The Clone Paradox (The Ark Project, Book I)

by J. W. Elliot

  Willow could hear the scrambling and shouting all around her, but her mind could focus only on Kaiden’s terrible visage. He meant to kill her. Despair swelled inside her to compete with the pressure in her lungs and the desperation to breathe.

  “Let her go!” Flint shouted and grabbed Kaiden. Jade tried to pry his hands loose. Birch loomed behind him with a syringe, which she plunged into Kaiden’s neck. He jerked and swatted at her. Willow sucked in air as Kaiden released his hold. Her chest throbbed. Kaiden reached for her again. But Flint tackled him and grappled with him for a few seconds before his eyes rolled up into his head so that only the whites were showing, and he became limp.

  Birch lifted Willow to a sitting position.

  “Are you okay?” Birch asked.

  Willow nodded, but she couldn’t speak. She needed to wait for the INCR to repair the damage to her larynx. Tears dripped from her cheeks as she glanced over at Kaiden’s prostrate form. This is what she had feared. She had seen him once long ago while she was interning at a genetic research lab. That and his reputation as one of TAP’s best captains had initially drawn her to him. Only recently had she started to unravel how connected they really were, how opposed he had been to cloning. But his attack had come as a surprise. There was no way she could have known how radically opposed he was—so much so that he would murder a clone with his own hands.

  “Now what?” Flint said. “We can’t have Kaiden running around trying to strangle us all because we’re clones.”

  Willow knew what she had to do, but she didn’t know how much it would help. It was like the old memories she had uploaded overwhelmed the Kaiden she knew and replaced him with the clone-hating radical he had been when he died. Maybe if she replaced the memories she had downloaded moments ago, he would be able to find his way back to them. Maybe he would become the Kaiden she had learned to love.

  “Get him back on the table,” she croaked. The effort to speak made her throat burn.

  Jade glanced at her. “Why?”

  “I’m going to restore his memories of us.”

  “You can do that?”

  Willow gazed at them, stone-faced. “I think so.”

  “But that will just confuse him even more,” Birch said.

  Willow folded her arms. “Maybe, but it might also stop him from trying to kill us all.”

  She didn’t really know what it would do. The memories might compete for the same synapses in the brain and leave him paralyzed or psychologically damaged. But to have a Kaiden who hated clones without the understanding of what had happened to him was unacceptable. He would be worse than dead. He would be dangerous. Willow suppressed a twinge of guilt. But he was the stubborn idiot who wanted this. He would have to deal with the consequences.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Agony of Memory

  Kaiden groaned. The rush of memories overwhelmed him—swamped him in a chaos of emotions and circumstances, of people and events. And with the rush came the terrible bone-rending pain that exploded from every fiber of his being. He curled up and wept.

  He wept for his little sister, who had died of a wasting disease that his mother couldn’t heal. He wept for the absentee father who sacrificed his children and his marriage for his political career. He wept for the mother he had wanted so desperately to love. The loss and disappointment consumed him. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  He had become the thing he loathed. At age sixteen, he had joined the terrorists to rid the world of the plague of fake humans that were sucking resources from real research and real programs that would help humans deal with the world they had wasted. Kaiden helped to plan and carry out the murder of clones. The memory of the young, blonde woman he and the mob had caught scampering away from TAP now haunted him. He had helped them kill her.

  Kaiden cradled his head in his hands, wishing the memory would go away. He tried to rationalize what he had done, but he couldn’t. The woman may not even have been a clone. But what if she were? Would that justify what he had done? She didn’t have any more control over being a clone than he did.

  If cloning had been any good, his mother would have used it to save little Rose. But she hadn’t because she couldn’t. Or she hadn’t tried hard enough. The world’s foremost genetic researcher should have been able to do so much more. He hated her for it, and now he hated himself because he was one of them—a clone, not once, but several times.

  And he had spent the last forty years helping TAP perfect its clones. How could he live with himself? How could he endure the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal? Willow and Oakley had both been right. It would have been better not to remember. It would have been better just to die.

  Images flashed before his mind in vivid color, full of raw emotions. They seemed so old and familiar, and yet, so new and strange. The feel of the violin vibrating as he drew the bow over the strings. The liquid pop of the grape as it burst in his mouth. The sharp aroma of raw onions that burned his eyes. The terror of the furry spider that crawled up his arm. The soft touch of Rose’s kiss on his cheek. The agony of his mother’s betrayal when Rose died.

  The bright lights glared down at him from the laboratory ceiling as his wasted body devoured itself. He hadn’t known then, and he didn’t know now what had killed him. His mother, with her bright red lipstick, gazed down at him with a determined, defiant expression on her face. He had died and left his decaying body behind. Why wasn’t he dead? Why did the anguish continue? Why was it so cold and so silent?

  Raven had killed his crew. Willow had betrayed them to the terrorists. Or had she brought him home? Was this where he belonged? In the belly of the terrorists’ lair, chanting slogans of hatred about clones, working to destroy every clone that polluted the world?

  “Kaiden?”

  The voice pierced the chaos.

  “Kaiden?”

  He knew that voice. It was soft and inviting.

  “Kaiden?”

  He opened his eyes. The room was shadowed. Silky black hair spilled over his cheek. The smell of fresh sage filled his nostrils. Someone stroked his hand.

  “Hey,” Jade said.

  “It’s cuneiform,” Kaiden said. He didn’t know why he said this, but it was among the clutter of memories he hadn’t yet processed, and it seemed important. Cuneiform was an ancient form of writing that hadn’t been used for thousands of years—not since ancient Mesopotamia. Why would TAP be using it for the tattoos on the clones?

  Jade smiled, and the dimples formed beneath her cheekbones.

  “You’ve been unconscious for two days, and that’s all you can say?” she said.

  “I was one of them,” Kaiden said. “I was a terrorist.”

  “I figured as much when you tried to strangle Willow.”

  Kaiden struggled to sit up. His head reeled, but he forced himself to remain upright. “Did I hurt—”

  “No. She’s fine. The INCR fixed her up good as new.”

  He had gone to his mother’s lab just before Rose died, and Willow was there in a white lab coat. At the time, he hadn’t known about the clones.

  “This changes everything,” he said.

  Jade studied him. “What? Now you have to kill us all yourself?”

  Kaiden stared at her. Is that what he wanted? No. But death might be a peaceful escape from the horror that presently consumed him.

  “No,” he said, “but I’m...I’m a fake human.”

  Jade smirked at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. You’ve known you were a clone for weeks now.”

  “I know,” Kaiden said. “I’m just so confused. It’s like there are two of me vying for control of my mind.” Then he raised his hands to stare at them. “This body didn’t even have a mother or father,” he said. “It was hatched in a big glass bubble, like bacteria in a petri dish.”

  “And that makes you fake?”


  “Doesn’t it?”

  “Is the bacteria in the petri dish fake?”

  When Kaiden didn’t answer, Jade lifted his hand again and held it in her lap.

  “Look,” she began, “your DNA is the product of all the ancestors who went before you. TAP may have tinkered with some of it, but they can’t create it. And all those memories bouncing around in your head right now belonged to a living, breathing human, no matter how he was created.”

  The words sounded good. Kaiden wanted to believe them. It was as if he had two personalities, two identities warring with each other. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to push back the growing ache.

  Jade draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

  “What am I?” Kaiden mumbled.

  “A human being created by alternate means,” Jade said.

  Kaiden lifted his head and gave her a weak smile. “Alternate means?”

  Jade raised her eyebrows. “How else would you describe it?”

  Kaiden shook his head. “Are we really humans?”

  “What difference does it make?” Jade said. “Is a human who has had an organ transplant less human? We belong to the sentient world the same as all other living things. We have value because we exist.”

  Kaiden smiled despite the agony in his soul. “You have a way with words.”

  “If it helps,” Jade said, “you can think of it as a type of reincarnation. Ancient religions often believed that people returned to earth after death in the form of another creature. Instead of coming back as a pig or a cockroach, you came back as an upgraded version of yourself.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought,” Kaiden said sarcastically.

  Jade leaned in. Her breath was warm on his face. She smelled of sweet sage. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “You scared me.”

  Kaiden blinked at her. She was so alluring. Her lips were parted and moist, and she looked him in the eye. The unspoken question passed between them. Would he kiss her? The warmth rising in his chest confused him. What was this feeling? What did he do with it? He swallowed, and their lips touched. Her lips were soft and warm. A tingle of excitement rushed through his gut, and he kissed her back. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent a fire coursing through his belly.

  She pulled away and smiled at him. “See,” she said, “you are human, after all.”

  Two days later, Kaiden fidgeted at the observation window to the surgery with his hands clasped behind his back as each of his companions underwent the operation to remove the switches. It disturbed him to see them writhe on the table. They might be sedated, but the switch’s defense mechanism tore through the body, nonetheless. His jaw clenched and unclenched at the enormous arrogance of TAP and its complete disregard for the dignity of the children it swept into its clutches.

  He raised a hand to push against the sudden stabbing of pain that flared at his temple. He closed his eyes, trying to wait it out. When he opened them again, he saw his reflection in the window, and he realized that he didn’t know where he was. Fear gripped his stomach. Was this his mother’s lab? Who was the beautiful woman that lay on her stomach with the surgical-bots hovering overhead? What were they doing to her? He blinked at another flash of pain, and he was back at the window, watching the surgical-bots remove the switches from Jade’s neck and arm.

  Kaiden ground his teeth in frustration. He had expected a sudden understanding of who and what he had been with the return of his memories, but all he got was a confusing rush of contradictory emotions and memories that battled for his attention. He had hoped for some miraculous clarity. But it hadn’t worked. The memories returned slowly like the flowing of hot lava, bringing moments of understanding followed by confusion, anger, and pain.

  And always, the self-loathing remained. He was a freak, a monster, a scientific experiment with no purpose other than to be poked and prodded in the name of science. TAP had done this to him—left him in mental anguish and robbed him of his family. He had been violated in the worst possible way. He had been stripped of his body, his mind preserved as a computer file against his will, and then forced into a cloned body with no real connection to anyone or anything other than the evil institution that created him. But he had known this for weeks. Why did it bother him so much now? What could he do about it?

  Willow was the last to lay down on the table despite her earlier declaration to be the first. The doctor had insisted that he needed her help, so now she was the last to have the devices removed. She turned her head so that she could see him as she lay on her stomach. Their gazes met. Kaiden looked on in growing confusion. Willow had been quiet and standoffish since she had restored his memories. He tried to apologize for attacking her, but she brushed him off. Either she was afraid of him, or she was afraid of his memories.

  The muscles in his jaw worked in frustration. Willow’s expression of sorrow and helpless grief infuriated him. But he didn’t know why he was so angry. He didn’t know why he had so violently attacked her—other than that he opposed cloning as a teenager and actively sought to stop it.

  Willow’s eyelids fluttered closed. Her body jerked. The monitors went blank. Kaiden’s heart beat faster as it always did at this stage. The surgical-bots did their work and held up two pieces of pale flesh with dripping nano-wires dangling beneath. The doctor and his assistants began working to revive her. Kaiden watched them inject the oxygenated solution and attach the defibrillator. Willow’s body jerked again. Kaiden glanced at the monitors. They remained blank. Kaiden scowled as the warmth rose in his chest. Willow was not responding. The others had already responded by now. Something was wrong.

  The surgical-bot dropped the switches on a stainless steel tray, and Kaiden glanced at the black cuneiform tattoo on the piece of pink flesh. He didn’t know why he knew it was cuneiform, and he didn’t know why he could read it, but it said, “The Breath of Life.”

  Why did this make his blood run cold? His stomach clenched tight. Come on, he thought. Come on, Willow.

  The nurse prepared to inject her with another syringe of oxygenated microparticles. He remembered that Willow had told him that the oxygen system had stopped working after the explosion on the lunar transport ship after the bomb blast. And yet, she had continued to function with no apparent problems. He had never pressed her to explain why, but it suddenly became very important.

  “No,” Kaiden screamed. “He slammed his fist against the window and then rushed for the door and threw it open. “No more oxygen!” he yelled.

  The doctor spun to face him, and the nurse paused.

  “Get him out of here,” the doctor said.

  “No, listen.” He had to convince them. “You’re killing her!”

  “Get him out!” the doctor yelled.

  Oakley grabbed Kaiden from behind.

  “She’s been modified to live in low oxygen environments!” Kaiden yelled.

  The doctor gazed at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “That would explain why her O2 saturation was so low,” the doctor said and waved away the nurse with the syringe.

  “If she dies because of you,” Oakley whispered in his ear. “I’ll make you pay.”

  Kaiden shook him loose. “We lost oxygen on the shuttle after the explosion,” he said, “and she suffered no side effects while she had to put me on oxygen.”

  Oakley stepped back to study Kaiden with interest. “They can be that specific?”

  Kaiden pointed at the piece of flesh attached to the switches. “It’s cuneiform,” he said.

  “What’s cuneiform?” Oakley asked.

  “It’s the writing of the ancient Sumerians, and it’s being used to note specific genetic modifications on each clone.”

  Oakley stared at him. “Who are the Sumerians?”

  “The people of Mesopotamia. The ones who supposedly buil
t the ark.”

  “Right.” Oakley eyed him suspiciously. “And you can read it?”

  Kaiden shook his head. “Not really. I just understood…I mean…” He tried to think why he had understood it. “My dad was an archaeologist who studied ancient Mesopotamia before he got involved in politics. He taught me some cuneiform when I was a kid. It was a game we played.”

  Willow lurched on the table and sucked in a great gulp of air. Her eyelids fluttered, and she lay still. Kaiden glanced at the monitors. Her heart rate came up and leveled off. Her oxygen saturation was in the twenties—so low she should have been dead. But she seemed to be breathing fine. The doctor glanced at Kaiden and nodded.

  Kaiden let out a long breath. He had almost lost her. Somehow, that knowledge had focused his mind like nothing else since she restored his memories. He didn’t want to lose her. She was his friend. He had lost too many already.

  “I’m sorry,” Kaiden said.

  Willow blinked up at him from the table where she was recovering from the surgery. Confusion clouded her face before a weak smile played across her lips.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He took her hand. “I wasn’t myself, I…” How could he explain the horrible conflict of emotions bursting within him? The sense of being two people at the same time—one who hated everything about clones, who thought they should die, and one who kept repeating in his mind, “I am a clone. My friends are all clones. We are good people.”

  Willow squeezed his hand. “I warned you that you might not like it. Remembering isn’t always a good thing. Sometimes it’s easier to forget.”

  “Maybe,” Kaiden said. “But I have to know why I remember you—why I attacked you. Can you tell me?”

  A frown tugged at the corners of Willow’s mouth. “I was an intern at a lab where you used to come to visit someone,” she said. “I saw you there once, but I don’t think we ever talked.”