Popular Clone, page 8
He was so absorbed that he hadn’t even noticed that Two was back from school until he heard water running in the bathroom and the jazzy sounds of cheerful humming: Two was singing the Spot-Rite commercial jingle over and over under his breath. Fisher couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. Two couldn’t even pee without having fun.
A few minutes later, Two had still not emerged from the bathroom, and Fisher’s fourth orange soda of the day had just taken its toll. He walked to the bathroom door and rattled the handle.
“Hey,” he said. “You almost done in there?”
“Hang on a minute,” came Two’s voice, and then Fisher heard him continue talking. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? … I don’t know. Is it really going to work? Eighty percent of protests end in arrest … Yeah. Wikipedia … You’re probably right, now that I think about it… .”
Fisher’s mind began racing. Uh-oh. Two is talking to himself! Is my creation slipping into madness? Did the AGH turn his brain to bread pudding? Will he turn violent? What can I do to save my— Then the door opened, and Two, with a perfectly calm look on his face, breezed past Fisher into the hallway.
“Sorry about that, Fisher. I just wanted some privacy. I was on the phone.”
“The—the what?” Fisher spluttered, even as his eyes fell on the black, cordless phone clutched in Two’s hand. Fisher sometimes forgot that they had a phone. “But— how? With who?”
“Amanda Cantrell. I’d promised to call her later. She’s planning to protest the King of Hollywood’s opening tomorrow. I think I’m going to go down there and try to talk her out of it. But for now we’ve got more important stuff to focus on, right?”
Even FP, trotting along at Fisher’s side, stopped in place and stuck his ears up at that remark. Fisher himself was surprised that he was still able to blink, which is what he stood in place doing for a minute or so as Two went snapping and humming into the bedroom.
It was official: something was wrong. Very wrong.
Not only had wearing a torn shirt and a hat six decades out of style earned Two a friend, it had earned him two friends—and one of them was a girl! Two had done in two days what Fisher had yet to accomplish in his whole life.
Whatever was going on at school, Fisher had to find out about it. Tomorrow, he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery.
CHAPTER 9
A lot of people say they trust themselves, but most of their “selves” don’t have the power to wreak havoc while they aren’t looking.
—Fisher Bas, Personal Notes
It was Thursday, after school, and the day before the new King of Hollywood’s grand opening. Fisher had spent the day in anxious agitation. Even a new issue of Vic Daring: Space Scoundrel hadn’t been able to calm him down.
He knew that Amanda Cantrell had planned a big protest, and he knew that Two would be making an appearance of his own.
Fisher was also planning on making a cameo. Two was obviously up to something. He’d been standing up to the Vikings, and making friends—friends!—which meant that he was already calling attention to himself. Fisher needed to see whether the clone was in danger of breaking their secret wide open.
“Disguise, disguise,” Fisher mused, looking around his room. “What should I use for a disguise?”
Half an hour later, a short boy walked toward the King of Hollywood restaurant. A strangely puffy plume of long hair spilled out of his pulled-up hood, and he was wearing tropical-themed souvenir sunglasses with little palm trees on the frames.
It was not, Fisher admitted, the most brilliant disguise he could have imagined. All the same, it was a good use for the extra hair Fisher had accidentally engineered during the early stages of the cloning process, which had looked kind of creepy just sitting on the floor of Fisher’s room.
The remains of the marshland made a strangely prehistoric-looking setting for the restaurant, as if a herd of Iguanodon might emerge at any moment to graze on spicy fries and milk shakes. Fisher could see a crowd gathering in the parking lot already, many hoisting signs in the air. He really hadn’t expected that many to turn up against the popular chain. Maybe the ducks had really earned a place in people’s hearts.
When Fisher got closer, he took a look at some of their signs: LONG LIVE THE KING; TWO BILLS IS ONE TOO MANY; I BET YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT BILIOUS MEANS.
The big crowd had formed to protest against the protest.
Fisher elbowed through the crowd, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, and finally broke free of the tightly knit pack.
In front of the King of Hollywood restaurant were Amanda Cantrell, a handful of Wompalog kids he recognized but didn’t know, and … a giant duck.
Or rather, somebody in a human-sized double-billed yellow-bellied bilious duck costume.
Amanda had handcuffed herself to the front-door handles of the new restaurant. The other kids looked nervous, probably because the only people watching their protest had joined the counter protest. The only member of the protest who seemed really enthusiastic was the giant duck, who was walking back and forth shouting various pro-duck statements.
“Ducks don’t knock down your houses for bread crumbs!” it shouted in a voice that was muffled, but very familiar. “This marshland is their only habitat! You are bringing them to their doom! Do you really want a doomed duck on your conscience?” Very, very familiar. “We can coexist with this peaceful species! Live in harmony! Their double-billed quacking really is quite harmonious!”
The giant duck paused for a moment, breathing heavily. “Man, this thing is hot,” it said, before reaching up and pulling off the duck head. Fisher gaped.
“Dad?” he gasped.
There was no doubt about it. There was Mr. Bas, wearing a giant duck costume in front of the entire town. Fisher buried his forehead in his hand and wished he could rocket himself into a new solar system. This would make things even worse for him than they already were. The other kids at Wompalog would mock and push him around even more. …
No. They would push Two around even more. He knew that he had created his clone just for this purpose, but rather than feel triumphant, he felt a little sickened by the idea. But maybe, at least, Two would start to realize how things worked at Wompalog: it was best to lay low.
Fisher retreated a little farther into the jostling crowd as his dad took off the rest of the duck suit. The counter-protesters began chanting “Holl-ly-wood! Holl-ly-wood!” until someone shushed them to silence and stepped forward.
Two.
The clone walked back and forth in front between the two groups, raising his hands to the much-larger counter protest to get their attention.
“This fine establishment is not the great invader that they’re making it out to be!” he said, affecting a heroic tone. “Don’t be fooled! The ducks aren’t the big victims here, but our taste buds will be if they get their way!” The counter protesters shouted and waved their signs in response.
“Fisher?” Mr. Bas said, tossing the second huge duck foot aside. “How could you be doing this?”
“I’m sorry … Dad,” Two said, “but I’ve been analyzing your data on these ducks very carefully, and I’m afraid you’re wrong about them.”
“What are you doing, Fisher?” Amanda hissed, rattling her cuffs. “King of Hollywood is destroying their only habitat!”
Two reached into his pocket and pulled out a map, which he unfolded and held above his head.
“The double-billed yellow-bellied bilious duck is not native to marshlands!” he proclaimed, pointing at several spots on the map. “This species moved here after their old woodland habitats were drying up from drought! Evidence I’ve collected indicates that the species only lives on this marshland because it was the only place wet enough at the time.” He produced another piece of paper with a graph on it. “That drought ended five years ago. The original habitat of the DBYBBD is more than capable of supporting them again.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Fisher’s dad and Amanda looked at each other with puzzled surprise on their faces.
Fisher gritted his teeth. Two was drawing more and more attention to himself with every moment. Was making friends not enough for him? Did he need to be a celebrity, too?
“Well … ,” Amanda said, searching for a comeback, “what about their food source? The frogs in the waters of this marsh are keeping the ducks well fed, and the ducks are keeping the frogs from overpopulating!”
“In the short term, yes,” said Two. Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out yet another piece of paper with a chart on it. “But what’s really happening is that the ducks are eating up the small marsh frogs that the badgers used to thrive on. Now those badgers are losing their food source, and in the long term, the ducks will throw off the whole ecosystem.”
There was a longer silence. Fisher’s dad scratched his head, and Amanda looked down at her handcuffs, kicking the toe of her shoe against the pavement. Fisher adjusted his wig but remained hidden in the crowd.
“Well …,” Mr. Bas said, looking bashful. He had finally wrestled out of the duck costume, and was wearing (to Fisher’s dismay) a full suit of long underwear. “Well. They aren’t going to move back to the woodland all by themselves. Will you help us organize an effort to help move them?”
Two was about to reply when a high-pitched screech pierced the air. A pair of hawks circled rapidly above one of the small patches of marsh untouched by the construction.
“The nest!” Trevor cried out. The hawks were circling lower and lower, closing in on a nest of baby DBYBBDs.
“Do something!” someone cried out, but nobody moved. Everyone was frozen in horror.
Then, suddenly, the giant duck was flapping and squawking and tearing toward the nest. Fisher saw that his dad was still standing next to Amanda. Someone else had slipped on the suit and was honking and quacking and beating its enormous wings furiously.
The hawks let out a final screech and shot back up into the sky to escape the wrath of the giant waterfowl. Fisher watched as, with feathered wings, the duck impersonator reached up and removed the costume’s head.
And, of course, it was Two.
Fisher ground his teeth as the whole crowd cheered and shouted his name. Two just beamed and shrugged as he took off the rest of the duck costume.
Two walked over to Amanda, who was tugging at her handcuffs. Fisher slipped his way through the crowd so he could get closer and hear their conversation.
“I tried to get the key out of my pocket,” Amanda said shyly, “but it fell.”
“Let me help,” Two said, reaching down and fetching the key. He unlocked the handcuffs and set Amanda free. Fisher watched as they stood for a moment, smiling at each other. Then Fisher’s dad came up behind Two and clapped him on the shoulder.
“That was pretty amazing, Fisher,” he said, beaming. “I got so caught up in closely studying the ducks that I lost sight of the bigger picture! And the trick with the duck suit was pretty inspired.”
“Anything to save a baby duck,” Two said, not taking his eyes off Amanda, in a voice so syrupy sweet it made Fisher choke.
“Wow, Fisher.” Amanda beamed at him. “I always knew you were smart. But I never knew you had such a big heart, too.”
Fisher decided he’d seen enough. He had to sneak away soon, anyway, to make sure he got home before his dad and Two did. Luckily, his mom was going to be working until later in the evening.
Feeling outmatched, unloved, and inches away from disaster, he slunk out of the crowd. He didn’t know why he’d been worried that somebody would notice him. Nobody ever did.
“What were you thinking?” Fisher shouted, hours later. That night it had been Two sitting down at the dinner table, and Fisher waiting upstairs for whatever leftovers his clone brought up. Fisher himself had been too upset to do much besides sit on his bed and fume. Even FP seemed nervous about Fisher’s mood.
“What do you mean?” Two said. “Your dad and Amanda were wrong. Their conclusions were faulty, and they could’ve hurt the animals they were trying to protect. I was helping both sides.”
“And what about the heroics with the duck suit?” Fisher said, crossing his arms. Two tried to pet FP, who snipped at his hand.
“I wasn’t just going to let the hawks eat those defenseless ducklings,” Two protested. “They’re endangered as it is.”
“Listen,” Fisher said, holding up his hands. “You can’t just run around doing anything you like,” he said. He fought down a twinge of guilt; he knew that he had created Two because that was exactly what he wanted for himself. “If you keep pulling these big flashy stunts, we’re going to get found out. Do you want that to happen?”
Two shook his head.
“Then we need to keep things more quiet and focus on the mission. All right?”
“Right,” Two said, sighing. “The mission.”
“Good.”
Fisher hoped that his speech—and his continued lies— had served their purpose. Still, as he got ready for bed, he couldn’t ignore the whirling anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Tomorrow, he decided, he would keep tabs on Two, and make sure the clone followed his instructions.
It was time for the spy-cam.
CHAPTER 10
I like precise, clearly defined rules. How else would I be sure I was breaking them?
—Vic Daring (Issue #1)
It was Tuesday morning, and Fisher held the old fedora his clone had been wearing in his hand. Two watched with a hint of a frown on his face.
“I think I know a way to keep you under con—I mean, to help guide you through the school day so that this operation goes as well as it can.” In Fisher’s other hand was a self-camouflaging camera produced by none other than TechX Enterprises. He affixed it to the front of the hat and then pressed a locking switch. Instantly, it vanished, its active camouflage blending it perfectly into its surroundings.
A window on Fisher’s computer popped up with the live feed from the camera, and Two’s look of mild annoyance appeared from two angles. “With this, I can see everything you see during the day. And this,” he went on, slipping a tiny microphone pad under the front of the brim, “will allow me to hear as well. If you need any advice I can provide it with this earbud.” He attached a tiny, ear-fitting speaker to the inside of the hat. “Any objections?”
Two took a slow, deep breath, exhaled, and shook his head slowly. Fisher could tell that he had at least two or three objections. But Two remained silent.
“Good,” Fisher said, satisfied that the experiment was getting back on track. Clearly Two respected Fisher enough to listen to his direction. Fisher was pleased to see his clone defer to his wishes.
After all, Fisher had given Two life—that had to count for something, right?
As Two left for school, Fisher got comfy in front of his computer, stretched his neck back and forth, and put his feet on the desk, next to the keyboard.
The video window was open. At the moment, it only displayed the wrinkle-textured, brown vinyl back of a school bus seat, but at least the picture was clear. Fisher could also hear the sounds of the trip: cars outside, a dozen conversations, and sometimes, faintly, Two’s own breathing all came through the speakers just fine. Fisher flicked a control on his keyboard and spoke softly into the little headset slipped over his ear.
“Mic check. Tap the seat in front of you if you can hear me.”
An arm and hand came into the picture, and Fisher shivered slightly. Watching someone identical to himself doing things he had done before was like hovering slightly behind his own eyes.
The hand that looked just like his own tapped idly on the seat in front. “Good, good. Okay, carry on. I won’t talk unless it’s really necessary.” The hand gave a thumbs-up that Fisher couldn’t help but feel was more than a little sarcastic.
He turned away from the image as the bus made its way to school. FP was trotting lightly around the room looking for discarded bits to eat, and Fisher’s lab machines were conducting their own work. A few were running computer simulations of a new growth formula he was testing for himself, one was incubating the next generation of attack squitoes, and one was collecting data from an automated telescope that scanned the sky for radio signals.
Fisher decided to kick back in his chair and catch a few minutes more of sleep. He felt what little muscle he had relax, the tension in his neck and eyebrows releasing. He breathed slowly and deeply. Having two Fishers might be a lot of trouble, but at moments like this, it still felt worth it.
He was jolted awake when he heard his name being called. A single, jerking, two-arm flail tipped his chair over and spilled him into a jumbled pile on the floor. FP trotted over to check on him, and Fisher lightly pushed him out of the way so that he could sit up. He scrambled back into his chair, staring in disbelief at the video screen.
“Hi, Fisher!” said Trevor Weiss, adjusting his enormous glasses.
“Hey, Fisher,” said Wally Dubel, blinking with the concentration he normally needed in order to speak.
“Fisher! How ya doin’?” said a tall girl Fisher didn’t know.
“Hey, Fisher. What’s up?” Corey Devonshire called from down the hall, with a quick wave.
The barrage of greetings almost pushed Fisher out of his seat all over again. Smiling faces streamed at him through the video screen as Two sauntered through the halls. His loping stride made the image bob slightly.
As Two walked down the familiar dull beige hallway, almost everyone he saw was talking to him. Being friendly to him. And Two was responding! He knew all of their names, asked them about things Fisher had never even heard of, like football tryouts and glee club. One boy came up, extending his arm, and Fisher saw that familiar looking hand dart out and give the kid a fist bump.
