he had. Instead, he wore an unreadable expression.

  Ephraim reached down and dragged the bloodied Neven to his feet. The movement was aggressive and simple. His strength felt boundless. He could lift this man above his head. He could grip Neven’s skull in one hand and his feet in the other, ripping him in two like paper.

  “ANSWER ME!” he shouted, spittle flying.

  Calmly, Neven said, “You know the answer, Ephraim.”

  “Did it happen during my Tomorrow Gene? Is that when you sucked my mind into your machines and made this obscene fucking thing?”

  “See,” said the other Ephraim, “now I sort of want to be offended.”

  Ephraim’s eyes darted toward his double, then back at Neven. The other Ephraim was outside of his striking circle. Otherwise, he might be ripped to bits.

  Neven, his shirt gripped in Ephraim’s fists, whispered so that only Ephraim could hear.

  “Remember what I said. Whatever you’re thinking right now, you must not decide that ‘the clone’ is a problem. Be mad at me; be mad at that ‘other Ephraim’ if you want. But don’t slur the idea of a clone. What you believe about clones matters very much right now. Clones aren’t inferior to the originals. Keep your opinions neutral, Ephraim. It matters more than you realize. Decide you hate clones, and your mind could break.”