The Duplicate Project. (Short Story)

In the future, where there is no custody battles. Children are cloned and their memories are replicated. Jacob just arrived in town and goes to a coffee shop he hasn't visited before, the barista he has never met greets him by name and starts preparing his usual order.

"How did you know?" I ask the barista. He smiles almost sympathetically, as if I'm a child asking a question that's answer should be obvious.

"You're not the first," he replies.

"First?" I pull a note out of my wallet and place it down on the counter. The man's eyes suddenly widen.

"No. I-I can't accept that. It's on the house." He gives me another smile, but it's much weaker than his previous effort, and his lips flicker like a candle. He hastily walks into the back, leaving me alone with a drink and confusion. I leave the money on the counter.

Maybe it's just... a very friendly town, I decide, as I take my coffee to a quiet little table at the rear of the establishment. It's a pretty coffee shop, wooden panelling, comfy seats and very quiet. There are only two other patrons, in fact: an old man with thick rimmed glasses fastidiously reading a newspaper, and a very trendy looking student expertly utilising both a tablet and a phone at the same time. The phone is gripped between her cheek and shoulder. She looks my way and I nod and smile at her. The phone drops onto the floor. After a moments hesitation, she picks it up, gathers her belongings and leaves. Not that friendly after all. Perhaps I'd have better luck with the old guy - it'd be nice to find out a little about the town.

"Excuse me," I shout to the elderly man, waving a hand at him. He looks at me.

"Hugn," he grumbles, unintelligibly, before burying his head in his paper. There's something a little off about him. His thick grey hair sits like a bad wig on his head. I decide to leave him be.

I sip my espresso and watch the town come alive through the huge glass windows. A few people are scurrying to work or college, and the morning sun is pouring down onto them. I see a woman pushing her pram. It's a quiet town, idyllic, almost. After driving all night, I feel like I could just sit here and watch the world go by forever.

Then she comes in. Her hood is pulled up over her head, and she doesn't go to the counter. She walks over to me, instead, and pulls up a seat.

"You've got to leave," she says, her hood throwing shadow over her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Now. You've got to leave. I'm not kidding around."

"I don't- look, lady, I just got here. I've been travelling all night. I intend to finish this drink, and then I'm going to get another."

"Tell me," she asks urgently, "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's none of your business really, is it?"

"You got an invite, right? To some event, here, or maybe a few towns over - but either way, you had to travel through here."

"How..." She's right. Not an invite for here though - I'm just passing through.

"He knows you're here. He planned this."

"Who are you?" I ask. Perhaps she has issues - perhaps she's escaped from her carer. All I know for sure, is that she's making very little sense.

She sighs and pulls down her hood. She's a young woman; a long scar stretches down her right cheek. "I guess there's no point hiding. He'll already know I'm here."

"I still don't follow you. I think you need to calm down. Can I get you a drink?"

"You're not the only you, you know," she says. She sticks her tongue out a tiny way and bites down on it. "Do you remember hearing anything about the Duplicate Project?"

"Duplicate Project?" I think for a moment. "That old cloning scheme? Yeah, a little. It was closed down before making any real progress, right?" I hear the old man on the other table grunt again.

"Right. Only, the lead researcher didn't exactly... stop researching."

"Okay..."

"He carried on. In a little town, by himself. Well, with his daughter. No one even knew what he'd done until he'd already done it."

"He cloned someone?"

"He cloned himself. He cloned child versions of himself. In case he ever got ill and needed, you know, organs or whatever. Then he sent them away, to live healthy lives until he needed them."

"And?"

"He's ill. And you're not."

Gears begin to turn and suddenly it all makes sense: the barista knowing my drink; the girl on the phone fleeing.

The old man reading his paper, coughs.