Christ Clone (16 page)

This experiment was never supposed to get this far. Whatever have we done? Raynard was thinking hard. He was sitting alone in his two-bedroom apartment, his head in his hands, rocking slowly back and forth. We still don't know who or what he is . . . but who else could it be? The DNA was directly from the spear tip, it has to be him . . .
maybe we're jumping the gun, maybe we should wait . . .

'Wait?' Raynard said aloud, interrupting the flow of his own thoughts. Wait? What for? So far, all of my attempts to abort the experiment have failed. The clone is protected by all that is evil. How else could it have survived? No, no, no. I must do it, and I must do it soon!

He jumped up and started to pace around the room. He walked to the window and tried to look out; the pitch-black night made a mirror of the window. He peered at himself and the room darkened as he focused into his own eyes. He clenched his jaw and raised a fisted hand as he spoke aloud once again, anger and frustration building in his voice. 'Tonight! Yes, I'll do it tonight.'

He arrived at the plant without knowing how he got there. The drive normally took more than an hour, but this time he would have struggled to remember any part of that journey.

Nodding hello to the night security guards as he passed them,
Raynard moved towards the elevator.

'Good evening sir, working late tonight?' one of the guards called.

Raynard ignored him. The elevator doors opened and he darted inside, poking his floor number and the 'close doors' buttons in quick succession. On his own floor, he moved swiftly to the sanctuary of his office. He took a seat at his desk and switched on his computer, desperately trying to act as if everything was normal.

I think the security guards suspected something. (Raynard's inner voice had returned.) But how could they? I often work late. They have no idea of my workload.

He regretted dismissing the guards so abruptly, and considered going back to talk to them. But — he thought — I never say more than a couple of words to them, ever. If I go and talk to them now, they'll definitely suspect something.

He was tying himself up in knots now, conducting an inner debate.

It's fine, everything's fine. Calm down. He reclined in his chair, and took a deep breath. You can't be having second thoughts, the pushier of his two inner voices chided.

Of course not, responded the other. I'm going to do it, and I'm going to do it tonight. I just need time to think, time to plan. I know they can't legally do anything to me because, legally, the experiment isn't happening. But I don't want to get caught.

He's evil, came the reply. You'll be protected. You're doing the
Lord's work, after all. Your futile attempts so far have been far too subtle.

He thought back over the past few months; they'd gone so fast, almost a blur. Klaus had put him in charge of several tasks. The first was transporting the mother from the kidnappers to the laboratory's secure unit. As part of the process, he had been instructed to question her about her sexual activity. She was to be pure and untouched; this was to be confirmed later by their gynaecologist, but Klaus believed it would save some time if the potential host mother was questioned upfront.

The apartment had smelt disgusting. The whole building had been deemed unfit for human habitation, and the families who once lived there had long gone, replaced by tramps, winos, and addicts
— derelicts who considered it an upmarket move after living under bridges or on the streets. Raynard had chosen to breathe through his mouth; the smell of faeces and urine was too much for his nostrils to cope with. The kidnappers kept their balaclavas on as they led him to the padlocked room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the girl curled up on the floor; blindfolded, bound and gagged. He told the kidnappers to leave him alone with her, and then helped her to a chair.
Once they were alone, he untied her, removed her gag, and told her to leave the blindfold on. Believing the kidnappers were listening at the door, he began to question her about her sexual activity.

Had she ever kissed anyone? Had she ever been touched, or touched anyone? The girl was reluctant to answer his questions until Raynard told her that if she ever wanted to see her family again she must cooperate. When he heard the kidnappers move away from the door,
Raynard told the girl he was there to help her, to set her free. He told her that once he'd left the room, she was to wait one minute, then creep out and use the exit to the left.

'Who are you?' she'd asked, as she started to pull off her blindfold.

'Just a friend,' he replied. 'Leave the blindfold on until I've left the room.'

Raynard located the kidnappers and distracted them as the girl slipped out the door to safety. When they realized the girl had escaped, an ugly scene broke out as the kidnappers blamed Raynard for her release and Raynard blamed them for their incompetence. His claim
— why would he help somebody they needed so badly to escape?
— had them beaten. He had used this line of defence again when he returned to the lab, and although suspicious, Klaus had bought it.
However a different deal had been made with the kidnappers the next time, and a girl was delivered.

Raynard's other role was supervision of the nurses. This was mainly a clerical role, but it put him in close proximity to the baby, sometimes physically, but mainly through the staff. He had managed to distract one of the nurses long enough to exchange an IV sachet for a drug whose name he couldn't pronounce, but which he knew was poisonous. She was stopped by one of the doctors before reaching the boy — one of Klaus' random spot-checks. He felt bad about having to fire an innocent worker, but she was a pawn and pawns were expendable.

His last attempt should have been the one. He had managed to gain entry to the equipment storeroom, where, using his very limited knowledge of electrical engineering, he removed the plastic shielding from the live feed to a temperature monitor. All it needed was a small knock and the whole machine would have become live. They rotated the device every three days so he knew it would get into the boy's room the following day, and with the boy's tendency to mischievous behaviour, it wouldn't be long before the monitor would be bumped.

Raynard still couldn't believe the equipment had exploded. The engineer said the live cable had touched a capacitor or something.
Whatever the reason, the boy was still alive, but not for too much longer. This time, there would be no bungling.
Raynard went to the nurses' roster on the computer and scrolled down to that evening, checking to see who was on. Happy with the nurse currently working, he planned his attack. After about half an hour, and with the plan mapped out in his head, he called the nurse and arranged to meet her in the clone's quarters. Then he headed for the supply room.

His confidence was building as he rang for the elevator. He was doing the right thing, and if his plan worked correctly, he'd be able to pull it off without being seen or even suspected. As the elevator doors opened, he saw a security guard already in the lift. Raynard recoiled a little, surprised to find the elevator occupied. But his mind refocused quickly and he strode boldly in, put his ID card to the sensor and pushed the button for the basement. Raynard knew the basement and sub-basement were a mystery to the general security guards. The select guards protecting the lower two levels were hired specifically for this project, and would be well rewarded for their silence.

'What does go on down there?' the guard asked curiously.

'Sometimes even I don't know,' Raynard answered with a playful smirk.

The guard left the elevator on the ground floor, muttering something under his breath that Raynard didn't quite catch. He felt sure it was something rude, but let it go; he had a mission to accomplish.
The doors closed and the lift descended to the basement where he was greeted by a staunch-looking guard on the other side of a steel-barred gate.

'Good evening, Mr Raynard. Would you please place your hand on the scanner.'

Raynard wondered why the guard always asked him to do this.
He'd been here so many times over the past few weeks he knew exactly what to do, and the guard knew that he knew. He guessed it was just a power thing.

'Thank you, Mr Raynard, you've been verified.' The gate clanked open, Raynard entered and headed straight for the supplies room.
Once inside he set about finding his weapon of choice — a vial of cyanide. He unlocked a cabinet, selected the vial he wanted, and then decided to take another one. Just in case. He filled a syringe with the contents of one of the vials, slipped it inside a small case and put this in his trouser pocket. He put the second vial and syringe in his jacket pocket. Moving to another chemical cabinet, he selected a bottle of potassium nitrate and a pack of sugar. Setting them up to mix together would result in the production of thick smoke; he gave himself about fifteen minutes.

He went to the far end of the corridor and walked down the stairs to the sub-basement where the boy was housed. The lower level looked deserted, but Raynard knew there was a small team of guards watching his every move.

'As part of Dr Zudermeister's fail-safe measures, I'm here to evaluate your night's work. Let's go inside and pick through the reports,' he said to the duty nurse standing in front of the door to baby Ansgar's rooms.

The nurse typed in the code and they both went inside. Ansgar was asleep in another room, so they pulled the reports and laid them out on the dining table. In order to get comfortable, Raynard took off his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. As he flicked through the papers, Raynard voiced a few grunts and appreciative mmms.
After about ten minutes, he started to gather up the reports, saying,
'They all seem to be in order, well done.' He paused for a moment, and then added, 'Since we're here, I'd like to look in on Ansgar.'

The nurse gave Raynard an inquisitive look.

'To be honest, I've grown quite fond of him, and I sometimes like to watch him sleep. It's the closest I've ever been to being a parent.'

The nurse seemed to understand, and she agreed. They opened the door to the bedroom and stood in the doorway; Raynard moved his hand to his pocket and waited.

Suddenly, the fire alarm sounded. Its shrill sound made the nurse cover her ears. Raynard was ready for the alarm and moved in towards the boy, pulling out the case and removing the syringe. He'd almost reached Ansgar when the alarm stopped and the door flew open.

'Drop it, Raynard!' a guard yelled, his weapon pointed. Raynard dropped the case, but kept the needle in his hand. Ansgar was sitting up in his bed, having been awakened by the alarm. Puzzled, he looked at the guard and then at Raynard. The shouting had frightened him, and he stood up to hide behind Raynard. At the same time, Raynard turned towards the boy and raised the syringe. The guard fired two rounds and Raynard dropped like a stone. Klaus ran in and picked up
Ansgar as the guard knelt beside Raynard's body. He was dead.

The clean-up wouldn't take long; in the meantime, they moved
Ansgar to the dining area and fixed him a hot chocolate. The shock had left Ansgar feeling cold and he started to shake; the nurse pulled
Raynard's jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over him.

Later that morning, Klaus was summoned to a meeting with the
Chairman to discuss what had happened. 'I suspected Raynard was out to ruin the project since the very first meeting,' he said. 'And I became increasingly suspicious with each accident, so I told the guards to inform me every time Raynard entered the building, and generally to keep tabs on him. I got a call from the guard the moment Raynard entered the building last night. It seemed unusual that he'd be here so late at night, so I came over — just in case. I was monitoring him when he entered the boy's room, and I knew there really was something wrong when smoke came from under the supply room door and the alarm went off. We were ready for him.'

The Chairman went silent, seeming to mull over Klaus' words.

'Why didn't you let me know of your suspicions?' he asked.

'Until tonight I couldn't be sure what he was up to, and I didn't want to falsely accuse a senior member of staff.'

The Chairman nodded. 'Well, in the future, be sure and let me know if there is anything or anyone acting suspiciously — and let's increase the project's security.'

W
EEK
T
EN
: P
UBERTY

At the Russian facility, Aloysha's development had been phenomenal.
Tests indicated he was growing in a normal fashion but at an incredibly increased rate. The scientists worked in collaboration with child psychologists and paediatricians, each with their own special task but with one common goal, the wellbeing of the clone.

The debriefing room was adjacent to the boy's living quarters; cameras and staff watched him constantly, like an intense version of
Big Brother
. As the group filed into the room, Doctor Viktor Borgoff thanked them all for coming and welcomed them to week ten; it was his standard way of opening the meeting. Viktor Borgoff had been a scientist with the government since leaving university. Now a greying man in his fifties, his whole life had been science. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a thick tweed jacket and trousers that didn't match. He looked more like a pensioner than a man of knowledge.

Wanting to get the main points from the previous week out of the way as soon as possible, he passed copies of the minutes to all present and asked if there was anything to add, pausing to give them time to skim the document. Satisfied there were no additions or amendments, he turned to the whiteboard on the wall. It had been carefully categorized with timelines and objectives. Marked in red within the week ten box was the word puberty. Circling the box, he turned to the paediatrician, Katarina Domis, and asked what they would be expecting in terms of physical development over the next few weeks. Fully prepared, she stood up and took her place next to Doctor Borgoff.

'About twenty-five per cent of human growth in height occurs during puberty, so our boy is about to become a young man.' Holding up card prompts, she continued: 'The first sign we'll see is the enlargement of the testes, and his scrotum will redden; pubic hair will begin to grow and there will be body odour.' She waved her hand in front of her nose, and the rest of the room chuckled quietly.

'Essentially, we'll see changes in his skeletal, muscular, and reproductive areas — even his voice will break! All in all, quite a busy time for him. I don't think any of us envy him this part.'

'So, what will you be specifically watching for, Katarina?' The question came from the psychologist, Dr Poskov.

'Well, due to the rate of growth and change, there'll be some pain and fatigue. I know he can handle more than his fair share of discomfort, but I believe the symptoms during this stage will manifest themselves as anger and resentment. Basically, this is your realm, Dr
Poskov. I will be getting him to rest and relax as much as possible, but it's up to you to keep his head straight.'

When Katarina had finished her analysis and projections, Dr
Borgoff thanked her and turned his attention to Dr Poskov.

Choosing not to stand, Dr Poskov looked sternly at the faces around the table. 'As Katarina said, this is a busy time for our boy. His changes, both physically and chemically, are going to cause him great difficulty. They're bad enough for a normal child when the changes happen over a relatively long period. We're going to need to offer as much support as we can, and under no circumstances must anyone tease him about anything physical, not even if you think he'll enjoy it.' The last part of his speech was aimed at Dr Borgoff, and Poskov looked directly at him as he spoke.

Dr Borgoff had, over the past few weeks, built up a strong friendship with the boy and some of their antics were bordering on abusive to certain members of the staff — particularly to the obese Doctor
Dmitri or 'Dr Donutri,' as they had renamed him.

Acknowledging the warning, Dr Borgoff thanked him and asked if there was anything else to report. When nothing was forthcoming, he adjourned the meeting and wished them well for the week ahead.

W
EEKS
13–16: A
DOLESCENCE

Dr Borgoff looked deep into the retina scanner to gain entry to the clone's quarters. He hated the way the scanner's bright red laser seemed to shine around the back of his skull and heat his brain. The number of times I've used this device over the past few months must be damaging my eyes, he thought.

Was it the scanner, or was it the sleep deprivation that made blinking feel like his eyelids were rubbing against sandpaper. The burst red capillaries set against the off-white of his eyeballs resembled a street map of Moscow; he needed rest, but as access was granted, his smile returned. Spending time with his 'son', the science project, made it all worthwhile.

The steel doors slid open and Viktor entered the suite, winking at the
CCTV as he passed. The apartment was an old storage area that had been adapted to suit the needs of both the scientists and the clone. The scientists needed information and constant surveillance. Cameras and microphones had been set up in all three rooms, rolling and recording all day, every day. Temperature gauges, humidity controllers, and an array of monitors all reported back to the main CPU in the control room. Checks and double-checks were done in fifteen-minute cycles, nothing went unnoticed.

The beige carpet took the chill off the cold cement floor, and thin brown partitions chopped the large room into living, sleeping, and bathing areas. A large plasma TV hung on one of the walls in the living area, and between the numerous two-way mirrors dotted around the suite were large pictures of major cities of the world: New York,
London, Paris and, of course, Moscow. The pictures were there to disguise the fact there were no windows through which to view the outside world.

When the clone was born, Viktor had run a competition among his department heads to name the boy. The person who came up with the most appropriate name got to put their own name to the first week's research paper. As this was such a huge opportunity, all involved went to great lengths to outdo their peers. The winner, after it had been put to a vote, was Dr Katarina Domis with the name Aloysha. It meant
'defends mankind', and as well as seeming apt, had a nice ring to it.

As the weeks unfolded, Dr Borgoff managed to impart so much of his life and experience to Aloysha that he had become the child's role model. From his birth, through his toddler years, up till now — even though it had been only a handful of months — Borgoff had been there, by his side, playing, educating, and generally guarding him. Regardless of the time or what he was occupied with, Borgoff would always be there for the boy if he was needed — and often if he wasn't. The station colonel thought it was a bit over the top, and asked Borgoff if he had become as attached to any of his other experiments.

But Katarina had told the colonel it was healthy for the clone to have some form of authority figure to turn to and as he had bonded with Dr Borgoff, they should exploit it. Viktor didn't like the word exploit, but he kept his mouth shut.

'Good morning, Aloysha,' Viktor said as he entered the room.

'Good morning, Viktor. What shall we talk about today?' the young clone asked, his brown eyes wide open and alert. The question was Aloysha's way of saying hello; it was a ritual they had begun soon after he'd learned to speak. In the early days, Dr Borgoff would struggle over what to discuss with him — what was educational, and what was actually approved. So he would mutter, 'What shall we talk about today?' to himself.

Aloysha picked up on this and began, to Dr Borgoff's amusement, to mimic it. The clone loved to see Dr Borgoff smile and vice versa; their talks often moved away from the educational books and into their personal lives. Although Aloysha's life had been highly restricted thus far, he was stimulated by his huge imagination, and fuelled by the reams of information constantly fed to him.

Dr Borgoff had discussed his own childhood and education, his mother and father, the small town he'd grown up in — he even spoke of his childhood sweetheart — and the games he'd played, and then his career. The career that had taken over his life, and left him with no room for anything else. Until the clone, his job had been a series of lab tests and lab results. Aloysha listened and asked questions about Dr
Borgoff and about himself. There were easy questions to answer, and of course there were the hard ones:

'Why am I so different from the people I see on the TV?'

'Why can't I go outside?'

'Where are my parents?'

'Why do I keep getting headaches?'

'What are all the tests for?'

Viktor's answers to these questions had excited the boy. The answers came by way of a story; it was a story Viktor had picked up from the Web page in the Discussion Topics section. He'd told
Aloysha he was a special boy with special powers, and that was why he'd been brought up this way. Aloysha had been watching some of the super hero cartoons and had spent most of that week guessing what super powers he'd been given. Could he fly? Was he super strong? Did he have X-ray vision?

Most of the answers were obvious to both of them, but it was a game that lasted for a while — until Viktor told Aloysha that his special power was to be able to see into the far-distant past. But, and he was very serious at this point, that special power would probably take some time to appear, and he must be patient.

Earlier that day, Aloysha had been given a thorough physical examination, so Viktor decided on a different approach to the day's catch up. 'I thought today we'd play before we talked. How does that sound?' From behind his back, Viktor produced a new PlayStation game. Aloysha had become very good at video games and loved to play them.

His amazing dexterity meant he managed to get through to the end of most of the games he'd been given in a matter of hours. He really enjoyed the racing games, but the shoot 'em ups were quickly discarded. He didn't like the violence at all. They settled into the game and began to race; Aloysha easily lapped Viktor, but it didn't matter.
What mattered was the boy was having fun. Cheers rang out with each crash, and with every win. Aloysha gave Viktor a considerable head start in one race, but still managed to beat him.

The racing was interrupted by a vibrating pulse on Viktor's pager.
The note read 'Discussion time', which meant the fun was over and the work was about to start. Moving away from the TV, they sat on the couch and started to talk.

'How are you feeling after the tests we've done today?' Viktor asked.

'Okay, I guess.' Aloysha looked at the ground as he spoke — something he seldom did.

'Aloysha, look at me.'

As he looked up, Viktor could see Aloysha was starting to cry.

'Are you all right?' Viktor asked as he moved to sit beside the boy.

'They hurt. All the poking and prodding, it hurt me. And they put something up my . . .' The boy motioned towards his backside.

Viktor hugged the boy.

'Everything will be all right. We discussed this yesterday, how we need to make sure you're in perfect health. Everyone goes through this sort of examination at some point in their life. Believe me, it's better that they do the tests now, rather than finding out later that you have a horrible disease.'

'What, like cancer or something?' Aloysha asked.

'Exactly. Now, what else shall we talk about?'

'I watched
Baywatch
last night. Do all girls look like that?'

Viktor laughed, he'd forgotten that he'd slipped that onto the playlist. 'Only the ones that undergo surgery to enhance their special talents.' Aloysha gave him a puzzled look. The two of them went into a lengthy discussion of American women and, in particular, California girls.

Finally Aloysha changed the subject. 'I had a dream last night. I've been meaning to tell you, because I've had it a few times now, but I'm worried in case you think it's silly.'

Dr Borgoff sat up. 'What are your dreams about?'

'It's a place I call Sunnyland. I've been there a few times, it's very hot and dusty, and the people are dressed funny.'

There it was, so simple: a sunny land. Although it was hoped that the topic would rear its head at some point — after all, that was why they were there — Dr Borgoff wasn't ready for it, and his mind began to race. It was no more than theory, the hope that a clone would have some form of past-life recall (PLR). Viktor panicked. If Aloysha was having his first flashback, that would mean he would be moved on to the next stage of the project; he would be taken away. Surely he was too young to be passed on to the next team?

Viktor quickly changed the subject, hoping the others had missed the connection, but deep down he felt sure they hadn't. 'What would you like to do tomorrow?' he asked. Almost immediately his pager went off. He didn't bother checking the number; he knew who it would be. They had, of course, been listening.

Viktor guessed this must be what it felt like to face a firing squad.

The regular faces from his weekly meetings were there, but also the security manager, the interrogation squad, and the station colonel. For the first time since all this started, he wasn't in control of a meeting, but he was fully aware of the agenda that lay ahead.

The colonel broke the silence. 'I understand the clone has opened up!' There were no greetings to anyone, just a straight-to-the-point statement.

The transcript was passed around the room, with 'Sunnyland'
typed in bold as the headline.

'Having read the conversation, my first question is directed at you,
Dr Borgoff. Why didn't you continue to explore the dream with it?'

He'd known this question was coming and had prepared himself well, but the way the colonel referred to Aloysha as 'it' threw him. 'I had just spent four hours with the boy — playing and discussing the usual subjects, including his dreams about the world, and in particular his fantasies about California and its supermodels. I simply missed the connection; I'm sorry.'

Most if not all of the people in the room knew he was lying, but it would be difficult to prove. Pushing the issue would have been futile, and Dr Borgoff knew he had grown to be far too important to the young man for them to remove him from the project, not without causing some form of emotional damage.