Clone Read online

  He glanced at Akam again. He wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t call Creig now. Not just like that. All of this was moving too fast. He needed time to think. And he’d have to meet this … Theo before he could make a decision. If the guy wasn’t with it, if he didn’t understand things, then how could he pass him off to Creig as his brother?

  He glanced at his watch. It was 5:57. He sighed.

  “Look, Akam,” he said, his voice slipping down a register. “I can’t do anything now. I’m supposed to be meeting someone at six.”

  Akam frowned.

  “Maybe after that.” He paused. “I can’t just say yes until I meet this guy.”

  “Sure,” Akam said. “Of course. Of course you have to meet him.”

  Riley nodded, wanting to say more. He opened his mouth, but stopped.

  “I live in the East Village. It’s not far from your place.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “For the past few days. Not just me.”

  That was just great. He spent all his life thinking he was being watched, and now it’d happened, and he hadn’t even noticed.

  “Who are you meeting?”

  “A girl.” He cut his eyes sideways and gripped his beer. “Her name’s Susen.”

  “A love interest?”

  “No — well, maybe on her part. At least, I guess.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you.”

  “No, I know, but I was at a work thing, and she kind of just latched on to me.”

  “It’s those exotic good looks.”

  Yeah, Riley thought. Maybe. But how the hell was he going to get rid of her?

  “Does she know about your family?”

  Riley frowned, trying to think. He’d been out with her three times now, and yes, they had talked about family. She had an elder brother. Her parents were still married, which had led to talk of his mother’s disappearance, and yes, he must have then said he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. He could vaguely remember it. It was a couple of weeks back now. They’d been in the foyer of a theater on West Thirty-Sixth Street.

  He nodded, at first slowly, and then a little quicker. “Yeah, she does. I mean, she’d be pretty surprised if I suddenly produced a twin brother.”

  “You might have lied.”

  “Right.”

  Akam slipped his hands beneath the table and leaned forward. “Does she come around to your place?”

  “No. She hasn’t. I’ve been trying to avoid that.”

  “Well, go on avoiding it. It’s not like Theo can go out.”

  “He can’t go out?”

  Akam shook his head. “Not at the moment. He’d make too many mistakes. If a skulker saw him … well. He’d get lost anyway.”

  Riley nodded. “You know, Akam, a lot of people know I don’t have a brother.”

  “He’ll be gone in a couple months.”

  Yeah, Riley thought, but a couple months was a long time.

  2

  They said goodbye. Akam gave Riley his address, and Riley said he’d come by after his date, at around eight thirty or thereabouts. He said he’d be late if he didn’t go, then tossed back his beer and hurried away, leaving Akam alone in the booth.

  Akam watched him slip into the crowd, his bright windbreaker disappearing into a mob of darkly clothed men. Riley would have to stop dressing like that, he thought, and then gripped his forehead, a dull pain clouding his thoughts.

  It might not have been entirely fair to Riley, bringing him into this, but Akam didn’t have a whole lot of options. The hub had eight clones on its hands. Every operative who could was hiding one, as Akam was doing, but with Theo it could only ever have been a temporary measure at best. His apartment was too small, the proverbial shoebox, a single room in the basement of a brownstone with a bathroom the size of a closet. Theo had been sleeping on the floor, though in the day, when Akam went out, he took to the bed.

  He was bewildered, which was understandable, and like most of them, suffering from some form of post-traumatic shock. Over the past few days he’d slept a great deal, but in the evenings they’d talked. He was curious about Riley, though he was nothing like him. Riley was intelligent and resourceful, hard working, compassionate, dependable, but maybe a little too softhearted. He could also be very reserved. He tended to hold himself back before speaking, watching people carefully before he put himself forward. Theo, by contrast, was if anything too friendly. He was quick-witted, excitable, impulsive, and maybe even a little hot-tempered. He could sit sullenly for hours, mulling something over, but he had a mischievous, fun-loving streak in him as well. The two shared the same charismatic good looks, but he wondered how they’d get on.

  Akam had spent the last few days trying to see his old friend in Theo, but it simply wasn’t possible. Even the way Theo moved was different. His body language was wary and watchful, as though he was ready to pounce at any moment. He’d been in training as a soldier, so it was understandable, but it was unnerving nevertheless. Riley’s movements were casual by comparison. He walked in an almost carefree manner, lifting himself onto his toes, his head turning confidently if something happened to attract his attention. There was a kind of grace to everything he did, even if he was simply lifting an arm, or crossing one leg over the other. As Akam watched him over the past few days, old memories had come flooding back. Their time at college had been happy, the last real freedom Akam had known. Even so, two years was a long time, and he’d been nervous about speaking to Riley. He hadn’t known what to expect from him, but tonight, when Riley opened his mouth, his words caring and solicitous, the old love had come surging forth. Akam had yearned for Riley at college. He’d been mad about him. He’d wanted to hold his hand and caress his face, he’d wanted to lie with him and make love to him.

  He sighed, and then lowered his head. He folded one hand over the other. He didn’t feel like that now. The love was still there, but he was in love with July, the young woman who commanded the resistance hub he’d joined. His feelings for her were stronger — different. Even so, he didn’t know if she’d ever regard him as anything other than a friend. What could he offer her? Companionship, yes, but never a family.

  A bartender approached the table. “You want a drink?”

  “Ah, no. I’ll be going in a moment.”

  He leaned forward. “That your friend in the colorful jacket?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He ought to get a target painted on his forehead.”

  Akam smiled awkwardly. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “Just trying to help,” the bartender said. He touched Akam’s elbow and walked away.

  Akam turned his head and looked across the bar. It was a sea of dark suits. When he was first released from the correctional center, he’d been dressing much as Riley did. But he quickly found things had changed. No one was dressing like that now, and if Riley wanted to go unnoticed, he’d have to fall in line.

  He got up, settled his hat on his head and crossed the bar. At the top of the stairs, he stood in the doorway and turned his face to the sky. The snow had eased off, but the clouds were low, a dark blanket thrown over the city.

  He didn’t particularly want to go home. He hated his apartment, hated being alone in it more than anything, but right at the moment he wanted to be alone. He’d got into the habit of walking the streets, aimlessly he supposed, but he liked to keep moving. His thoughts were full of Riley, and he wanted to play their conversation through a few times before he went home to Theo. He wanted to remember his friend as he was, and not have his memories oddly twisted the moment Theo burst into conversation. It was too strange, Theo looking every inch like Riley when he acted nothing like him.

  He turned to the left, toward the park. He’d walk for a while, and maybe get home a little after eight. That would give him time to prepare Theo, to tell him that Riley had, at least provisionally, agreed.

  [] [] []

  Susen was waiting outside the rink when Riley arrived. He didn’t pa
rticularly want to go ice-skating. It had been her idea. She looped her arm into his and they walked inside.

  She snuggled close to him, the sleeve of her woolen sweater tickling his hand. “For a moment there, I thought you weren’t coming,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  He paid, for both of them, pressing his thumb against the paypad and nodding at the attendant. Before going out on the ice, she wanted something to eat, and so they wandered to the food court at the far end. Out on the ice there were maybe a hundred fifty people, moving with all the ease and grace of clouds scudding across the sky, circling, turning and twisting between one another, the ice brilliantly white, soft music playing, the tempo markedly more downbeat than the music in the bar. He hadn’t been ice-skating since he was thirteen or fourteen. He’d lived with his father then, and had been able to walk to the rink in the park.

  She ordered beef and black bean sauce, and he decided to have the same. He wasn’t at all hungry, and didn’t know why she wanted to eat this early. He’d grabbed a coffee and a donut after work, thinking he perhaps wouldn’t eat again until he got home. All she’d said was skating.

  The dining area was paneled in wood and carpeted in a rich, dark brown. They sat at a table by some potted ferns, she with her back to the rink. He settled into the seat opposite, glanced up, and only now got his first good look at her.

  She’d done something different with her hair. When he’d seen her in the past it had been stylishly curled, but tonight she had it drawn loosely onto her head, a couple of strands curling onto the sides of her face.

  “I like your hair.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She touched it, then took a mouthful of food, smiling at him as she ate.

  He raised his eyebrows good-naturedly.

  “So — how come you were late?” she asked.

  “I met an old friend.”

  “Oh, yeah. An accident?”

  “Mmm. Just a chance encounter. We ran into each other on the street.”

  “Is he very old?”

  He smiled, though he didn’t think it was particularly funny. “Same age as me. We went to college together.”

  “So he’s twenty-two. Is that right?”

  “Yeah.” She knew how old he was. He didn’t know why she had to ask. She was a little older than he was. Twenty-five. But they’d already discussed this.

  “What does he do?”

  Riley wondered for a moment. Akam hadn’t said, though with a criminal record, he supposed it’d be difficult to find work. Perhaps he wasn’t working — except for the resistance. Should he mention that?

  He swallowed awkwardly and beat a fist against his chest.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is he a journalist?”

  “I don’t think he’s working at the moment.”

  “On the company payroll, then.”

  “Yeah.” Akam would be getting some type of government payment. He smiled, then took another mouthful of food, keeping his eyes on hers.

  She was extraordinarily pretty, with dark, lively eyes, and a playful smile. Her hair was dark and glossy and natural, he guessed. She was thin, with angular shoulders and a graceful way of holding her head and neck. She watched him constantly, as though everything he did was fascinating. Any man would think she was attractive, but he wasn’t entirely sure why she’d hit upon him.

  He’d been at a work function a few weeks back, a gathering for an artist in Greenwich Village. He’d been staring at a painting when she suddenly appeared.

  “Do you like that?” she said.

  He hadn’t, particularly, but the artist was standing only a few feet away, so he’d been as polite as he could. It was company art, a picture of a nuclear family smiling happily, eating a picnic by a stream. It was so unlike life that it was almost absurd, and he wondered whether the artist might not in fact be subversive, mocking the sort of art the company promoted.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?” she said.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You look familiar.”

  “Do I?”

  She grinned, and he hadn’t been able to help grinning in reply. He was amiable enough.

  Then she said, “You and I should go out.”

  She proposed a walk along the river, of all things. It was a Friday, and she said, “sometime over the weekend.” He could hardly refuse. That date had led to another. They’d been to the museum, and then to a show. This was their forth date, and each time he steeled himself to be a little colder. He’d done nothing to encourage her, but it wasn’t in his nature to be rude.

  He didn’t have a whole lot of experience. He’d had a couple of girlfriends at school. It had been difficult to avoid. He’d kissed them, of course, though it had been awkward and unpleasant and even faintly disturbing. The first girl had moved away before anything more could happen. Then he’d ended up with Janelle, a tall girl with red hair. A friend of his had more or less pushed them together. She’d been openly affectionate, had wanted to touch his face and his hair and lay her hands on his chest. Then she’d gripped him through his jeans one day and he’d felt mute in the face of it, angry, and even a little ashamed. She pushed him to have sex with her, and he’d more or less agreed. Then, before it could happen, he saw her with another guy and discovered she’d dropped him. His friends consoled him, but he’d been thankful it was over.

  He hadn’t thought much before then about his attraction to men and what it meant for him. He was sixteen, and had been thinking blithely that he could ignore it. He would marry one day and have children and that would solve the problem. He’d be kind to the girl, whoever she was, and do his best to love her. He sincerely wanted a family. Now, though, he realized this wasn’t possible. It wasn’t as simple as being attracted to men and not attracted to women. He was repelled by women’s bodies. He had an aversion to them. He couldn’t bear it when his hand accidentally came into contact with a breast, and when he thought of going further, he felt disgusted.

  He didn’t want to think he was a deviant, but that’s what he was. A gay man. He had no idea why. The company made it sound as though deviants were willfully perverted, but he wasn’t, and he knew that. He no more wanted to have sick sex with men than he wanted to have sick sex with women. He wanted to love and touch and hold and be gentle with another guy. There were plenty of boys at school he was attracted to, but he’d schooled himself not to look before he even understood. The only relief he ever got, the only man he could ever look at, was his own reflection in the mirror.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “What?”

  “You’re lost in thought.”

  “Sorry.” He glanced up. Behind her the rink had grown a little more crowded, scores of people sliding gracefully by. Almost all of them seemed to be couples, couples in their twenties or thirties. Many of them were holding hands. As he watched them the music slipped into a popular love song, a song he seemed to be hearing everywhere he went, the swing rhythm lilting gently.

  When I see my love I get but, butterflies,

  Sweet, sweet, butterflies,

  My little butterfly.

  Oh, when I see my love I get butterflies,

  But, but, butterflies,

  My little love.

  “Do you like this?” she said.

  He grimaced.

  “You don’t.”

  “No, I … this swing music. I’m getting tired of it.” It had been in vogue now for six or seven years.

  “This is new, though.”

  “Is it?”

  She began to move from side to side, then lifted her hands and mock-conducted the melody.

  It was no better than the painting of the picnic, he felt. It was cheap and tawdry, and said virtually nothing about people and the way they behaved. Like everything else, it was orchestrated by the company. They owned the recording studios and they controlled what came out of them, music designed to lull the public into a fal
se sense of security, music designed to make them feel as though the world was a bright and happy and hopeful place. When it wasn’t. When the opposite was true. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they allowed people to live the way they chose. But they didn’t. They manipulated every aspect of their lives.

  “You’re gloomy.”

  “No, not gloomy. Just thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  He shrugged.

  “You want to go out on the ice?”

  “I guess so.”

  They got up and wandered toward the skate-hire counter. His thoughts turned to Akam, and to Theo. How the hell was he going to do this? He didn’t want to be involved with the resistance. It was madness. Absentmindedly, he reached for his groin, and then looked up. For a moment, he thought someone was looking back at him, but it was his own reflection, wide-eyed and pale in the mirror behind the attendant.

  3

  Susen hadn’t quite worked him out yet. He most likely was a deviant, and if he was, then she’d hand him over. It was her job, after all. She worked for the FBI, as an under cover agent in the Deviant Management Division.

  She was offered the position when she was still at school, as a seventeen-year-old. She had a boyfriend back then, a boy named Pete. They’d been going out for a year or so, and then she’d seen him with another boy, acting oddly, smiling and so on, and she’d been suspicious. He’d been in town, and the two of them were simply talking, but all the same, it hadn’t looked right. She followed them to an old shack by the railroad tracks, and after waiting for ten minutes or so, pushed her way in. This was in Jamestown, where she’d lived before moving to New York.

  She saw the two of them naked, the other boy on top of Pete. They were having anal sex. Pete twisted his head and saw her in the doorway. He jumped up, but by the time he got out of the shack, she was a long way away. He called after her, but she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She felt humiliated. She’d thought he loved her.