The control room of the Main Lab was quiet.
Dr. Griffin Weir was at a computer. On the screen were two windows. In each was a rotating 3-d image of the familiar double helix.
One DNA chain was labelled: Catherine Weir—donor
The other was labelled: Catherine Weir—clone
Dr. Weir selected a DNA sequence of the donor helix, and clicked it.
“Catherine Weir Donor,” droned the computer’s voice.
“X-linked dominant genome sequence for ovarian cancer. Life expectancy, forty-five years.”
Dr. Weir then selected a sequence of the clone DNA.
“Catherine Weir Clone. Ovarian cancer genome sequence deleted. Autosomal recessive genome sequence for cystic fibrosis inserted. Life expectancy: one to five years.”
Dr. Weir rubbed his eyes. He stared at the screen in disbelief. Then he keyed another command into the system.
“Loading file: Johnny Phoenix Clone. One moment please…”
* * *
Adam was at his locker at the Double X Charter office, changing out of the guard’s uniform.
His clone sat on a bench nearby, rubbing his sore jaw and looking at a scrawled diagram.
“What’s this word?” he asked.
Adam looked over his shoulder. “Stairwell.”
The clone grinned. “Are you sure?”
“You should know,” said Adam, buttoning his shirt. “You’re my…”
“Clone, right,” said the clone. “They made me in the lab, like a RePet. Excuse me if I don’t believe that part of it.”
“So long as you help me,” Adam said, “I don’t care what you believe.”
The clone touched his jaw. “But knowing you needed my help, how come you started by punching me in the jaw?”
“That was the only way to stop you from calling the police,” Adam said, tying his shoes. “You know you wouldn’t have listened to me at that moment.”
The clone agreed. “I’m surprised I’m listening to you now.”
* * *
Drucker was alone in his office when the door burst open and Dr. Weir walked in.
Stormed in, was more like it. He looked ready to kill.
“Griffin,” said Drucker. “You look upset.”
“Catherine is dead.”
Drucker sat up straight. “Oh, Griffin, I’m so sorry…”
“Stop it,” said Dr. Weir. “I know about the congenital defects you’ve been imbedding into the clone DNA. My wife, Johnny Phoenix, the others…”
“Yes,” said Drucker. “I didn’t tell you about those. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand!” Dr. Weir leaned over the desk. “You gave my wife cystic fibrosis!”
Drucker pushed back slightly from his desk. There was a button he could hit with his knee to call security. He didn’t want to do it unless he had to.
“Now calm down, Griffin. None of this was meant to hurt Catherine.”
Drucker stood up and walked to the window. He had found that a soft voice sometimes helped when a situation was getting out of hand.
“Look,” he said. “Suppose we clone a senator who promises to support us, but goes back on his word? Or suppose Johnny Phoenix wants to double his salary?”
Dr. Weir listened without answering; without any visible expression at all.
Drucker pushed on. “By giving the clones a short life expectancy, we keep our leverage. If they betray us, they’re dead. If they’re still on the team, we clone them again and no harm done. Like Catherine. I assume she’s being cloned right now, as we speak.”
“No.”
“If you’re concerned about her DNA,” said Drucker, “go through it yourself. And needless to say, there won’t be any charge for cloning her.”
“You don’t understand,” said Dr. Weir coldly. “She doesn’t want to be cloned.”
“So?” Drucker had heard that one before. “Do it anyway.”
Dr. Weir stared at him with new understanding. And new hatred.
“I promised her I wouldn’t bring her back. Michael, I’m finished. I’ve justified too much. I’ve looked the other way too often. I’m done. I quit.”
Drucker shook his head gently. “I can’t let you quit. I need you.”
“You don’t need me,” said Dr. Weir. “The whole procedure is automated. Even Marshall can do it. Soon you’ll have the laws changed. You can have all the researchers you want.”
“None of them would be you,” said Drucker. Sometimes flattery worked better than threats. Besides, he actually meant it.
“It’s over,” said Dr. Weir, holding up his hands. “I’m finished.”
With a soft smile, Drucker opened a desk drawer. “I’m going to give you the greatest gift that you can possibly imagine.”
He reached into the drawer and pulled out a small foosh gun.
“I’m going to save your life,” he continued. “I’m going to save Catherine’s life. I’m going to save our relationship. And I’m going to save your marriage.”
Dr. Weir looked at him in horror. “Michael, what are you…”
“I’m going to kill you now, and we’ll clone you from your most recent syncording. Then we’ll clone Catherine from her last syncording. You get it?” Drucker raised the gun and adjusted a dial on the side. “You see what I’m doing for you? You and Catherine will be back together and neither one of you will remember that you promised not to clone her, or even that she died. And of course you won’t remember this conversation with me.”
Dr. Weir backed away. “Michael, I beg you…”
Foosh!
The beam was dialed down so small that the shot drilled a tiny hole just inside Dr. Weir’s left eye. No blood, no pain, no mess. No memories. He was dead before he hit the thick, hand-woven carpet.
“You’re welcome,” said Drucker, as he put the gun away and closed the drawer.