“Wouldn’t it bother you?”
“Not if that were the very central idea of what we’re doing here. I’d consider it a success. Don’t you think these similarities point to success?”
“Well, yeah. It does. But sometimes I almost wish it wasn’t so successful, you know?”
“Can you elaborate?” she pushed.
“I keep wishing he’d slip up or something. I wish I’d see him do one thing—just one thing—that’s not exactly the same thing I think he’s going to do. I wish someone would realize that it’s not me out there.”
“You told me before that you were glad your family wouldn’t miss you. You said that’s what made this easier for you. Has that changed?”
“No,” he said, “that’s not what I meant. I’m glad they don’t know. I guess I just keep waiting for someone to notice something. I mean, you’d think at least Diana would notice something! We’ve been married a long time. You’d think she’d realize it isn’t her husband sleeping next to her in the bed. But she doesn’t even notice it.”
“Is there something that you think your wife ought to notice? Be honest, Jeremiah. Be objective. This is very important to the experiment. This is crucial. Are there any noticeable differences between you and your clone? Is there something you think Diana should pick up on?” Something in her face alarmed him instantly. There was a certain intensity in her eyes that felt almost like a warning to him. What would Charles Scott actually do if someone started to catch on, if he thought his funding was at stake?
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t think there are any differences between me and the clone. I think the whole thing is a raging triumph. Someone ought to break out the champagne.”
She looked at him for a long moment and pursed her lips in that way she did whenever he attempted sarcasm.
“I might think you’d be relieved that your clone is doing such a good job of things for you. He’s carrying out everything in your life just as you, yourself, would do.”
“Yeah. It’s all good.” Inside, Jeremiah was silently celebrating the fact that at least Louie wasn’t fooled. It made him feel marginally better to know that someone out there knew he’d been replaced. But he said nothing of this to Dr. Young.
Sensing he was done talking for the day, she reluctantly closed her laptop. She escorted him back to his apartment, where Brent was already sitting on the couch engrossed in some war zone computer game. He maneuvered the controller wildly with both hands and wore a headset that partially covered his eyes and ears. On the wall monitor was an eight-foot-tall, high-definition image of an animated soldier, deftly sidestepping grenades and gunfire and blasting enemy squadrons. Jeremiah could hear a muted racket coming through Brent’s headset and he felt the vibrations through his shoes.
“Working hard, I see.” Jeremiah grabbed a bag of potato chips from the kitchen and then took a seat next to him on the couch. “What’s this, then?”
“Infinite Frontiers,” Brent told him with a quick glance. “It’s awesome.”
His momentary lapse in total concentration was evidently enough for a misstep and his avatar exploded in a serious blast of blazing debris on the wall.
“Shit!” Brent slammed back into the couch as though he’d suffered the same blow as his soldier and removed his headgear.
“You want a game?”
“Nah,” Jeremiah laughed. “I’m not much for these things. I doubt I’d be a worthy opponent.”
“C’mon,” Brent persisted. “We’ll team up.”
“I’d probably make an even worse ally,” he said. “I’ve been wondering why they supplied me with all this gaming gear. Now I know.”
“It’s all top of the line, too,” Brent told him. “Some of this stuff isn’t even on the market yet. But there’s no outgoing signal on this setup, so I have to play against this moronic AI soldier. I need a real adversary. Maybe I can figure out a way to tap into the beta platform when it launches, find someone to play.” He switched off the game and the wall went blank again.
“The only thing I know about these games is the ridiculous amount of money I’ve spent outfitting my son,” Jeremiah told him. “Besides, don’t we have to get to work?”
“Still an hour almost until the next viewing. I thought I’d come in early just to hang out.”
“Hang out? I have never met anyone who would voluntarily come early to work to hang out. Don’t you have a life outside of ViMed?”
“Yes,” Brent said. “In fact, I do.”
In the span of forty-five minutes, Jeremiah learned more about Brent Higgins than he knew about people he’d worked next to for almost ten years. Brent was raised in a suburb of Chicago, an only, adopted child to parents who were deeply religious, and he was engaged to a girl named Melanie, whom he affectionately referred to as “Mel.” Mel, as it happened, was firmly agnostic and, further, had once been employed as an “exotic dancer.” Jeremiah resisted the urge to point out the obvious passive aggressive tendencies at play against his parents here, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to so quickly alienate the only person he could count on for any kind of company and diversion. But really, he thought, an agnostic stripper? Had the kid no sense of subtlety?
“How did you get involved with this project?” Jeremiah asked.
“Sheer luck,” Brent said. “I was one in a pool of twelve applicants for this position. We were recruited in-house, from all over the company. I think I had five interviews in total. It was brutal.”
“For a data analyst? The competition was that tough?”
“This is kind of a big deal,” Brent said, a shadow of injured pride pulling at his features. “They weren’t going to hire just anybody.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Brent,” Jeremiah said. “I just can’t believe they had that many people after the job. I suppose I just figured they’d handpicked everyone involved, the way they did me.”
“Well, we were all asked to interview,” he
