My grandmother rolled her eyes. “Seems that politicians are the same everywhere – always trying to avoid taking responsibility for their actions.”
Her comment was a subtle reminder that, back on Caeles, she was always neck-deep in political intrigue and hated every second of it. However, despite her disgust at the constant shifting of alliances, backroom deals, and so on, she was actually very good at it.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ve got some things to do, so I’m going to take off.”
“Not without breakfast,” Gramps admonished. “It’s still the most important meal of the day.”
“Yeah – right after breakfast,” I concurred. “I was going to say that, but you didn’t let me finish.”
My grandparents snickered, then Indigo said, “That’s your grandfather’s ego again. He made pancakes this morning, so nobody’s escaping today without trying them.”
“What do you mean, ‘escape’?” Gramps asked indignantly. “No one tries to get away from my pancakes. People run to my pancakes. Ex-cons break back into prison for my pancakes. Olympic athletes trade their gold medals for my pancakes. World-famous chefs call me, begging for the recipe so they…”
Chuckling, I left my grandparents and headed to the kitchen, with my grandfather’s praise of his pancakes echoing in my ears.
Chapter 60
After locating a stack of pancakes in the microwave, I wolfed down a couple of them in short order. Gramps may have exaggerated about their appeal, but not by much, in my opinion. He really did have notable culinary skills, and his pancakes (which were truly delicious) were just a small example.
Upon finishing, I noted that it was close to the time I was supposed to meet with Mouse. I told my grandparents that I would see them later and telepathically passed along the same message to Mom (who was once again in her office, working). Surprisingly, no one in my family seemed to express an interest in the situation with my evil twin. I took that to mean that Myshtal had done as promised and apprised them all of recent events. Then, after promising to be careful, I teleported.
*****
I reappeared in Mouse’s lab. My mentor was already there, along with BT.
“Right on time,” Mouse announced, glancing at a clock on the wall.
“Please tell me you guys have something,” I pleaded.
“We’ve got information,” BT replied, “but there are a lot of moving parts. Where do you want to begin?”
“I don’t care,” I replied. “Start with anything that’s going to distinguish this clone from me so I can clear my name.”
“Well, for starters, he’s not a clone,” Mouse clarified.
“What?!” I exclaimed, giving him a look of incomprehension.
“He said that Jack’s not a clone,” BT reported. “And he isn’t. Not a true clone, anyway.”
“You lost me,” I admitted, shaking my head.
“Let’s start with the basics,” BT said. “Cloning generally refers to producing a genetic copy of some biological structure or organism, and there are actually several different types of cloning. Gene cloning, for example, involves making copies of a segment of DNA. Therapeutic cloning, on the other hand, relates to copying genetic material for the ultimate goal of providing stem cells for the treatment of injury or disease. Then there’s reproductive cloning, which relates to creating an exact genetic replica of an organism.”
I nodded in understanding. “I take it that last – reproductive cloning – is the one we’re concerned with.”
“Correct,” Mouse agreed. “Without getting too far into the science, in reproductive cloning you take DNA from the original organism and use it to make a copy.”
“And that’s what they did to create Jack,” I concluded.
Neither Mouse nor BT immediately responded. Instead, they exchanged a knowing glance and then BT spoke up.
“That’s not exactly what occurred,” she intoned.
“You know, that’s the second time you guys have indicated that there’s something other than cloning going on here,” I remarked. “Can someone just give me the straight dope?”
BT sighed. “I’ve known you – your family – for a long time, Jim, and for most of your life I’ve probably been the closest thing you’ve had to a doctor. I’ve had numerous opportunities to examine you, check out your biological systems, analyze your blood and tissues. In the course of doing all that, one of the first things I realized is that your DNA doesn’t lend itself to cloning.”
“Hold on,” I almost snapped, suddenly anxious. “Are you saying you tried to clone me?”
“Never,” BT protested adamantly. “But based on my own experience, I could tell that traditional cloning methods aren’t feasible with you. There’s a portion of your DNA that, simply put, will not replicate the way typical genetic material will when cloning is attempted.”
“So is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked. “Because it almost sounds like you’re saying something’s wrong with me.”
BT laughed. “No, we’re not saying it’s bad. We’re just saying it’s different – your DNA simply doesn’t conform to normal behavior.”
“In other words,” Mouse quipped, “even at the cellular level, you won’t do what’s expected of you.”
“Funny,” I said sarcastically, while trying (and failing) not to smile.
“We assume it has something to do with your singular genetic make-up,” Mouse continued. “It’s almost as if some part of your DNA recognizes that cloning is not a natural process and refuses to cooperate.”
“So I’ve got good genes,” I concluded. “But if my DNA isn’t susceptible to cloning, how’d they create Jack?”
“We were able to retrieve some of his genetic material from the room in the mansion where he was shot,” Mouse said. “From all appearances, they seemingly replaced the uncooperative portion of your DNA with some other genetic stock.”
“Wait,” I insisted, holding up a hand for emphasis. “How’d they even get my DNA in the first place?”
Mouse gave me a patronizing look. “So you’ve never had a haircut? Have you hung on to every toothbrush you’ve ever
