by Tom Holt
‘Drop dead.’
‘Leave him alone,’ the girl sighed. ‘Or, if you insist on fighting, do it outside. You’re giving me a headache.’
Instinctively, John and David looked at each other; for a split second, you could have imagined they were father and son . . . ‘I think I’ll go outside for a walk,’ John announced. ‘And you lot,’ he said to the twelve carbon copies of himself, ‘stop gawping and come with me. If you’ve got nothing better to do, you can go for a walk. Like the old proverb says, a strolling clone gathers no moss.’
After they’d all trooped outside, neither David nor the girl (and what the hell am I supposed to call her? David asked himself. Philippa? Philippa #3? Clone Girl? Ms Levens? Sweetheart . . . ?) said anything for some time. Eventually— ‘All those frogs,’ David said. ‘Wonder what he wanted them for.’
She looked up at him. ‘Frogs?’
He nodded. ‘One time when I went to his workshop, the whole place was seething with frogs. The building was full of ‘em, and they’d spilled out into the road.’
‘Sounds like he was building a computer.’
‘Must’ve been a biggie, then. Didn’t he say it only took a dozen or so?’
‘Can’t remember. Wasn’t listening particularly.’
He got the impression that she didn’t really want to talk about frogs. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if I’d done philosophy instead of computer science, I could really hurt my head thinking about this. I mean to say: I’m ambling peacefully along, minding my own business, I’ve managed to reach the age of thirty-two without having had to get a life — no small achievement, if you ask me —when suddenly God pops up out of a propane-fuelled burning bush and says, Guess what; your whole life’s been mapped out for you, and you’ve had no free will whatsoever. And I say, Right, fine, we covered that possibility in year two, I can handle it. And then God says, Ah, but from now on, you’re on your own, and all the consequences of the mess I got you into will be your fault entirely.’ He shrugged. ‘It’d explain a few things about God,’ he said. ‘All that moving in mysterious ways is just ducking to avoid things thrown at Him.’
‘You’re weird,’ she observed. ‘Did you know that?’
David shrugged again. ‘Don’t blame me,’ he replied, ‘I only work here. You got any complaints, take them up with the designer.’
‘Ah.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Excuses. Always useful to have a good excuse or two by you, in case of emergencies. You know what? I don’t believe in all this product-liability stuff. It’s like suing the rope manufacturer because a century ago your great-grandfather hanged himself.’
‘They’d do that in America,’ David pointed out. ‘Normal business practice over there.’
‘Only goes to show,’ she replied listlessly. ‘There’s creatures even more alien than frogs, if you know where to look.’
Something about the way she said it led him to believe it wasn’t only Americans she had in mind.
‘Meaning me?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said impatiently, ‘does it matter? It’s all pointless anyhow.’ She sat down on a workbench. ‘Your father,’ she went on, ‘your father and his clones, I should say, they’ve tactfully gone away so you can talk to me, sort out whatever nonsense it is that I’m fretting about in this silly little head of mine.’ She snarled. ‘When he comes back,’ she went on, ‘I’ve a good mind to make him drink his cloning tanks. One by one,’ she added savagely, ‘if necessary, intravenously.’
‘I see. Just now, you were saying hitting him was pointless.’
‘Changed my mind.’
‘It was just an observation, not a criticism.’
‘Good.’ She picked up an adjustable wrench and threw it across the room. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’d better get on with it.’
‘With what?’
‘Persuading me of the error of my ways.’
David shook his head. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing that, if it’s all the same to you,’ he said. ‘I figure that how you feel is how you feel. When you’ve got that figured out, maybe you’ll tell me and then at least I’ll know.’
She shrugged. ‘I could do.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ he went on, ‘I’m pretty sure I still love you.’
She looked round. ‘Pretty sure?’
‘I’d say about seventy per cent certain. Of course, it’s a bit early yet to say for sure. I’ve only been master of my fate and captain of my soul for about three minutes, and this feeling I’m assuming is love may turn out to be indigestion.’
‘Fine.’ She turned her head and looked round the workshop. ‘Talking of which,’ she said, ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Me too.’
‘In fact,’ she went on, ‘I’m starving. Do you think there’s anything to eat?’
David shook his head. ‘There were biscuits,’ he said, ‘but I think John and I ate them all.’
‘Selfish pigs. Besides, I want something a bit more substantial than a couple of Rich Teas.’
‘I won’t argue with that,’ David said. ‘Tell you what: how about going and finding something to eat? After all, this is Watford, the Constantinople of the Home Counties. At the very least there’s got to be a fish-and-chips place around here somewhere.’
‘I like fish and chips.’
‘There you are, then.’
A thoughtful look crossed her face. ‘I wonder why,’ she said. ‘I mean, what subtle purpose in your dad’s grand design is served by having me like cod in crispy golden batter? Knowing him, there must be a purpose.’
David considered that for a moment. ‘Perhaps our mutual fondness for cod and chips is what brings us closer together,’ he said. ‘You know, shared interests, all that stuff.’
‘Actually, my favourite is rock salmon.’ She paused, frowning. ‘And that’s odd, because I’m prepared to bet good money they hadn’t invented fish and chips when I was alive. Come to think of it, by the time I died, Sir Walter Raleigh had only just discovered the potato.’
‘Good point. So it must be deeply rooted programming after all. Have you got any money?’
‘No, of course, not. Have you?’
‘No. But that’s all right,’ he added. ‘I know where John keeps the petty cash tin.’
She looked at him for quite some time. ‘In other words,’ she said, ‘you’re suggesting that if we ignore all this stuff — everything that’s been done to us, basically —it’ll just go away and we can live happily ever after.’
David shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘In fact, if we’re going to have any kind of lasting relationship, I can see that fairly soon we’ll need to have a whole series of long, dreary, horribly embarrassing conversations about it, of the kind that can only end in tears, recriminations, slammed doors and mutually assured sulking. What I’m hoping is that after a while, we’ll both get so sick and tired of the subject that we’ll leave it alone. Unlikely, though. You can’t have serious relationships where you only talk about nice stuff; that’d be like skipping the main course and having a triple serving of ice cream. It specifically says in the Rules you can’t do that.’
She frowned. ‘Just as well,’ she said.
‘Oh, I agree. It also says we’ve got to have lots of those conversations where you keep trying to make me understand how you feel, and I keep agreeing with you and saying, Yes, you’re exactly right about that, and still you won’t shut up. But that’s OK, because I’ll be expecting them.’
She was still frowning. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you happen to know offhand what we saw in each other, four hundred years ago?’
David shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘no idea. I don’t have any memories from my previous life, I’m afraid. How about you?’
She shook her head. ‘The same,’ she replied. ‘I mean, there must’ve been something.’
‘Obviously, I must’ve been absolutely crazy about you, or else John wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble just to make sure we
got back together again.’
‘Stands to reason,’ she agreed. ‘And I must’ve had it really bad to go and get myself burned as a witch.
Twice,’ she added. ‘Wonder what on earth it could’ve been.’
‘Search me.’
‘Oh, come on.’ She scowled at him. ‘In your case, I’d have thought it’s fairly obvious.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure. Straightforward physical attraction, nothing more complicated than that.’
‘Oh.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You find me physically attractive?’
‘Not you, idiot. I mean what you saw in me. You probably took one look and started drooling.’
‘You think so?’
‘A born drooler if ever I saw one. No, what I can’t begin to figure is what the attraction was from my point of view. Could be you originally had nice eyes or something, and John wasn’t able to reproduce them exactly with his selective breeding stuff. Or maybe I just had a soft spot for short, annoying men. Obviously some women must like them, or the strain would’ve died out thousands of years ago. Where are you going?’
David kneeled down and fished about under the bench. ‘Somewhere,’ he said, ‘around here. Ah, yes, got it.’ He pulled out a battered grey cash box and opened it. ‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘Two ten-pound notes and some copper. Well, are you hungry or aren’t you?’
She pulled a face, one he couldn’t immediately classify or interpret. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘You don’t know if you’re hungry?’
She nodded. ‘And that’s not all,’ she said. ‘Truth is, I’m not sure I know anything.’
‘Really?’ David chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. He’d had conversations like this before, ten years ago, when he was a student; conversations so like this one, in fact, that he was prepared to bet that the next line would be— ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘it all depends on how you define know.’
Exactly right. Spot on, even down to the tone of voice. There’s depressing for you. ‘Well, quite,’ he said, ‘definitely one of your all-time top five grey areas. Meanwhile, if you want to go and get something to eat...
‘Mostly what I don’t know,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t said anything, ‘is how much of me is me, and how much is just Personality Traits for Windows 3.1.’ She picked up a St Bruno tin full of small drills and threw it at the opposite wall. ‘You want to know if I’m hungry? How the hell should I know? Maybe I’m hungry, maybe a dead Jacobean witch used to feel a bit peckish around this time of day, or maybe my CPU clock has just triggered the rumble subroutine in my stomach. I’m supposed to be in love with you; when I close my eyes and ask myself if this is true, everything seems to say yes; but when I ask myself why, nobody seems to know, or if they do they aren’t telling. Whose favourite colour is red, hers or mine?’ (A tack hammer and a ratchet screwdriver went hurtling after the box of drills.) ‘Did she throw things when she got angry and upset, or is this destructive streak all pure me? Or is it because you made a mess of cloning me and forgot to set the jumpers?’ She hefted a cordless drill, searching the opposite wall for an appropriate aiming mark. ‘And you have the boneheaded insensitivity to stand there asking me if I want to go out and get food.’
‘Sorry,’ David muttered.
She threw the drill at him. Fortunately he’d anticipated that possibility, and ducked just in time. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she screeched, ‘it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. That’s why it’s so bloody annoying.’
David counted up to ten under his breath. ‘Have you stopped throwing things?’ he asked.
‘For now,’ she replied. ‘I reserve the right to throw some more stuff later, if the situation calls for it.’ She shook her head. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘the other people who love you, did any of them ever say why? I’d just like a starting point, is all.’
David shrugged. ‘My mum loves me because I’m her son,’ he replied. ‘Which is another way of saying she doesn’t know why, either. Just — well, just Because, I guess.’
‘Others?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. Unless you count John, bearing in mind what he said.’
She shook her head. ‘Leave him out of this. Just your mother, then. You’re sure?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘That’s odd. I mean, you aren’t that bad.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She looked round, scanning the workbench. David stepped forward and handed her a cold chisel. ‘Try this,’ he suggested.
‘Thanks.’ It took quite a chip out of the opposite wall. ‘I didn’t see that there.’
‘It was half buried under a pile of old newspapers,’ David explained. ‘What’d you like to try next? There’s a nice steel set-square under the bench here.’
‘I’ll pass for now, thanks. Actually, I feel a bit better already.’
‘My mother used to throw things when I was small,’ David said. ‘Teddy bears and scatter cushions, mostly. She had a foul temper but she was always practical.’
‘Very sensible woman, obviously. After all, you don’t want broken china and glass everywhere if you’re the one who’ll have to clear up the mess.’
‘Some things did get broken,’ David admitted, ‘but usually they were things we’d been given as Christmas presents by Mum’s aunts; you know, limited-edition plates and little statues of wizards holding cut-glass jewels. Usually by New Year’s Day there was nothing left but porcelain dust and a few stray shards of commemorative shrapnel. Like I said,’ he added, ‘practical.’
‘Sure. I mean, why smash something you like?’
David nodded. ‘So you don’t much care for cordless drills, then?’
‘Actually, I try and keep an open mind where power tools are concerned.’
‘That’s good.’ David took a couple of steps towards the door. ‘I’m going to get something to eat,’ he said, ‘because I’m hungry. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.’
She looked at him. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I might just stay here quietly for a bit. You know, think about things.’
‘Fair enough.’ Three more steps towards the door. ‘I could bring you something back; a sandwich, maybe—’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine.’
‘If you ‘re sure.’
Two more steps. ‘I’m sure,’ she said.
‘Right.’ There was only about a yard to go before he reached the door, and he couldn’t think of anything to say that might generate a pretext for not covering the distance. ‘Be seeing you, then.’
‘Be seeing you.’
He closed his eyes as he turned his back on her, and waited half a second before opening them again. But nothing changed. He reached for the door, turned back the Yale lock latch, and opened it.
‘Bastard!’ somebody snarled in his face, and pushed him back inside.
The next three or four seconds were largely taken up with stumbling, sailing through the air, landing painfully on his back on the concrete floor, and various related issues. When he’d dealt with these aspects of the situation and had a chance to open his eyes and look up, he saw (in the order in which they impressed themselves on his attention) a large gun — and a carbon copy of himself.
‘Bastard,’ the carbon copy repeated.
On balance, the sudden appearance of a doppelganger had to be the most important consideration, though the big scary-looking gun clearly was no trifling matter; and even if it was a trifle, it was an assault trifle, and very much pointed at him— ‘You must think you’re really clever,’ said his mirror image.
‘No,’ David replied truthfully. ‘Who are you?’
The doppelgänger made a vulgar noise. ‘I’m David Perkins,’ it said. ‘And you’re the evil, sadistic little bastard who took my place and left me to be arrested for a crime I didn’t do. A crime you did, more to the bloody point.’ The doppelgänger clicked one of the many levers on the side o
f the rifle, presumably to demonstrate hostile intent. David didn’t actually know what it did — for all he knew it could have been an immersion heater —but he got the message. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ the doppelgänger added, just to hammer the point home.
‘Oh,’ David said; then he frowned, and added, ‘Just a moment.’
‘No.’
‘Please. There’s just one thing I want to clear up first.’
‘Oh, for crying out— All right then, what?’
David marshalled his thoughts. ‘What he said,’ he said. ‘It all figures — because, yes, I did clone you and I did leave you for the police to find and, yes, it was very wrong of me. But what did you mean by “took your place”?’
The doppelgänger now looked puzzled as well as very, very angry. ‘Took my place is what I meant,’ he said. ‘Let me spell it out for you. My name is David Perkins. You’re a filthy little clone who turned me in to the police and stole my life. Which is why—’
‘Hold it.’ David’s brows furrowed like stormclouds. ‘Are you saying you’re the real David Perkins?’
Even more puzzled, and definitely even more angry. ‘Don’t mess with me, frogspawn,’ the mirror image snapped. ‘I’m a real, live, flesh-and-blood human being. You’re a gallon of green slime with ideas above its station. Prepare to die.’
‘Excuse me,’ David said, ‘but are you sure about that?’
‘Of course I’m bloody well sure.’
‘May I ask why?’
The doppelgänger grinned. ‘Well, for one thing,’ he said, ‘I can see it in your mind.’
David hadn’t been expecting that. ‘You can read my...?’
“‘Course I can. You know I can, because of those crackerjack Homeworld superhuman powers that come from being a wonderfrog. I know you know all about them, so it’s no good playing dumb with me.’ He seemed to hesitate, and a slight frown crossed his face. ‘Now there’s a funny thing,’ he said.
‘What, in my mind?’
