Falling Sideways (31 page)

The clone scowled at him. ‘What, and leave him here on his own, with all these tools and equipment? I'm not turning my back on any of 'em, at least not till we've igured out which is which.'

John pushed past David and stood looking at her for a moment. ‘Get real, son, will you?' he said. ‘You don't want to go believing anything she tells you. God's sake, she's a bad clone, the jumpers weren't set, like I told you. Chances are she's all those things she said, you know, vicious and vindictive and cunning, and she's out to get her own back on you for making her in the first place. Who are you going to believe, Dave? Her or me?'

‘Why can't I believe both of you?'

‘You just can't, that's all.' Honest John looked away. ‘Go on, you tell him. I'm right, aren't I?'

‘He's right,' the clone said, nodding assertively. ‘Bizarrely enough, I agree with him. Which of us is it going to be?'

Actually, the question was pretty straightforward and didn't require any thought. ‘Her,' said David, hoping they wouldn't ask why. (Because he's more likely to be telling the truth, but she's the one I'm in love with. Or words – desperately embarrassing words – to that effect.)

‘Bloody marvellous,' John said. ‘All right, what do you want me to do? Wait outside?'

The Philippa clone shook her head. ‘And give you a chance to make a run for it? Not likely.'

‘But hang on,' David interrupted. ‘If we can't go outside, and
he
can't go outside, and you can't tell me while he's listening—'

‘Who says I've got to tell you anyhow? Just so long as I know and you believe me.'

This was getting silly. ‘Come over here,' David said firmly – apparently he could do that, though he couldn't remember learning how – ‘and whisper. All right?'

She scowled at him, but by now he was moderately scowlproof. ‘Oh, all right,' she said. ‘But if he hears, it'll spoil everything.'

‘Fine,' John grunted. ‘And while you're doing that, I can be getting on with some work. You know, work, the stuff I'm paying you to do.'

David walked over to the opposite corner of the workshop. ‘All right,' he whispered. ‘So what's this special secret clue of yours? If it's something like not being able to see his reflection in a mirror . . .'

‘Don't be silly,' she whispered back, ‘it's nothing like that. But all clones have got a mark on the backs of their heads. Look,' she added, quickly glancing across at Honest John, to make sure he wasn't watching. ‘There, see?' She lifted her hair away from her neck. Sure enough, there was a little mark, a star-shaped twist of scar tissue.

David nodded. He found it completely unconvincing, for some reason, which was awkward, since of course he had to believe her, on political grounds. ‘All right,' he said. ‘Stay there, I'll go and check.'

‘I'm coming too.'

‘No, you aren't. Stay there.'

Remarkably, she stayed. No earthly reason why she should have.

‘Hello,' muttered Honest John, without looking up from what he was doing. Of course, he had shoulder-length hair, just like all the other versions of himself. That made it impossible to see the back of his neck. Surprise, surprise.

‘John,' David asked, keeping his voice down, ‘you know all about clones.'

‘Not all. Most.'

‘Whatever. Is there really a way of telling them apart from, um, real people, just by looking at them?'

‘Yeah.' John picked up a spanner – a big, ugly spanner that'd make a pretty effective weapon. ‘Several, actually. But the one your bird over there's probably thinking of is the scar on the back of the neck. Here,' he added, and swept his hair out of the way. There was nothing to be seen. ‘'Course, that's easy as anything to fake. Any plastic surgeon worth spit'd have that off in ten minutes with a Stanley knife, and you'd never know it'd ever been there.'

‘Ah,' David said. ‘Well, thanks, anyway.'

‘You're welcome.' John tightened something with the spanner and put it down again. ‘You want to know a really good way of telling the difference?'

‘Well . . .'

‘It's easy. All to do with loss of definition in the nerve endings. Clones aren't ticklish.'

All David could think of to say was, ‘What?'

‘Ticklish. You know, if you tickle them, they don't laugh. Absolutely foolproof test, that is.' David nodded. ‘Except,' he said, ‘if you happen to know about it. Then, if someone tickles you, all you have to do is pretend to be laughing.'

John nodded. ‘There's that, of course.'

‘Thanks, anyway.'

‘You're welcome. And of course,' he added, ‘there's a third way you couldn't fake even if you did know.'

‘Ah,' David said. ‘And what's that?'

‘Distinctive elongation of the heart ventricles,' John replied. ‘One quick shufti through a microscope puts it completely beyond doubt. Of course, you'd have to open the subject up and cut his heart out before you could look.'

‘Thanks,' David replied. ‘That's quite indescribably useful.'

He walked back across the workshop. ‘Well?' she demanded.

‘No sign of any mark,' he told her.

‘Oh. Right. So he must be the original, then.' David dipped his head as a sign of agreement. ‘So what are you going to do now?' he asked.

‘Simple. They told me back on Homeworld that if I bring him back so they can put him on trial and lock him up, they'll let me stay there even if I am a clone. So that's what I'm going to do.' She looked round, then picked up an eighteen-inch length of steel pipe. Judging by the gleam in her eye, David guessed she wasn't choosing materials for an improvised flute.

‘Of course,' he said quickly, ‘just because he hasn't got the mark doesn't mean to say it's him.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Think about it,' he said. ‘Mark like that, any competent plastic surgeon could take it off in, um, ten minutes with a Stanley knife.'

‘Plastic surgeon? You mean, like a robot?'

Did he want to try explaining? No, he didn't. ‘That's right,' he said. ‘Very efficient they are, too. Just stick your credit card in the slot, dial in the operation you want and hold still. And they can say, “How are we feeling today, then?” while looking out of the window just like the real thing.'

‘Oh.' She appeared to be thinking it over, then shrugged. ‘Well, that's a bloody nuisance. Means I'm wasting my time. And if I can't find the criminal and bring him in, they won't let me live on their planet.'

From what he'd gathered about the place, David couldn't really imagine wanting to, if he had any choice at all. ‘Oh well,' he said, rather more cheerfully than he'd meant to. ‘I suppose that means you're stuck here with us. Just have to make the best of a bad job, I suppose.'

‘Apparently.' She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. ‘And we both know whose fault that is, don't we? Talking of which,' she went on – she was still holding the pipe – ‘when I was on the Homeworld, I got the impression that they're really,
really
anti this whole cloning business.'

‘Oh yes?' David took a step back.

‘They really hate the whole idea,' she said. ‘Which makes me wonder. True, I can't bring back the cloner they specially want, but they might be interested in – well, second-best. A consolation prize.'

‘You think so?' The back of his heel touched the wall. ‘I don't think so. I mean, like you said, they did specify this one particular clone-artist—'

‘Yes, but they didn't know there were others. It's worth a try,' she added. ‘I mean, what harm could it do?'

‘Plenty.'

‘Only to you.'

The words
vicious vindictive and very, very cunning
– all the Vs, if you stretched a point for
very cunning
– floated into his mind; likewise the slogan,
Honest John, the man you can trust
. Query: would true love be able to overlook a bash on the head, followed by being abducted by aliens and probably executed in an unspeakably horrible way?

‘Alternatively,' he suggested, making sure he maintained eye contact, ‘you could just settle down here and get a job. All sorts of things you could do.'

‘Such as?'

Assassin. Vivisectionist. Chief of Security for a discerning Latin American dictator. ‘Oh, loads of things—' He caught sight of the movement and flinched away. The sound of metal on bone was loud and unmistakable; the curious thing, though, was that he was still standing up, and it didn't seem to hurt.

‘Told you,' said Honest John. He was looking to see if he'd bent his spanner. ‘You had to know best, of course.'

He looked down at the clone, sprawled on the floor. There didn't seem to be any blood.

‘She'll be all right,' John said. ‘Probably just a headache. That's another thing about clones, actually; their bones are a bit tougher than ours.'

Manners, he remembered. ‘Thanks,' he said.

‘'s all right,' John replied. ‘You haven't been around clones as long as I have, you don't know what they're like. Besides,' he added with a grin, ‘you're soft on her. Go on, admit it.'

David smiled weakly. ‘You guessed.'

‘It wasn't all that difficult,' John replied. ‘In fact, it was pretty obvious. Actually, a blind, deaf man with a sack over his head—'

‘Yes, right,' David said. ‘I get the point. Mind you, it's just possible I might revise my opinion.' He looked down at the sprawled clone. ‘She was going to kidnap me and take me to this planet . . .'

‘Yeah,' John said, ‘right. You don't believe all that stuff, do you?'

David shook his head. ‘God only knows,' he replied. ‘I don't see why not, all things considered. Seems to me like I can believe almost anything these days. I suppose it means I'm growing, as a person. Does it matter whether I believe in things or not? It doesn't seem to make any difference. Although,' he added, ‘I didn't believe in British Columbia, and on balance it looks like I made the right call there.'

‘British Columbia?' John frowned. ‘You're a funny bugger, you are. You stand there telling me you're prepared to believe in little green men from another planet, but you aren't having any truck with Canada. What do you need, a sworn statement from the Royal Geographical Society? Or will a satellite photo do?'

‘I didn't mean it like that. Doesn't matter, anyway. What are we going to do about her, then?'

‘Up to you, she's your sweetie-pie. I reckon she'll be really pissed off when she wakes up.'

David sighed. ‘I wouldn't be at all surprised,' he said. ‘I mean, her attitude isn't all that wonderful when she
hasn't
just been bashed on the head with a spanner. What would you suggest?'

‘Chuck her in the back of the van, dump her in Epping Forest, get the hell out of the way before she wakes up. Easier all round that way, I reckon.'

‘It'd be the sensible thing to do,' David admitted. ‘But I don't want to be sensible. All right, here's a compromise for you. We could put her in the van, drive her to the nearest hospital— Why are you shaking your head like that?'

‘Doctors,' John replied. ‘And the off chance she might get examined by some vet with slightly more imagination than the average small rock. Wouldn't take a doctor long to figure out that there's something bloody odd about her. And if he goes taking blood samples and wee samples and x-rays and God knows what else all—'

David hadn't thought of that. ‘They'd be able to spot that she's a clone?'

‘With their eyes shut, probably. And that wouldn't be good. Forget how much trouble that could get me in; do you really think she'd want to spend the rest of her days in a research lab, getting prodded with glass rods and having bits scraped off her?'

‘All right,' David said. ‘Suggest something else.'

John thought for a moment. ‘You're going to be all picky and say it's got to be non-lethal, aren't you? Thought so. Well, that rules out my only suggestion, which was weighting her down with bricks and dropping her in the reservoir. Your problem, sunshine. And don't take all day about it, you've got work to do.'

And that, David reflected, was probably John's idea of going out of his way to be helpful. He took a couple of steps back, as if being further away from her was going to make the problem any easier to get a handle on.

Curiously enough, it did; because stepping back allowed him to catch sight of the door to the back office, a room entirely devoid of windows or doors other than the one he was looking at, which she'd somehow or other managed to find her way into without first going past him through the workshop. It was all very well for Honest John to pull faces and say, ‘You don't believe in all that stuff, do you?' without even trying to put up a rational explanation of how she'd got there. Not good enough, David decided; and, since he'd somehow managed to bring himself to believe in all that stuff before John tried to put him off the idea, he could see no reason why he shouldn't go back to believing it again.

(And that's supposed to be a logical argument? Sure. On a par with concluding that the atomic number of beryllium is 46 because 7 out of 10
Daily Mirror
readers think it ought to be.)

Nevertheless.

He bent down and tried to figure out how to get her back into the interstellar lift without violating her person or doing in his back. In the end he opted for grabbing her wrists and dragging (but carefully, and with total respect), a policy that seemed to be working out just fine until her feet got wedged in the door frame. He got her there in the end, though, and she didn't wake up even when he accidentally clouted her head while closing the door.