I’m laying on a stiff bed, in a stark, yet brightly-lit, hospital room. My head is pounding and the base of my spine aches and tingles. The sting of Lysol and Clorox burns my throat and nose. Two stern men in black suits, leer at me. My flesh is crawling. I don’t know whether in reaction to the creepy men or to my apparent operation.
The taller of the two men removes dark sunglasses from a pointy nose and fidgets with them. “I’m very sorry Mr. Anderson to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Hmm?” Is the best I can grunt. I guess I’m still groggy from the sedatives.
“Well,” the taller agent awkwardly clears his throat. “Craig, you’ve been cloned.”
“A clone?” I creak out. I should be shocked, but I’m not. I’ve been working unimaginably hard and opportunities for sleep are infrequent. Getting the assistance of a clone to complete my government contract is exactly the kind of problem solving I’m likely to do. The catch is, I don’t remember doing so.
“The process is very invasive. In order for your clone to be mentally equivalent to you, it is necessary to analyze your entire brain. The downside to this procedure is that it erases from your memory, your last twenty-four hours.”
“And the bad news?” My voice is raspy but slowly improving.
“Well umhh…”
The shorter burly agent cuts in. His accent isn’t as polished as I’d expect from a government agent. “As you probably know, clones don’t have souls. It shares your DNA, your physical appearance, and even your mind, but not your soul. Its conscience is not yet fully established. Without guidance, it might act impulsively and criminally.”
The taller man takes back control of the conversation. “Your clone recovered more quickly than you did. It went to your home and has been using your technology for terrorism all afternoon.”
My voice caught in my throat in horror. My technology, in the wrong hands, could indeed be used to wreak catastrophic horror. “My XL500?”
“I’m afraid so.” The tall agent’s face keeps twitching as if a fly were landing on it. “We could storm into your house and arrest him, but in the process he might launch a cyber attack and delete all of your technical progress.” I smile ironically, thinking how that was very likely the kind of thing I just might do when threatened, but I let him continue. “We’d then have to keep him imprisoned until his DNA entropied.”
The burly agent speaks up, “And who knows how long we’d be waiting for that. Your clone could disintegrate into a pool of primordial ooze within a few days or it could take years.”
“So you need my help?”
The burly agent thwacks the tall agent’s shoulder. “I told ya he was smart.” The tone of his voice doesn’t feel like a compliment.
The tall agent answers, “We need you to secure the technology, halt terrorist misuse, and shorten your clone’s life-cycle.”
“You mean murder myself.” My heart pounds and my body starts shaking.
“Like I said, smart!” He winks at the burly agent. “But don’t think of it as murder. You own your DNA, which gives you the moral, ethical and legal authority to do what you want with your own body.”
“Yeah, it’s like cutting off a cancerous tumor.” The burly agent grins as if killing people was a fun, past-time for him.
“Can’t I just authorize you to do it?” How much will this failed experiment set me back financially?
“Nope, only you can kill you.”
“When?”
“Now. Are you still dizzy and head-achy?”
I push up on my elbows and say, “I’m feeling better.”
“Good man. Alright, get dressed and we’ll debrief you on the way.” The tall man holds the door open for the burly man. He nods and they leave.
Slowly, I stand on my wobbly legs. The anaesthetic must have been potent because my every muscle groans, as if being used for the first time.
The men escort me to a black van with lots of technology inside. The ride is bumpy and each swerve makes it hard to stay on my side bench. Thin seat padding is inadequate for protecting my sore tailbone over the harsh bumps.
They explain how, like me, my clone is very smart. He will try to trick and confuse me. I need to trust the government, ignore his protestations and complete the mission. They reiterate the mission until I can recite it back to them. The back doors swing open and it’s time to end myself.
Evening sets in on my lazy neighborhood. Scents of pine and plumeria tingle my nose. Somehow, given this horrendous task, it’s like I’m looking at the world through new eyes.
For two years now, I’ve been designing a surveillance system for the CIA. My software can hack into every security camera system in the world, undetected. It then performs facial recognition on every person in range. Milliseconds later, it finds all target faces and exports the encrypted results. Even now, I can detect the location of most of the worlds most wanted criminals and terrorists.
My garage door is cracked open, so I lift it and roll under. Installing a quiet roll-door was costly, but I see now, well worth it. My right hand starts dripping blood. I must have scratched it. Flickering terminals, hard-drive banks and mainframe computers glow eerily in the mostly darkened carport.
I enter and find myself in the kitchen, making a sandwich. I point a heavy revolver at my clone and slide the safety off. I’m looking forward to being my own person again.
“Who are…” My clone says and then his eyes widen in horror. I’m surprised to observe how much I slouch. I should work on my posture.
“You’ve been naughty, Craig.” I find this surreal experience a little funny.
“The government sent you?” His eyes reveal bewilderment, ignorance, and an apparent innocence. He seems to have no clue what he has done to me.
“They say you’ve used the XL500 for terrorist activity.”
“No, I turned it off because they’re using it to spy on private citizens for blackmail.”
“I think I’ll design my next clone with less of a sense of righteous indignation.”
He holds his hands out defensively. “But you’re the clone!” He is beside himself both literally and figuratively.
I laugh at how he probably really believes it. “Of course you’d think that! Look, it’s not you. It’s me!” I say and pull the trigger.
My nose starts bleeding almost as much as his chest. I stop the flow of my nose with tissues as the lights go out in the eyes of the body on the kitchen floor.
A moment later, several agents in black kevlar burst in and turn on the lights. Two men begin to deal with the corpse, while a van pulls up and starts wheeling equipment into it.
“Wait! That’s my equipment! My project! I’m not done!” I wave the revolver around like I intend to use it.
The tall agent walks over to me, takes my revolver and laughs. “Yes you are!”
“But my payment!”
He hands me a check ,while he and the other agent stuff back sniggers and chortles.
A million dollar check! But I was only owed $400,000! I hold it up questioningly.
They break out in guffaws. Finally, the burly agent calms down enough to talk. “You earned it. Hahahaha. One of the downsides to being a clone is extreme hemophilia hemorrhaging. Seeing the way you are leaking blood right now, I’d say you only have a few hours left to spend your check. Hahahaha.”