The Mirror Man, стр. 2
The prospect of taking the drug again made Jeremiah’s stomach churn. He’d taken it once already with the project’s psychiatrist without any lasting effects, but it had been a strange experience, and he couldn’t shake the idea that it was risky. His fears were ironic, to say the least. As one of ViMed’s marketing managers, he was literally paid to dispel those very notions, persuading the public and the bureaucratic watchdogs that Meld had been thoroughly tested and was perfectly safe. But when illegal street use had erupted in a rash of baffling suicides, his job had grown progressively more difficult. And the most recent suicide wasn’t “just” another junkie. It was a forty-two-year-old housewife from New Jersey who had stabbed herself in the throat with a corkscrew while in the throes of an intimate moment with her husband. The media had gone crazy, and Jeremiah had become acquainted with migraines under the burden of finding a positive spin. She was a regular person, some poor slob who thought a little jolt of Meld might put some magic back in the bedroom. If it could happen to her, he thought, it could just as easily happen to anyone. It could happen to him.
It was one thing to sway public opinion. It was proving harder to suppress his own doubt, though—especially since he now knew the whole truth about Meld—that it had been specifically created for this project, especially made for him, in a way. And he’d have to take it multiple times over the next twelve months. Beside the doctors who were using it in practice, no one had ever done that before, as far as he knew. The implications of being the guinea pig sat on his shoulders like lead.
“Is it okay to take it again so soon?” he asked. “I mean, it hasn’t even been a month since the last time. Are you sure this is safe?”
“Perfectly safe,” Dr. Pike told him. “Under proper medical supervision the chance of any serious side effects is virtually nonexistent.”
The words offered little comfort. Jeremiah had written that company tagline himself. He’d believed it at the time. He had been just as impressed as everyone else at the prospect of a drug that could literally allow a direct link to the human mind. But now, as he waited to be injected again, he couldn’t help but see the whole thing from a different perspective. What if there really was something to it? What if Meld really was doing something to make people want to kill themselves? He didn’t harbor any such desires—not that he knew of at least—but that did little to calm his nerves as he stared at the syringe.
His thoughts must have been evident on his face.
“Mr. Adams.” Charles Scott’s tone was laced with a hint of irritation. “Our scientists have just created an exact replica of you. You are staring into the face of a scientific miracle. A perfect human clone. The Meld should be the least of your concerns. If the FDA can see fit to keep Meld on the market, there is obviously nothing for you to worry about. Of all people, I’d think you’d be the last one to doubt the Meld.”
Jeremiah took his place in a chair next to the bed and tried to swallow his worry. He nearly gagged on it.
Dr. Pike began to connect Jeremiah’s brain to that of his empty double, and he felt a bit as though he were about to be syphoned like a gas tank. But he knew it didn’t work that way. In actual fact, he supposed, it was more like being copied. He began to wonder what his clone would do with all the conflicted thoughts swimming through his mind, all the personal turmoil and philosophical struggle he’d faced in the weeks leading up to this moment. He’d agreed to have himself illegally cloned. He was walking out on his family and leaving a replica in his place. It hadn’t been an easy few weeks. What a thing to wake up to, he thought.
“What’s with all the wires? There weren’t any wires when I took it before.”
“This is a different kind of connection,” Pike told him. “Normally, Meld acts as a neural stimulant on the brains of both subjects. The clone has no active neurons yet. This is a one-way thing. Think of it as a download. The physical connection is necessary.”
“Besides,” Scott said, “hardwiring prevents the accidental input from anyone else in the room. It wouldn’t do to have the clone picking up random thoughts from me or Dr. Pike.”
Jeremiah nodded and turned his attention to something he hoped would be easier to grasp.
“Does it have to be so cold in here?”
“For the moment, yes,” Pike said without explanation.
“Mr. Adams,” Scott said tersely, “please relax and allow Dr. Pike to do his job.”
He couldn’t relax.
“If the clone is going to know everything in my mind, doesn’t that mean he’ll immediately realize he’s a copy?” Jeremiah asked. “Won’t he remember everything that’s happened up to this moment? The agreement? Our conversations? All of it?”
“I will make sure that doesn’t happen, Mr. Adams,” Pike said. “I’ll be connected to each of you so I can monitor everything that’s going into the clone’s mind. Everything will go from your mind, through me and into the clone. I’ll have full, precise control over the entire thing.”
“When we implant the memories,” Scott added, “we can be as selective as we need to be. All the information about the cloning—every thought you’ve ever had about it—will be withheld from what we insert into his mind. We can filter it. Everything else will be preserved. He will wake