Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1 (28 page)

That is, until the day that Commander Rob
Tyler had walked into his laboratory. Yeoum considered Rob’s mere
presence his vindication, his penance fulfilled. All of the
suffering that he and his father had caused would be justified if
only one person could be helped through the use of his work, and
that of his team.

Turning, he faced Don and Greg as Jimmy
announced, “The time is now four p.m. and SIS has reported that the
clone's expected completion time remains twelve forty-three and
twenty-four seconds. The clone is now ninety-four point three
percent complete.”

Greg and Don had been watching the
professor. They were all physically exhausted, having slept little
during the week, but Jimmy's announcement raised their energy level
considerably.

“It won't be long now,” Greg said, his
excitement causing a wide smile.

Yeoum wasn't listening. He was looking at
Don. Of all of his team, Don was the one the professor had the most
affection for. He was the one whose brilliant thinking had gotten
the program, which had come to a complete halt, back on track
nearly two years before. He extended his hand. “It is a bit early
to be congratulating ourselves, gentlemen. However, it does appear
that, thus far, our work has been successful.”

Don grasped the older man's hand. “It ain't
over till the fat lady sings,” he said. But, I hear her clearin'
her throat!”

“Professor, how much time do you think it
will take to evacuate its lungs and initiate breathing after the
umbilical cord separates?” Greg asked.

Yeoum smiled. “Why, Doctor Mathers, you
surprise me. I should think a former lifeguard could answer that
question.”

The major shifted uncomfortably. It hadn't
really been a serious question, but just an attempt at joining in
their conversation. He started to respond, but the professor cut
him off.

“Relax, Major. Everything is going just as
it should. And, I have made a decision.”

Greg eyed the diminutive man warily.
“Decision? About what?”

“It is no longer appropriate to call our new
friend
it
.” Yeoum looked past Greg as he studied one of the
computer monitors. “In the past, I have allowed other members of
the team to name the new creation. In this case, I will name him
myself.”

“Have you decided on a name, Professor?” Don
asked.

“In honor of our donor, I will name him
Orson. The commander’s middle name.”

“I like it,” Greg said.

Don nodded his approval.

“Also,” Yeoum continued. “Although your time
with my team has been short, Major, I have decided that I will
allow you to write the book on the work that has been done
here.”

Don slapped Greg on the back.
“Congratulations, man!”

Greg was taken aback. He found the “honor”
of being
allowed
to write what would amount to a cloning
textbook a bit underwhelming. It was a book that only a very select
group of people would be allowed to read.

“Wow,” was all he could think to say.

* * * * *

JUNE STOPPED BY TO
check on the
chimps before heading to the parlor where she would wait with Rob
until the time came to wake the clone. Finding them asleep, she
started to leave but found herself compelled to look in the corner
of Brad and Angelina’s paddock. There, she found a small disturbed
area. Moving the brush away, she was perplexed to find a pile of
pens. She counted them. “Twenty-seven,” she said softly.

“That is just too weird,” she said out loud
before heading to the parlor.

* * * * *

ROB WAS SITTING IN
the parlor trying
hard to focus on the television as June lay curled up napping on a
nearby loveseat. Everyone else had retired hours before, each
leaving instructions to be awakened before the clone was. An
ominous feeling had been steadily growing in Rob's consciousness as
strange noises inside his head threatened to reach their crescendo.
The shortness of breath had returned with a vengeance. His knuckles
were white as he gripped the leather-clad arms of the chair he sat
in. He was having a great deal of difficulty containing an
explosion of emotions as he felt like he was being pulled apart.
His Bible was in his lap, open to the book of James, but he was
unable to concentrate enough to read the familiar text. He was
gripped by confusion and fear.
I must be having an anxiety
attack!
It seemed an impossible concept, but he had no other
explanation. He considered waking June, but refused to submit to
his own weakness.
Oh my God! Please help me! Jesus, please help
me!
He started to hyperventilate, only vaguely aware of the
sound of leather ripping from the chair, as the seams of the arms
gave way. His Bible hit the floor as he rose to his feet searching
the room desperately, but for what? He didn't know. His eyes came
to rest on a clock somewhere in the room, the red numbers of its
digital display stabbing at his eyes.

It was 12:43.

ORSON’S UMBILICAL CORD
separated as
expected, and the team completed the process of draining the
nursery at precisely 12:43 a.m. Greg and Don stood ready to
dismantle the tank in order to remove the clone. A gurney stood
ready to receive him, and they had a set of scrubs ready for him to
wear.

With the chimps, it had taken an hour after
removal for the subject to become fully awake. Yeoum and Don were
expecting another uneventful transition. Greg, on the other hand,
hadn’t been present when Brad and Angelina were born. An occasional
unsolicited grin betrayed his excitement as he forced himself to
treat the situation as he would any medical emergency.

“Quickly, gentlemen,” Yeoum said, masking
his own enthusiasm as the other two went to work. The panels came
off quickly. All seemed normal. Then, suddenly, something
completely unexpected happened as they attempted to lift his
slippery body onto the gurney. Orson began to convulse.

“What's happening?” Yeoum shouted from the
outer room. But Greg and Don were too intent on their patient to
respond. “What’s happening?” Yeoum demanded again, rushing into the
chamber.

“I think he's choking!” Greg grabbed Orson
by the shoulders to turn him on his side as Don threw a towel over
him.

“Is this normal? Did we bring him out too
quickly?” Greg shouted without thinking, not hearing the
others’ confused exchange.

Anger flashed in the Korean. For an instant
Yeoum considered berating the younger man, but he quickly dismissed
the idea. There was much more serious and immediate work to be
done.

The convulsing continued as the three men
used all of their combined strength to keep him from falling to the
floor. Orson vomited fluid from his newly formed lungs, took a
chest-rattling breath, and began to sputter and cough. His eyes
were open wide, revealing fear and confusion. He began to tremble
violently as Don threw more towels over him. The professor took
hold of his head, forcing the clone to lock eyes with him. He was
spat on for his trouble. Yeoum took it in stride as he searched for
some sign of recognition in those eyes that were seeing for the
very first time.

The fluid combined with the brightness of
the outer room made Orson squint as he tried to focus on the form
in front of him. Yeoum could see that he was trying to speak, but
only one word escaped his lips in a rasping whisper.

“Carol?”

* * * * *

ROB CONTINUED HIS
aimless pacing, his
Bible forgotten.
What's happening to me?
There was an
explosion of pain in his chest and he gagged uncontrollably.
Am
I having a heart attack?
His chest and lungs burned, and then
there was a stabbing pain in his head. He feared his skull might
burst. Clutching at his chest with one hand and his head with the
other, he staggered to the kitchen and felt the coolness of the
floor on his bare feet. Sweat poured down his face as he gasped for
each breath and began to quake wildly. Then came a sense of
serenity, the feeling of weightlessness. The air around him seemed
as thick as maple syrup. And then, cold. Colder than he had ever
been. He began to shake even more violently. He lost his footing,
but felt hands supporting him. As if from far away, he heard a
voice.

Carol?

Somehow he found the sink, but his hands
were shaking so violently that he couldn’t get water to flow. His
body was wracked with the pain of a thousand knives as he tried to
steady himself. A bowl half full of stale popcorn hit the floor as
he groped around for something to help him maintain his balance. He
grasped desperately for a pot hanging from the frame above the food
prep island, but it was unable to support his weight. One of the
fittings in the ceiling came free, sending pans and utensils to the
floor with a loud
crash!

June nearly fell off of the loveseat at the
sound. She rolled to her feet and tried to focus on the source of
the racket. Finally, she saw Rob writhing on the floor.

Oh, God help me!
She ran. “Rob! Rob,
honey! What's wrong?”

His entire body was quaking violently. June
thought he must have been having a seizure. She found a wooden
spoon and forced it between his teeth, taking care not to get
bitten. His skin was glistening with perspiration and his body
shook furiously. Looking into his eyes, she found them wide in
confused desperation. “Carol?” he mumbled as the spoon fell to his
chest.

“No, sweetie, it's June.”

“Carol?” He asked again.

“Rob! Can you hear me?” she yelled. Tears
streamed down her cheeks, as he showed no sense of recognition.
“Stay right here,” she said, standing. “Don’t move.” She sprinted
out the door and down the hall screaming, “Help! Juan! Agent Perez!
Somebody help!”

* * * * *

ORSON SHUT HIS EYES
tightly, trying
to sort out the sounds around him. Even though his eyes were shut,
he could see vividly. He was staring up at the ceiling, but his
equilibrium was telling him that he was lying on his side. He was
soaking wet, and yet parched. He tried to make sense of his
situation. He could tell that his ears and nose were stopped up,
which forced him to breathe through his mouth. And yet, he smelled
popcorn. He turned his head but was unable to change his view. His
eyes began to ache from the strain even though they were still
tightly closed. When he opened them, his vision immediately
blurred. He could vaguely make out three shadowy forms moving
around him, overlaid on the ceiling. There was a distant voice.

“Can you hear me?” Yeoum asked.

“I can hear,” he said. “Who—”

“You're alright. Calm down.”

Orson focused on the image of an Asian man,
but it was a shadowy image at best, superimposed over the ceiling.
He closed his eyes again. “Professor?”

“Holy crap!” Greg exclaimed. “He knows the
professor. He has memories.”

“It's alright. You're among friends,” Yeoum
said.

“Friends,” Orson repeated.

“Yes. We're your friends,” Yeoum reassured
him.

“June?” Orson asked.

“No. Doctor Phillips isn't here. Would you
like us to get her?”

“June, what's happening?” Orson asked,
ignoring the Korean.

* * * * *

JUNE LED TIONG AND
Eddie into the
kitchen. They heard Rob talking, but the only word June could make
out was “friends.”

“Yes, Rob. We're here,” June said, thankful
that he had stopped quaking.

“June?”

“Yes, Rob?”

“June, what's happening?”

“You fell. Juan and Eddie are here,” she
said, placing a pillow beneath his head.

“What happened, Rob?” Tiong asked.

“I don't know.” His eyes fluttered. “Don?
Greg?”

Tiong gave him a confused look. “They're not
here, buddy. They're in the lab.”

Suddenly, a horrified look erupted on Rob's
face. Placing his clenched fists over his ears, he screamed
desperately, “What's happening to me?”

* * * * *

“
WHAT’S HAPPENING TO
me?” Orson
screamed and then he slumped, unconscious.

“No!” Yeoum screamed.

Greg checked for a pulse. “He's alive.”

Yeoum wasn’t listening. He slammed his fist
into the floor. “Decades of work. My life's work!”

Don grabbed the professor and stood him up.
“It's okay. He's okay. He's alive.”

But the diminutive man didn't hear him. He
was selfishly thinking of his own predicament.
What will they
say?
Will they let me continue my work?
Will they
continue the funding? Had this all been for nothing?

Don spun Yeoum around. He gently but firmly
pushed him against the wall, holding him there. “Professor!”

The Korean’s eyes burned with rage. He
balled his fists, preparing to strike. He kicked at his assistant’s
prosthetic leg in rage.

“Professor,” Don said more urgently, still
holding him against the wall.

Slowly Yeoum allowed the words to sink in.
He regained his composure.

Don smiled at the professor. “It's
alright.”

“Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves,
shall we?” Greg was rolling Orson's limp form on to his back. “I
could use a hand, guys.”

“What happened?” Don asked.

Greg gave him an incredulous look, “You're
kidding, right?”

“Okay, what do you think happened?”

“Well,” Greg started, “I'm pretty sure he
passed out.”