Doubting Thomas

Footsteps ran up the stairs. I clutched at my bottle. Then someone banged on my bedroom door. I jumped. “Go away,” I said. “It’s me,” said Thomas, and he was like a brother to me. He was all right. I unlocked the door. He rushed in, all out of breath, locking the door behind him. I had Sludge playing, as usual. Thomas cranked it up before cupping his hand to my ear. “It’s true,” he said, and I knew right away what he meant. I was a clone. I took a slug from the bottle, already numbed to the idea. Letting it sink in: I was a clone. “Of who?” “Whom,” he said, always the smart ass. That gap-toothed grin. Seriously, then. “Sorry, man. Don’t know.” “OK, no problem.” I knew Thomas, and I knew how it was. He was brave, sure. Braver than me. But he wasn’t stupid. If he’d stuck around any longer, they’d have noticed him, and he’d never had made it back to me. He’d be disappeared, like Rob, or Janice, or that new girl. Mother had an answer for everything. Excuses, excuses. Read more science fiction from Nature Futures Still, I wondered who he was. Who I was. My genetic material, anyway. I wasn’t him, and he wasn’t me. Separated from birth. We had different experiences, so our brains would get wired up differently. Like the same glasses filled with different spirits. I had a hunch, though … You look just like your father. How many times had I heard that? And the way Mother looked at me, these days, when she said it … like she was a panther, and I wasn’t her cub. She’d paw at me, and I’d scurry away. As if I knew. She’d never be satisfied by anyone, really. It was only a matter of time before she found out I wasn’t Him. But she’d keep trying. Was I the first, or only the latest? “Billions and billions served.” Meat processed for her soul-consumption. I don’t know what else Thomas and I talked about, or when he left. If we played SBS, Dogfight, Afrika Corps … I can’t remember. I was busy drinking. I woke up on the floor, having thrown up on myself again. I rinsed the taste out of my mouth and washed up at the sink, but I didn’t go down for breakfast. I wasn’t hungry, and besides. I never wanted to see Mother again. That life-sized, plasticized … How can you be growing up so fast? Wasn’t everyone asking, these days, how she could possibly be my mother? When she looked so young? But she was of that generation, among the oligarchs, when they arrested everything and took control. They could do anything. We knew their Big Lie. Everything else was up for grabs — just like me. Whether I snuck out the back door or my bedroom window, I’d set off the alarm, the security lights, everything. Armed guards with dogs and drones patrolled the grounds. Mother had plenty of black-shirted cops on the payroll, too. I was their prisoner. So was she, in a way. And our neighbours. They pooled their wealth and power behind high walls, and the fear of losing it all kept them under lock and key. It looked hopeless. But … What if I didn’t sneak out, or go over the wall? What if I didn’t try to do the impossible? What if I kept up appearances, and I did nothing to draw attention to myself? What if … Once I started down that line, an idea took shape. So, I called him up. “Thomas?” “Yeah.” “Can you come over?” “What for?” “You still got that hoodie?” “Yeah,” he said.