by Jay Falconer
Bruno took a step toward Lucas, but Kleezebee stopped him with an arm bar maneuver.
Lucas pointed the gun at Bruno and held it there.
“Easy now, let’s all take a breath and not do anything rash,” Kleezebee said, stepping in between Bruno and Lucas. “We’re all friends here.”
“What are you doing in my brother’s wheelchair?” Lucas asked the cripple.
Drew smiled. “It’s me Luke, your brother. Please put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”
“No chance,” Lucas said, shifting targets again. “Someone better tell me what the hell is going on here before I start shooting.”
“That wasn’t me out there,” Drew said.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I saw my brother’s brains get splattered all over the desert. You can’t be him.”
“Maybe I could explain?” Kleezebee replied.
“I’m all ears, Professor.”
“Why don’t we start with how you got away from Alvarez?”
Lucas decided to play along, hoping answers would be provided before his itchy trigger finger took control. “I overpowered the guard and took his Humvee. When I went to Mom’s house to get her, I saw you guys out front and followed you to the hockey arena. Nice transporter, by the way.”
“Did you kill him?” Bruno asked.
“No reason to. I just cuffed him and left him in the desert with a canteen of water.”
“Then this ain’t over, boss,” Bruno told Kleezebee.
“We’ll deal with that later. They’re safe as long as they remain here.”
“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Lucas said, wiggling the gun to get their attention.
“Bruno, it’s time to show him,” Kleezebee said.
“Sure, Chief,” Bruno said, stepping forward in front of Kleezebee. He extended both of his arms straight out from his shoulders, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes like an evangelist preparing for deliverance. His arms and legs started to quiver slowly at first, then intensified into a full-blown seizure. The contours of his face and body twisted and contorted, morphing its symmetry into something unexpected. His body mass receded, shrinking to two-thirds of its original size. The convulsions tempered to calm before he brought his head forward from the tilted position. He looked at Lucas with a devious smile, his cheeks now soft and smooth.
Lucas felt a gut-wrenching pain after witnessing Bruno’s metamorphosis into sexy Mary Stinger, dressed in a short, plaid skirt and sheer pink blouse. She was wearing a pair of six-inch stiletto heels and no bra. The video equipment illuminated her body from behind, allowing Lucas to see much more of her figure than he had ever dreamed of, or wanted to, given the circumstances.
“How do you like my figure now?” Mary asked, using Bruno’s grizzled voice. She stepped out of Bruno’s duty belt, which had fallen past her slender waist and landed on the floor.
“What the hell?” Lucas gasped, regretting that he has lusted after Mary for the past two years. How could he ever trust his eyes and his hormones again?
“Bruno is one of our infiltrator units,” Kleezebee said in an even tone.
Lucas shuffled two steps back and pointed the gun at Mary. “An infiltrator unit? So he’s . . . she’s . . . what? A robot?”
“Not exactly,” Kleezebee said. “Bruno’s a genetically engineered bio-morph . . . a synthetic replica of the original entity.”
Lucas’ imposter laughed. “I had this same conversation just a little while ago. Talk about déjà vu.”
Lucas poked Mary in the arm to see if she felt real. “You’re a bio-morph?”
Kleezebee replied, “He has the ability to mimic different organisms and assume their identity. He looks and acts just like the original but can be programmed to carry out a specific mission.”
“So which is he, a clone or a robot?”
“He is something in between. Bruno’s a synthetic that can transform at will to any identity or shape. All he needs is a good supply of sugar to generate the energy needed to sustain each transformation.”
It was all starting to make sense to Lucas. He understood why Bruno was addicted to all things chocolate. The security officer consumed mounds of donuts and candy for the sugar rush, then used the energy to transform and assume different identities. Lucas was astonished when he thought about how lifelike Bruno had acted for the past eighteen months. He never would have guessed the man wasn’t human.
“How many infiltrator units are there?” Lucas asked, watching Bruno change back into his regular self. He knew he would never look at Bruno the same way, at least not without thinking about Bruno’s alter ego, who was no longer standing there in a short skirt and heels.
“Bruno’s not the only one. However, the exact number is classified on a need-to-know basis.”
When Lucas thought about Bruno and Mary being the same person, he discovered a discrepancy in Kleezebee’s story. “Wait a minute. Something’s not right here.”
“What’s that?” Kleezebee asked.
“A few days ago, when we were escorted to NASA’s facility, Bruno was up top and Mary was waiting for us down on the twentieth floor. How could he be in two places at once?”
“Let me show you,” Kleezebee said, calling forward one of his video technicians to stand next to Bruno. Lucas hadn’t realized it earlier, but all the video techs were wearing the same pentagon-shaped watch as Bruno. Kleezebee probably gave the watches to his staff as gifts.
Bruno extended his left arm and the tech his right. Their index fingers touched in the middle as if they were plugging into each other’s body. Their fingertips fused together into one scarlet-colored mass, which resembled the semi-liquid substance found inside a lava lamp. The blob shimmered as it slithered across the connection, slowly encasing the tech’s arm, then spread to his torso. Eventually, the goop smothered his entire body.
For the next fifteen seconds, the tech’s body fluctuated under the gelatinous layer like a waterbed mattress swaying in an earthquake. When the spasms subsided, random sections of the gooey substance disappeared, revealing more and more of Bruno’s appearance from underneath. When all of the bio-morph material had dissipated, the tech’s appearance had been replaced by an exact replica of Bruno, clothes and all. The only thing missing was Bruno’s duty belt and sidearm.
Both copies spoke to Lucas in perfect unison in Bruno’s voice. “Hopefully, now you understand.”
“So you can make copies of copies,” Lucas answered. “Impressive, but that still doesn’t explain what happened in the desert.”
The imposter said, “Jesus Christ, don’t you get it? You’re a goddamn copy. So was the Drew that died.”
Lucas didn’t say anything. He needed a moment to think.
“Trust me, you two are replicas and were sent there to die,” the imposter said.
“Okay, let’s assume for a moment I believe you, which I don’t. How did you know Alvarez was going to kidnap us?” Lucas asked Kleezebee.
“We have a spy inside the general’s unit. He informed us that Alvarez was coming after you. Remember my note to Trevor outside the conference room?” Kleezebee asked. “That night in the hospital, I had Trevor replicate both of you while you were asleep. We knew Alvarez was gunning for you, but we didn’t know when or where he would strike. It was the only way to protect your Authentics. Alvarez had to think Lucas and Drew were dead; otherwise, he would never stop looking for them. That meant we had to let him kill you. Since we needed you and D to act like your Authentics, we could let you know you were copies.”
Lucas’ remembered the sticky stuff on his hand when he woke up in the chair in Drew’s hospital room. His mind flashed a vision of the gooey material that he stepped in when he was washing his hands in the bathroom sink. Then he remembered Trevor’s big orange suitcase and wondered what was inside of it. It was starting to make sense. Yet, still, he didn’t believe he was the copy. He felt real. Kleezebee must have the
two of them confused. “No, I don’t believe any of this.”
“Maybe you need to show him the Med-Lab, boss,” Bruno said.
Kleezebee did not respond immediately. Instead, he walked to the front left corner of the room, and stood near an eight-foot-wide section of empty wall space. In front of him was a red, wall-mounted fire extinguisher. Kleezebee opened a sliding compartment hidden underneath the extinguisher’s nameplate. Inside was a digital security keypad and biometric scanner. He entered a numerical security code and pressed his left thumbprint against the scanner.
An empty wall segment slid up and disappeared into the ceiling. The hidden section was actually a thick, reinforced metallic door that had been covered in matching wall fabric, concealing its existence. Beyond the door was a room roughly the size of Drew and Lucas’ lab.
“Welcome to our med-lab,” Kleezebee said.
Two stainless-steel surgical tables were standing in the center of the med-lab with depressed sections spaced evenly across their surface. They were seven feet long with raised edges like a coroner’s table. Above each table was medical equipment and directional lighting that hung down from the ceiling. A well-stocked mobile surgical cart was sitting between the two tables, adorned with instruments and supplies.
Wall-mounted shelving surrounded the room and was packed with clear glass containers about the size of a janitorial mop bucket. Each container was filled two-thirds full with a scarlet-colored liquid. The ceiling carried a supply of two-inch diameter tubes, which connected each container to a furnace-sized machine along the back wall. An enormous, blond-haired technician was standing in a lab coat in front of the machine, with his back was to the entrance.
Lucas walked into the lab and pointed the gun at the male technician. “Turn around and let me see your hands.”
The tech turned around and smiled. It was Trevor, their Swedish lab assistant.
“Jesus Christ, does everyone know about this except me?” Lucas asked.
“Let us show you,” Kleezebee said.
Trevor fetched a glass container from the shelf closest to him and poured its red substance into one of the surgical table’s depressed areas. It oozed out of the container like semi-frozen red pudding.
Kleezebee called in one of his operation techs from the video room and had the man roll up his sleeve. Kleezebee submerged the tech’s hand into the scarlet material and held it there for a good twenty seconds.
“We call this stuff BioTex, which is synthetically engineered living latex,” Kleezebee explained. “Once his hand is submerged, the BioTex will process his DNA and begin the replication process. It requires at least fifteen seconds of contact in order to create a genetic map of the donor’s body, and then download the subject’s memory engrams.”
“Living latex?” Lucas asked.
Kleezebee withdrew the tech’s hand from the BioTex. “We prefer to call it BioTex, which is short for Bio-mimetic Latex.”
Lucas stood there, watching the BioTex coagulate and thicken as it spread itself across the length of the table. It rose up from the table like bread dough, eventually assuming the shape of a featureless human body. Soon after, its facial structure began to materialize and show through the scarlet substance. Its mouth, eyes, and nose formed first, then its hair sprouted and grew to full length. Eventually, its entire body, including genitalia, took shape. The final step was the appearance of its lab coat and clothes. When the metamorphosis was complete, an exact copy of the male technician lay before him on the table.
“If the replica is a perfect copy right down to its DNA, how do you tell the copy from the original?” Lucas asked, thinking about his own status.
Kleezebee picked up a handheld electronic device the size of a paperback book. “We use this scanner to check the validity of any subject. When it encounters the bimolecular resonance of BioTex, it lights up red. When it senses an authentic human, it lights up green.” Kleezebee aimed the device at Bruno's chest. After three seconds, the unit lit up red. "Red means he's a replica." He pointed the unit at the imposter. "Green means he's an Authentic. If I pointed it at you right now, it would light up red."
Lucas didn’t buy it. He was the authentic, not the imposter.
Kleezebee held up the scanner. “L, can I scan you to demonstrate?”
“Why are you calling me ‘L’?”
“That’s the naming convention we use for replicas. We call them by the first letter of their donor’s name. Is it okay if I approach you? It’ll only take a second.”
Lucas finally agreed and Kleezebee held the scanner only inches from Lucas’ chest. Kleezebee activated the device and it lit up red, just as the professor said it would.
Lucas lowered his weapon.
Bruno tackled Lucas from the side, pinning him spread-eagle to the floor. Trevor inserted a four-pronged electronic device into Lucas’ neck, sending an electric discharge coursing through his body. His hands, legs, and arms went limp.
“Get off me,” Lucas yelled while being crushed by Bruno’s weight. He watched his fingers slowly melt away, turning into the runny scarlet substance. It was true—he was a replica.
More of his body began to dissolve into BioTex and moments later, his vision went dark and so did his existence.
Chapter 19
Wednesday, December 26
12:30 AM
The authentic Lucas looked at the puddle of BioTex lying underneath Bruno on the floor. “Glad that’s over with. I sure can be one stubborn son of a bitch, can’t I?”
“For a moment there, I thought he was going to shoot us all,” Drew said.
Lucas laughed. “He sure was one mixed-up dude.”
“Wouldn’t you have been, given the circumstances?”
“I suppose. But I’m sure I could tell which one was the real you.”
“I doubt that, considering replicas are perfect copies right down to their synthetic DNA.”
“Trust me, I could tell. No problem.”
“Guys, can we get back to business?” Kleezebee asked.
“Sure, Professor, sorry,” Lucas said.
“Before we were interrupted by L, you said you still had questions?”
Lucas had to think for a minute. With everything that just happened, his memory needed a wake up call. "Oh yeah, now I remember . . . Does it always take ten minutes to replicate someone?"
"Yes, but only the first time it duplicates someone new. After that, as long as the replica maintains its sugar supply, its bio-mimetic programming remains intact. It only takes a few seconds to resume any of its previously copied identities."
"Even clothes? How?"
"From the Authentic's memory. The BioTex scans the subject’s mind and determines what the donor was wearing at the time of replication. It then synthesizes the clothes just like the rest of the body."
"What about memories and emotions? Are they replicated, too?"
Kleezebee nodded. "It’s a perfect replica of the original, right down to the cellular level. Blood, bodily fluids, voice, brain patterns, and memory are mimicked perfectly. Even a human DNA analysis wouldn't be able to detect the difference. Only a bimolecular resonance scan can distinguish the replica from the original."
Lucas thought about his brother's disability and wondered about a cure. "What about genetic defects, and things like injuries and diseases?"
"We could program the BioTex to repair any physical defects during the replication process. However, we usually leave the imperfections in place to help sell the impersonation. Diseases are irrelevant and don't affect the replica, since it's not a real human being."
"Can you impersonate anyone? Like the President?"
"Well, we could, but there are issues when replicating a high-profile individual. First, we need prolonged contact with the donor to process its genetic makeup and download its mind. With someone as well protected as the President, that wouldn't be possible. Then you have the issue of what to do with the original. We wouldn't want to have two of them running around th
e White House.
"If you remember, I told you that Bruno needs a constant supply of sugar in order to transform and maintain his identity. The same would be true with the President's copy. The replica would need to consume significant amounts of sugar to maintain its form and not revert to pure BioTex. Someone would certainly notice the change in the President's eating habits if he suddenly became a sugar junkie overnight."
“Yeah, makes sense,” Lucas replied.
Drew asked, “Once the replica reverts back to its native form, what would happen if someone inserted their hand into it? Wouldn't it start to duplicate them?"
Kleezebee shook his head. "The BioTex can't be used again without the introduction of a reactivating enzyme that only we possess. It's another of our fail-safe mechanisms and is kept locked away under tight security. We certainly don't want our own technology used against us, so we take every precaution."
Lucas remembered reading somewhere that latex could either be a natural or synthetic substance. It was made up of several ingredients, including sugar, which explained Bruno's chocolate requirements for genetic transformation and cohesion. Nevertheless, he still needed more information. "Bruno, you're one of these replicas, right?"
"Yup."
"Okay, so where's the original Bruno? And what about Mary Stinger and the other people you impersonated? Are they walking around somewhere?"
Kleezebee fielded the question, sounding like a college professor explaining the answer to one of his students, "Excellent question. Some of Bruno's identities were duplicated from the bodies of several people who’d died. After someone dies, there's a forty-hour window in which we can duplicate their DNA and download their memory."
"How do you get access to their remains?"
"We own our own chain of mortuaries, which gives us priority access to the recently deceased."
Lucas wondered where else Kleezebee might have replicas, besides General Alvarez's unit. "I understand why you have replicas inside the military, but what about in the government?"
"Absolutely, though it can take years for one of our replicas to work its way up the chain of command in order to be in a position of influence. Tactically, we have to be very patient and plan far in advance, especially within the elected branches of the government and the armed forces. It’s much easier for our replicas to infiltrate the various intelligence agencies.”
