The Mirror Man, стр. 7
“Seems to have worked,” he said. “The clone has remembered the accident exactly as it was recorded, and there is no sign of amnesia.”
“Remarkable.” Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s absolutely incredible.”
“And a promising start to our adventure. I’ll leave you to rest, Mr. Adams. I imagine you must be tired from the morning’s activities. The bedroom is just through there.” Scott nodded toward a closed door on the far side of the room. “And remember, if there is anything you need, use the phone.”
Scott left, swiping the key card against a panel to open the door. It closed behind him with a quiet but significant click.
Chapter 3
Jeremiah stood in the middle of his new living room. There was almost complete silence, except for a steady hum coming from somewhere above his head. It must have been some sort of air circulation, he decided. He began to explore his surroundings.
He was happy to note a few of his favorite authors on the bookshelves and delighted to see a complete set of Shakespeare, small books bound in ancient-looking cracked red leather. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and found it stocked with all the necessities, but in a wide enough array to cover any taste: three kinds of milk, five different juices and an assortment of fruits and vegetables, many of which he didn’t even like. There were two six-packs of beer from a microbrewery he’d never heard of. At least, he thought with some relief, Scott had stopped short of hiring someone to snoop through his home refrigerator and duplicate its contents here.
In the bedroom, he sat tentatively on the edge of the king-size bed and noted the total lack of any feminine touches in the decor. There was no vanity table or makeup mirror, no tall lingerie chest like the one Diana had at home. The attached bathroom was bigger by far than the one they shared and had both a shower and a claw-foot tub, as well as a doored-off toilet. High shelves in a walk-in closet held a full wardrobe in his exact size. He absently fingered the assortment of khaki pants and jeans, T-shirts in every color and a hanging rod that held about twenty-five casual buttoned shirts. There wasn’t a suit or tie to be seen. He wouldn’t need business attire for a solid year, he realized.
Back in the living room, he picked up the landline phone. It had no dial on it, no way to call out. Before he even put it to his ear, he heard a woman’s voice on the other end.
“Hello, Mr. Adams. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, n-no,” he stammered. “I was just testing the phone.”
“I see. Have you had a chance to go through your provisions? Is everything satisfactory?”
“Yes, yes, fine. They seem to have thought of everything.”
“Well, if you should ever require anything from the outside—specific food, books, even furniture—all you have to do is pick up the phone and we can usually arrange it for you,” she said. “We can handle most requests.”
“Well, I might let you know I probably won’t eat the asparagus. You can cross that off the shopping list.”
“I’ll make a note of it, Mr. Adams. Anything you don’t eat you can deposit in the composter. There’s a small door just behind the kitchen sink.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” he said. “Oh, and that beer you got me, I prefer something simpler. Budweiser would be fine from now on.”
“Noted,” she told him. “But that request was from Mr. Higgins.”
“Mr. Higgins?”
“Yes, Brent Higgins. He’s the data analyst that will be working with you each day. He’s scheduled to come and see you this afternoon.”
“I know who he is. I just wasn’t aware he was going to be making beer requests.”
“Since he’s going to be spending so much time in there with you, I suppose he has a few extra benefits,” she said. “I can get that beer to you by this afternoon. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Something for a headache, maybe?”
“The medicine cabinet in the bathroom is fully stocked. You should find what you need.”
“I’ll look, then. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s not a bother, Mr. Adams. It’s my job.”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Andrea,” she said. “I’m the day shift. At night, you’ll speak to someone else.”
“Thanks, Andrea.”
There were at least three different things in the medicine cabinet that he could have taken for a headache. He was also covered for a sprained ankle, allergies, upset stomach and, apparently, a sudden attack of killer zombie bees. It was as well supplied as any pharmacy. He swallowed two tablets with a glass of water. Then he loosened his tie, took off his work shoes and stretched out on the mammoth bed. It was unexpectedly comfortable.
Despite the headache and the after-effects of the sedative, Jeremiah’s mind raced. He was amazed at the exactness of the clone. Everything about the appearance was precise, right down to the smattering of gray in the hair. And when he’d heard the thing speak for the first time on the monitor, he was struck not only by the voice but the intonation and the slight hesitation before it spoke. It was a habit Jeremiah had noticed in himself. It was positively eerie how accurate it was. And he knew for a fact that the similarities didn’t end there. Aside from the Meld duplicating thought patterns, behavior and the rest, the clone was a perfect copy of Jeremiah inside as well—right down to the molecular level, right down to the slightest cellular makeup. Dr. Pike had seen to that.
The first time he’d met the good doctor, for what Jeremiah had assumed would be a simple routine exam, he’d been put into a room-size scanner, strapped into a severe-looking chair that jerked around by way of hydraulics and had his entire medical history recorded. The machine, created by a team of ViMed scientists and specifically for use