Spoiler: End of Time

Rating: PG-13

Author's notes: This is kind of a variation on the theme of Vereco. While it shares certain author presumptions with that serial, and doesn't contradict it, it is not part of it.

My must praise this time around is Chris F., who is responsible for the original premise as well as some of the ideas and lines for it. Chris, it certainly isn't easy being green.

Originally posted on TimeForceFanfics under a slightly different title and the nick of Angel Island.

Different Place, Different Time, Different People
by Selma McCrory
copyright 2001

I load the film file up into my computer. It's something I've done dozens of times before when I've needed a break. I don't know why I like it - it's not in too good a shape, and the guy who transferred it for me couldn't get the sound working. But I don't care.

The cameraman (or woman - you really can't tell nowadays) is no pro. The camera tilts a little, giving the scene a slightly skewed view.

But the person who shot this is of no interest to me. THe scene, the people, they are the reason I've returned to this file time and time again. The back wall is a reversed, huge clock face and some assorted gears. There's a black woman in the background sweeping the floor, lifting up a picnic table as if it was a light piece of wood, never mind its occupant. The thing must weigh a ton. I guess the editor of this little piece must have been experimenting with some special effects.

She lowers the table down and the and the occupant continues his work as if nothing had happened, which I guess is what happened in real life. Nothing. He for some reason always catches my eye, and I'm not sure why. I've dubbed him the Tinkerer because in the few pictures I have of him he's always working on *something*. He always looks weird - must be the hair. In the file, he's talking to this thing that looks like a toy robotic owl, and it seems to be talking back to him.

I've never met the Tinkerer, never met any of them, but I think they probably exist somewhere. Here on Earth, or on other planets.

There's a guy approaching the Tinkerer now. His hair is spiky, so I've dubbed him Spikey. Spikey, the Tinkerer, and the vacuum-cleaner woman. He's talking to the Tinkerer now, and the two of them exchange words, the Tinkerer looking at him incredulously, answering him in a chatter.

And then, the Vision steps up. My vision, in pink top surrounded by black leather jacket. There are no pictures of her in the collection that included the tape, and in this one, she never smiles. She's talking to the person behind the camera, no doubt telling him or her to turn the thing off.

Sometimes I wish I'd meet her, and sometimes I don't. She'd be too old anyway, given the age of the source. The file, after all, is somebody's attempt at a home movie. Heaven knows where dad got it from, unless it belonged to my long-dead older brother. The older brother that died before I was born, and I think sometimes my dad and the others want me to be. It's almost a relief that nobody will tell me much about him. I can't be someone I know nothing about.

"Art!"

My dad, calling me to dinner, as if he wasn't one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. The head of Bio-Lab, the leading grower of clones in the United States. Straightening my tie and slipping my jacket back on in case of unannounced dinner guests, I stop the file and walk out of my room. It's probably dad and me, or maybe me, dad, and Mr. Myers.

With Mr. Myers, I should put on a tie, but I often don't. Sometimes it seems I should be more informal around him, but he doesn't have enough connections for me to be that informal. He's an underling, one Dad would trust with his life, but still an underling.

"Arthur," Dad greets me, smiling as if he had a good day. Maybe he acquired a plaything, a new company. I really shouldn't think like that, since acquiring a company is a serious business. He just makes it seem like fun. Someday it'll be me over there, having dinner with my son and cheerfully running a company. I hope so. It's all I ever wanted since I was little.

Mr. Myers is there, but it appears that he's leaving. Dad nods him away, and Myers snaps to attention, just like the Commander of the Silver Guardians should. The Guardians are my dad's gift to the city. His public service, his PR achievement. Once upon a time, decades ago, businesses paid for their attentions, but not anymore.

Once he's away, I sit down. Dad sometimes wants me to take the tie off, so I wait obediently for his instructions. Sometimes Dad feels informal enough to do things like that. I get the feeling he'd like to get me out of my formal outfits more. Maybe that's his secret - relax in private and you'll be a good businessman in public.

Dad is quiet while dinner is being served. He just looks at me intently, as if trying to determine my mood. What mood? I'm good at pretending to feel whatever I want people to think I'm feeling. I would have made a good actor. I've taken whatever he's wanted me to take. I've never been wild about the martial arts, but he's said that I need them, so I haven't protested.

We eat our dinner in almost-silence, pausing only to pass food to one another. Dad seems to be pondering something, and I have the feeling that it has to do with me.

Finally, as the dishes are cleared, he leans towards me and says, "Arthur, I want you to attend the BioLab holiday party this friday. I want you to meet some of the employees and their families, get to know them."

I fight looking up in surprise. For most of my life, I haven't been very prominent in the public eye. I don't think I've met more than a handful of Dad's employees. I mean, I know his secretary and his bookkeeper well, and his house staff, but not most of the people at Bio-Lab or any other of his companies.

"I think the time is right to raise you in the public perception of this company."

I shrug, and he seems to be pleased by the gesture. Maybe I'm doing something right. As usual, he knows what's best for me.

* * *

Dinner. It's friday, and the rented hall is overflowing with families of high to midlevel employees. I'm bored; there's nobody really my age worth looking at, and the goings-on of the employees annoy me.

I turn to get another cup of cider, wishing we had something stronger, but I'm not even supposed to be drinking alcohol yet. I'm underage, and dad would be displeased to know I've had my first few drinks by now. At least the cider soothes me, makes this evening more pleasant.

On my way towards the drinks table, I'm blindsided by another person. She stammers an apology, and I turn towards her. Anything I might have said is swallowed by a sense of familiarity.

Standing a foot away, startled, is the woman from the home video. Or, maybe, her daughter. The same eyes, the same face grace this girl in a green and red dress. Not pink, not in a leather jacket, but she could be the twin of the girl in the video.

"Wait a minute," I tell her as she starts to leave. "I don't believe I've met you."

I hold my breath, waiting for an answer, and finally she gives me one. "Jenny Zaskin," she says, before turning and going to wherever she came. I look for her, but lose her in the crowd.

No matter. I'll find her later. I will get to know her, whether she likes it or not.

* * *

"The morphers are gone, sir."

Dad's in conference; I think with Mr. Myers. Whatever they're talking about, I have no idea. I slip in my favorite hiding spot and listen. I like listening to dad talk business. It gives me an idea of what I need to do. Dad hasn't the slightest idea of how often I like to slip in and listen to him talk.

"Did you plant the tracking device?"

"Yes, sir."

Nothing that concerns me. Silver Guardian problems.

"Keep track of them." Dad's command is final, and a moment later I watch Mr. Myers come out of there, seemingly busy. There's a second voice there, but I don't recognize it.

"Who knows how they're going to react, Mr. Collins. We can't duplicate the behaviour of individuals when we have no idea of how they were raised!"

"I know that, Michael," Dad says calmly. "I realize the difficulty. All I ask is that the individuals act like reasonable facsimiles of their originators."

Now Dad's working on some clone campaign or something like that. Some difficult project that's giving him and the staff some particular challenge.

"I can't even guarantee that."

"We've been planning this for twenty years, Michael. It's got to work. It's the height of all our efforts. Now, did they meet at the party?"

"Yes, sir, they did."

"Good, I've taken some precautions on my end. It'll work out, Michael. It must."

"I hope so. I don't want to see her damaged."

"I don't want to see *him* damaged."

"I'll do my best, sir."

They exchange pleasantries, and then the man steps out, seeing me. I could swear he just froze. But he continues on after a second. He's somebody I've seen before. One of the research scientists that works for Dad.

It's not something I should be sticking my nose into, so I don't. One of those matters that Dad does that doesn't concern me.

Dad comes out next. "Art! How are you?"

His arms held out wide, my father advances on me. I could have sworn that I had startled him, just as I startled the other man. I must have been imagining things. My father hugs me, just like he does when he particularly is in a good mood or doesn't really want to see me.

"Oh, I'm fine," I bite out.

He looks at me strangely. "Son, are you feeling well?"

"FIne, Dad," I tell him. "I just decided to drop by and see how you are."

"Oh, fine," Dad tells me. "Ah, yes. You wanted me to sign the paperwork for college this afternoon. I haven't forgotten."

He's covering something up, but he probably feels like I have no right to know. Which probably means I don't. "Thanks," I offer weakly. I've forgotten why I'm here now, though the paperwork of getting into college offers some excuse.

"Anything else?" he asks, and I shake my head.

* * *

The phone rings, interrupting my sudden obsession with the girl in the video file. Ever since I saw that girl at the party a few days ago, I can't get her out of my head. I know that she's not the one on the video, but I just can't forget her. Jenny Zaskin. She's got to be an employee's daughter. The question is, whose? I'd ask Dad, but I'd never hear the end of it. Besides, it wouldn't be proper to be going out with your Dad's employee's daughter.

"Hello?" I ask, wondering who it is. The caller ID is blanked out, and I wonder how the call got through the system. It's supposed to block out calls like that.

"Hi. I'm Jenny Zaskin. We met at the party."

I raise my eyebrow, though I'm somewhat glad that her call got through. "What can I do for you, Jenny?" I ask her, trying to emulate Dad dealing with unexpected callers.

"Funny you should say that," Jenny answered. "But I'll have to show you the answers. How about you meet me outside the Starbucks on Green Street?"

"Sure," I say, curious as to why the girl who ignored me a few days ago suddenly wanted to see me.

"And come alone, if you can."

She hangs up, leaving me wondering exactly why she's so interested in me. Perhaps her parents, whichever one works for Dad, wanted to make sure he or she stayed in good favor with the boss? I don't know.

I get up and head for Dad's home office, in the off chance that he's there. He is, working on some paperwork that obviously couldn't wait for him to be in his office at Bio-Lab. He looked up at me, hesitantly, as if he's unsure of why I'm here. "Art," he greets me uncertainly.

"Do you have a person named Zaskin at Bio-Lab?" I ask him.

Dad nods. "He's worked for me for many years. Why do you ask?"

"His daughter called, wants to meet me uptown."

"Ah. Holly or Jenny?" he asks.

"Jenny."

Something fleeting flickers in his eyes, and then is gone. "Ah, yes. His younger daughter. Very well. I don't think she'll get you in any trouble. Have a good time then, son."

Have a good time? Dad, telling me to go out with an employee's daughter? I bet he isn't really thinking about what he's saying. But I mutter "thank you" to him anyway and leave him alone. We can talk about it later.

* * *

With my father's pseudo-blessing, I head on out to Starbucks. I'm old enough that I don't need bodyguards following my every move, though I suspect he's hired a few to look discreetly after me.

Still I arrive at the coffee place, and am soon rewarded with the cautious, furtive looks of one Jenny Zaskin, loyal employee's daughter. She spots me and comes towards me, while I admire her curves. If she wasn't the daughter of one of Dad's employees, I'd seduce her on the spot, but I don't want to give dad grief if this guy is as loyal as dad says he is.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask after she stops.

She says something under my breath, which I don't catch, but I know it's probably not complimentary. What's her problem, anyway? I haven't done anything to her. "Come with me," she says.

I fold my arms. "I'm not going anywhere with you," I tell her. "You call me up, you tell me to meet you here, and here is where we're going to stay."

"I can show you better where we're going. Or don't you wonder why I called you?"

Truth be told, I am. I want to know why this girl, who looks like she just walked out of a twenty-plus year old video and wouldn't give me the time of day at the party suddenly wants something from me. Sex? Could her father have set her up to mend things with the boss' son?

Hey, while I wouldn't mind, I'm going to inherit dad's company. I'm not going to do anything to wreck that. So if she offers, I'm not buying.

"Yeah, I wonder."

"Then come with me or don't come with me. At this moment, I don't care."

"Okay, I'm coming with you," I tell her, quietly activating my location sensor so just in case she has something in mind, someone can easily track me down and save the day.

"In my car," she instructs, and I'm doubly glad for the implanted sensor. I get into her car, impressed by the model. Practical to the extreme. I up my opinion of Jenny Zaskin up a notch but try not to act too much so.

We drive for a while, into residential neighborhoods. The place she takes me is a house on a nice wooded lot, and we park out on the street. I follow her as she unlatches the gate. Is this her house? I don't know. I should have found out more about her before I accepted her invitation.

The two of us walk until we find a nice small cabinlike structure back of the main house. Jenny knocks and then pauses, as if expecting an answer. The door opens, but I don't see the person inside, and Jenny is obviously not explaining anything.

I realize as I get inside that this place obviously is meant as a private schoolroom. Dictionaries line the shelf, as do posters and charts on the walls. There's even a portable dry-erase board on one wall, pens just waiting for the next person to use them. A computer with a few caddies of educational software sits in one corner.

Our mysterious benefactor brushes by me and Jenny. I finally get a look at him as he takes a chair at the computer. Pre-teen, but not for much longer, I'm guessing. Asian. Green hair comes down to the base of his neck, neatly cut and combed. The contrast between the punkishly-colored hair and the neat hairstyle momentarily boggles my mind.

As I assess him, he smiles. "Hi, I'm Coffee."

"Coffee?" I ask, certain I've misheard him. He opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again, and I turn my head enough to see Jenny glaring at him. I add the mystery of Coffee's name to the list of unexplained-at-the-moment items and keep my mouth shut. Maybe Jenny will see fit to explain why we're here.

She sits down at a small table in the center of the room. There are two chairs, one on each side of the rectangular table, and I reach down and pull the other one out, sitting down and trying my best to look like this doesn't bother me at all. Anything for an explanation. "So, why am I here?" I ask.

Coffee hands Jenny a bag and she opens it, pulling out a strangely-shaped object. She looks at it for a moment and gives the object to me.

The object is made of metal, a flattened oval shape. A small dome projects from one end, three buttons dotting the other, with a small band of some kind on the other side.

I turn it over and over, trying to understand what this object is and why she's giving it to me. I think I've seen it before, but I don't know where. "What is it?" I ask, hoping that she'll provide me with an answer.

"You don't know?" she replies, clearly puzzled. "But your name's all over the project!"

Now I know she's completely lost me. "Project?"

"Project. You know, the one my dad's in charge of? You're supposed to be the recipient of the morpher."

I turn the item in question over in my hands again, remembering Mr. Myers' mention of the missing item. "You stole them," I accuse her, looking around. There has to be more than this one. Mr. Myers mentioned morphers, plural.

"I did," she said, her chin up defiantly as if she'd done nothing wrong. Maybe to her twisted mind, she didn't, but I have a different opinion on the matter. "It was nice, not being so *responsible* for once."

"You call yourself *responsible*?" I manage. "You're guilty of theft!"

I resist the urge to get up, looking again at the bag in her hands. Maybe that holds the other stolen items? I don't know. "You don't know me very well," she states. "Dad's always been after me to be the responsible one. And I've tried to live up to that. But I get tired of being the perfect daughter. Don't you get tired of being the perfect son?"

Glaring at her, standing up, "My dad knows what's best for me. So does your dad. He's a valued employee. For his sake, I'll overlook this. This time. Just don't do it again."

With that, I take the bag from her hands and roughly open the door, slamming it behind me. So much for Jenny Zaskin.

* * *

My dad's office at Bio-Lab is huge enough to have a meeting of half the staff, or at least it seems to me sometimes. I feel the empty space as I'm announced in. Dad smiles as I walk into the room, clutching the bag.

"Arthur. What can I do for you?" he asks me, closing a printed report.

I fumble in the bag until I touch the morpher that was in the bag. There's another thing too, but I can't tell if that's a morpher or not. "Just returning some stolen property."

Pulling the morpher out, I hand it to him. "Who had it?" he asked.

I shrug. "Someone." If Jenny wants to return to thieving, then she can pay the price and I can tell Dad later. In the meantime, I just don't think she should be punished for one act of rebellion.

He looks at the morpher for a minute and then places it down on his desk, his face serious. He gives a nod. "Very good, Art. I'm very proud of you. You're very responsible."

But his attempt at a smile doesn't reach his eyes, and I have to wonder why. Why isn't he happy at the thing's return? Wouldn't the Silver Guardians be glad to have it back?

And if Jenny is right, then why isn't he mentioning anything about this project of his?

"I thought you might want to know that someone's hacked into the computers," I tell him. "Someone found a mention of one of Mr. Zaskin's projects."

"Dr. Zaskin," he corrects absently.

"Dr. Zaskin's projects."

He gives me another smile that once again doesn't reach his eyes. I give him the bag containing the second item and walk out of the room.

I have to admit I thought dad would be more proud of me for that. It wasn't quite what I imagined. Dad has the morpher, but I don't know if he's quite sure what to do with it.

There's a puzzle piece in here that I'm missing, and I think I have an idea where to find it.

Jenny, Coffee, here I come.

* * *

I may not know where Jenny Zaskin and her father live, but I have a good idea about Mr. Coffee. I remember the street address that Jenny stopped at, mainly because I had to spring for a taxi. I thought it was worth it, showing Jenny an example of how an honest man behaves. I wanted to shame her.

The Vespa purrs the few miles between Bio-Lab and Coffee's place. I shut down the motor and put a clamp on the gas line, just in case any thieves manage to hotwire the scooter.

Stepping up to the front door, I ring the doorbell. I don't want to imply familiarity with Coffee - I just want to talk to him, and by extension, Jenny. Since he's being homeschooled, I don't know whether or not he's 'in class' or if he gets summer breaks.

A woman opens the door. She's white, and I wonder if she's his foster mother or a live-in tutor. I had my share of tutors over the years, paid handsomely for their services. My dad had to sign both federal and state forms to report all of them.

"Hi, I'm here to see... your son?" I ask, hoping not to offend her, and hoping she'll correct me if I'm wrong. Ms. Abramson's been mistaken for my mom a few times.

"Oh, you're looking for A.J.," she says, brightening. She looks at me for a few more moments. "Someone in your family works for Bio-Lab, right?"

I hold out my hand. "Art Collins. I met your son earlier, actually, and I'd like to get to know him more."

She nods. "He's out in the back yard, taking a break from studying. The room got too hot for us both."

Grateful for the information, I hold out my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. ...."

"Oki," she tells me. "Alexandra Oki."

I shake her hand, heart suddenly in mouth just in case this "A.J." is not the Coffee I'm looking for. The woman leads me through her house until we come to a screen door that looks out on Coffee's classroom. And, sure enough, there's Coffee, sitting under a tree.

Mrs. Oki lets me through the door and I pass through the opening. Coffee looks up as I walk out, and the door slides shut behind me. "Art," he greets me, standing up. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Jenny too, but you."

He looks towards the door. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

I shake my head. "I turned the morpher in, but I left both your names out of it. I figured that you'd rather have me yell at you than the police involved."

"Thank you," he says, and I can tell he really means it. He's been scared by his brush with getting in trouble. Scared straight.

"I wanted to ask you a couple things, though," I tell him. "I still won't turn you in. They're just things that are bothering me."

Coffee shrugs. "Go ahead."

Okay, this one is unrelated, but still I go ahead. "First, I'm just curious. How do you spell your name?"

"You're sure you won't turn me in?" Coffee asks, wide-eyed.

"I said I won't, so I wont," I state. "I just don't want to mangle your name. I can call you A.J. if you want."

He shrugs again, seemingly resigned to my questions. "A-f-i. Afi, but a lot of people just call me A.J.. Either is fine."

Afi. Unusual name, to say the least. "I'll just keep calling you Afi, okay?"

The kid nods. "What else do you want to know?"

I sit down, hoping that he'll calm down and sit down too. "Could you tell me more about that project you hacked into?"

Afi shrugs. "I didn't get too much of it - I was surprised I even hacked in there. Just to see if I could do it, I guess. I cached a copy, and read it, and then gave it to Jenny, because it had to do with the morphers that she'd picked up."

"Stole, you mean."

He shrugs again. "She can understand about why she did that as I did when I started hacking into Bio-Lab's systems. Jenny's not a thief, and I'm not that good of a hacker."

"Okay," I say, hoping to cut him off at the pass. I love Westerns, and thankfully someone in the house does too, because we have a large supply. "So, what did the two of you find out? Where's the file?"

Afi gets up, heading towards his schoolroom and motioning for me to join him. I follow him inside, where he plops down at his computer. "Mom won't bother me, not while I have a guest," he explains.

I watch as he runs a file through PGP. "This is it," he says, and I look over his shoulder. A few clicks later, and the two of us are reading the file. Just scanning over the report confirms Jenny's words about me being linked to the morpher, though I'll have to read it in detail to tell why.

Looking back up at him, I ask, "Can you do it again?"

And, in that moment, I can't believe I just said that. I told the son of one of Dad's employees to go ahead and break into a computer belonging to Dad's company. Just because I'm curious.

Somehow, I don't believe that's what Dad means by being unconventional. Of course, with all that's going on, I'm not sure he doesn't mean it this way. There's some mystery I'm meant to solve here, and I'm gathering pieces little by little.

Hey, Dad said I was always good at spotting things....

Afi's turned to the computer and I watch as he sets up the computer to dial up one of Bio-Lab's outside connections. His hands play over the keyboard, and I frown. Afi means it when he says he's not a very good hacker; I'm not sure Afi knows how to hack his way out of a paper bag.

So how did he get hold of a top-secret report? He's either hiding his skill, which I've heard hackers aren't that good at, or he's telling the truth. Just like ordinary people can sometimes jimmie locks, Afi got lucky and hacked his way into a top secret project. Right.

There's something not quite right here. A simple matter of a theft might turn out to be so much more, and it has to do with my father. Well, they don't call them mysteries for nothing.

Afi shuts the connection down. "Now I can't even get to the report!"

"It's okay," I say, trying to soothe him, while starting to run through a list of ways to present this to Dad. Afi could be a second-generation employee, and dad's always emphasizing loyalty. What better than to get Afi and his clumsy maneuverings off the hook?

"Do you want to talk to Jenny now?" Afi asks, looking fearfully at me. Or ashamed of his lack of ability, maybe.

Afi can't hack. Jenny is probably no professional thief. Or very much of an amateur one. And my dad is secretly planning to give me that morpher I returned to him but hasn't said a thing about me actually getting it.

Could that file Afi got be a honeypot to lure a hacker? A false report, carefully put together to snare a hacker? It's difficult to believe, since Dad's people sprinkled my name throughout it, compromising my safety, but not impossible.

"Sure," I tell him in reply. "I've got a scooter, a Vespa, out in front. Will your family let you ride?"

Afi looks at the door. "I'll ask."

He bolts out the door, and I am stuck staring at the report, fictitious or truthful, that includes my name. I start reading it again, hoping to find some detail I overlooked on my skim through it.

A few minutes later, I manage to look through the report as Afi almost slides in to the small classroom. "Mom says it's okay," he says. He opens a cabinet, putting a hat on which almost covers his green hair. When he realizes I'm still looking at him, he explains, "People look at me funny if they can see my hair, so Mom and Dad always have me wear a hat when I leave the house."

"It's not easy, being green?" I crack, noticing a scar in the middle of his forehead as he tucks his bangs into the cap. Finally he is ready. I'd prefer to have him wear a leather jacket and boots for protection, and I'm not sure my spare helmet won't be too big for him, but we'll have to make do.

* * *

Afi's able to give me directions to Jenny Zaskin's place. I pull up to a perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly ordinary block, a nice three-bedroom if I'm any judge.

I have doubts about being very welcome, but I'm sure I'll make up anything I said to her earlier. I mean, she is a thief, but something's wrong and she is part of it. That makes diplomatic relations essential.

Helping Afi off the bike, securing his helmet, and putting my security precautions on, I face the door. I can only hope that she's good at accepting apologies.

Afi leads the way, as if he's been there a few million times before, which probably he has. The two of them must be good friends from the way he acts. Of course, given his isolation, Jenny might be one of the few friends he does have.

He knocks on the door, and I hold my breath in, waiting for her to arrive. A minute or so later, she opens the door, and in such a way I gasp. She glares at me.

"Afi, why'd you bring *him* here?" she says, jerking a thumb at me.

"I talked him into it," I answer, stepping up boldly. "I wanted to apologize."

Jenny rolls her eyes but backs up and opens the door to let the two of us in. "I'm going to regret this, I know it," she says, half to herself and half to Afi.

The Zaskin house is decent, as good looking outside as it is inside. Jenny leads the two of us to a nice if bland living room and sits down on the couch. "Dad's at work," she explains, as I look around the room.

One of the pictures on the wall, I realize, is the strange man who came out of dad's office a few days ago, just after I heard about the missing morphers. "Who's this?" I ask.

"Dad," she answers, obviously reluctantly. I study the picture again, with the man standing and smiling with his arms holding a slightly younger Jenny and a young blonde woman. Her sister Holly, I presume.

I turn around. "I think I've seen him around," I say out loud. I try to remember the conversation.

*"Did they meet at the party?"*

*"I don't want her damaged."*

*"I don't want him damaged."*

Was all of this arranged? Was I supposed to meet Jenny Zaskin, and was it before or after she stole the morphers? Or was it some coincidence that Dr. Zaskin was worrying about an unnamed she that met an unnamed he at the party, like we did?

"First of all, I want to say I'm sorry," I offer her. "Something's going on that I don't like, and I'm afraid I was harsh on you. I'm starting to wonder if you were responsible for stealing the morphers after all."

"But I did steal them!" Jenny says.

"I said that you may not have been responsible, not that you didn't steal them," I tell her. "A lot of things are not turning out to be as they appear."

Sitting down heavily on a couch, Jenny stares at me. I tell her and Afi about my suspicions.

At the end, the other two are silent, looking at me with those looks which mean you doubt the speaker's sanity.

Of course, I kind of doubt my sanity too, but how else can I explain my dad's reaction? The behavior of two people I've never met, but have no reason to lie when they say that they've never hacked or stolen before?

The trust that Mrs. Oki had to hand over her pre-teen son to a man she didn't even know, even if he happened to be the son of the CEO.

Jenny looks like my Vision in the video. Afi could be the younger brother of the Tinkerer.

But where is my double? Shouldn't I have one?

Someone puts a key in the front door and unlocks it, and I tense. Jenny holds out a hand. "It's my sister."

Indeed, the door opens and shuts, and then a woman with really short blonde hair steps into the living room. "Hi, Jenny. Didn't realize you had visitors." Then she turns and looks at me, and it's as if she sees a ghost. "Uh, I just wanted to leave some stuff for Dad. What's going on?"

"Weird theories," Jenny responds. "Just some stuff that's going on."

I give Holly a shortened version, hoping that she'll just laugh it off, but she grows paler and paler. Finally, she sits down in a nearby chair and looks at me, and then at Jenny. "You've stumbled into things I don't think you're supposed to know about," she says finally. "Jenny, if dad's boss finds out, the three of you might be in danger. He might decide to terminate the project and I can't bear losing you!"

"Terminate the project? What are you talking about?" Jenny demands.

Holly sighs. "It's a long story, sis. I can't say more. I might have gotten the three of you even more in trouble."

I don't know if Holly will listen to me, but I try. "We just want to know who we are, and why this is all going on. I think we'll be happy if things get straightened out."

Holly sighs again, and reaches out to pull out her minicomp. "If I show you, will you three be careful?"

"We'll try," Jenny responds. Holly nods and taps on the computer, bringing up some kind of file.

"Jenny, I'm going to transmit this to you. It's not very big, though."

Jenny nods, bringing out a nearly identical model and the two sisters tap on the comps. Then Holly gets up. "Tell dad I came by and dropped off his stuff. Not a word about anything else, okay?"

The three of us nod, and I think it's because none of us want to get Holly Zaskin in trouble. Jenny's older sister does whatever she came to do, and then goes out the door, leaving us with whatever she beamed to Jenny's machine.

Afi and Jenny and I stuff ourselves onto the sofa while she brings up the file. It isn't very much, just a page from some publication, some kind of report about businesses that went out of business in 2001, the year of Ransik's rampage in the city. Jenny enlarges the image, and I blink as the enlargement brings up some very familiar faces.

The four faces in the video. And me.

Jenny is staring at the photo, as is Afi. I lean in to read the caption: "Nick of Time Odd Jobs, one of the most outstanding businesses of 2001, considered one of the best new businesses in Silver Hills."

"Scroll down," I tell Jenny, and she does so, until we locate the entry for Nick of Time Odd Jobs. I start to read again. "Nick of Time Odd Jobs, located in the Walter Brown Clock Tower, went out of business about the same time as the clock tower was destroyed in one of Ransik's final rampages. This business, considered one of the best new businesses in Silver Hills, was known for its hard work and dedication to its customers. One of the owners was Wesley Collins, the son of well-known businessman John Collins, who now works with his father's Silver Guardians."

I take out my own minicomp and bring up the old video, the soundless one. Sure enough, there are four of the five, with the reversed clock face in the back. I wish I had a date to confirm that this was taken in 2001, but it's highly likely that it was. The only one missing is my twin, presumably Wesley Collins. My apparently older brother.

Suddenly I have a desire to know a lot about a certain Wesley Collins and the people at Nick of Time Odd Jobs.

* * *

The three of us agree to meet tomorrow in the library. The public library, that is. It's the best place, bar none, to do some very private investigations into people we're not supposed to know about.

Maybe we'll understand what these people have to do with our lives. Privately, I'm betting that whoever these people were, Dad saw fit to reproduce half the others as well as Wesley Collins.

I'm also betting another thing: that I am not an original, and neither Jenny nor Afi are originals either. I can see, in that case, why Holly would be upset. Legal rights for clones are a little bit shaky. And personally I don't plan to advertise that I'm a clone. I have far too much ambition for that.

In the meantime, I will learn, and I'll figure out how to make dad happy with me again.

* * *

The three of us meet in the library, in one of the semi-private study rooms. There are ports galore for laptops and minicomps, just in case you want to look up things, but this time I think we'll use the public computers so we don't leave a trace.

Afi may not be a hacker, but he takes to the library like a duck to water. Jenny and I are both slower than that, but I'm proud to say that even we manage to find some things. We gather together finally to compare notes.

Reports on Bio-Lab's activities for the last twenty years, its major accomplishments. An article or two more on the destruction of the clock tower, including one with a picture that shows pretty much the same view as the video shot. Even a snippet or two on Nick of Time Odd Jobs, at least version 2.0, the one that has our identical twins.

I'm still puzzled as to why we haven't met the other two clones yet. If Afi and Jenny's originals were friends of Wesley's, where were his other two co-workers/co-owners?

Finally, an obituary for Wesley Arthur Collins. I stare at the document. My names, but reversed. Wesley Arthur. Arthur Wesley. A related article says that he died saving the life of one Eric Myers. The two, when Wesley Collins lived, were the heads of the Silver Guardian Program.

No wonder Dad's kept me so under wraps. He doesn't want anyone to know he cloned his son. He clones peoples' dead kids, but he can't admit to cloning his own, no matter how good it would look as PR.

But, as I look at Afi and Jenny, I still wonder what part their originals played in Wesley's life. We haven't found any indication of who they were, much less who they were to Mr. Collins, enough to warrant two extra expensive cloning projects.

They must have been good friends, important in some way. But I can't figure out how. I shake my head, knowing that the other two are similarly puzzled.

* * *

Someone at Bio-Lab knows who my older brother was, someone who would know the people in his life. He and Eric Myers were partners. I know I've been cold towards him, but he might give me another clue.

He pauses as I stand up from where I'm sitting in the reception area at Bio-Lab. I turn a startled look upon him. "Sorry, Mr. Myers, thought you were my dad."

"Your dad's in his office," he informs me. I nod, looking once more at the frozen video, hoping that courtesy and nature will bring him to ask about the file. He does. "What are you looking at?"

I shrug, trying to act like it's not important. "Some file. I thought it was interesting because of the scenery. It's pretty old, though. Did you shoot it?"

He looks at the film, frozen as if he's remembering something. "No, your brother did. That's some of his friends."

"Must have been good friends," I offer, still puttering around. I flick a few frames to where Afi's near-duplicate is working, and then to Jenny's. "Someone was having fun."

"They seemed to do that a lot," he replies. "He and Jen and the others, they had to relieve the stress somehow."

As if realizing what he's said, he shuts up. "It was a long time ago, Art."

"Okay," I say, trying to sound like it really doesn't matter, though my stomach is flipping cartwheels inside me. Jen. Jenny. Want to bet that they kept the same name?

I still don't know the Tinkerer's name though, nor that of the others. I let Mr. Myers pass, still acting like I am just bored. I'm good at that. "I'll see Dad in a bit," I tell him, worrying that if I leave it'll look suspicious, and we can't tolerate that right now.

Later, I share the information with the others, sitting in the classroom at Afi's place.

In a way, I've bonded to the two of them. They may be my dad's employees' children, but we're all part of the same project. A project Dad's probably been running since before I was born and expects to get results out of sometime soon, if previous conversations are any guide. I think, though I haven't shared it with them, that I was directed to Jenny first for a reason.

Nice of them not to explain to their pet project what he's supposed to do. Why introduce Jenny, and then Afi, to me? Is Dad trying to duplicate something in Wesley's life?

I have a bad feeling I'll never know.

I don't want to confront Dad, even though I know what he's done. I'm not sure if I want to make him happy by being upset at him, because I'm afraid storming off is exactly what he wants me to do. I also don't want to get Holly in trouble. That would not be good company relations, and besides, I gave my word.

None of us is particularly happy. Would you be, if you had found out that you're a clone and someone might be manipulating your life to follow someone else's? All I can say is that I'm not opening up an odd jobs shop to please my dad.

But to rebel would please Dad, and to stay there and act obedient would displease him. I'm not sure that displeasing him would be a good idea right now. So, what do I do?

I rebel. Just like a good son would. But first, being the responsible person that I am, I discuss it with my would-be friends first.

"You're going to tell him?" Jenny asks, clearly not pleased by my decision, even though I had explained the logic of it to her.

"Not about that," I state. "I promised Holly I wouldn't. Just that I need some space, and I'd like to try my hand at my own business. He'll be happy at that. By the way, would you like to work for me?" I ask, looking at Jenny. "We can go into business together, even. Maybe then Dad and the others will stop trying to manipulate our lives."

"It does sound like a good solution," Afi offers.

Jenny gets up. "Personally, I'm going to make myself scarce. I don't trust your father with anything right now."

I nod, accepting her decision. If we had discussed this earlier on, I would have argued. But I won't risk her. I won't risk Afi. It is my life I'm gambling and only mine.

* * *

At dinner that night, I'm finally ready to announce my decision. "Dad, I'm not going to college. Not yet, anyway."

He looks up at me, surprised. I can't tell if he's pleased or not. "And why is that?"

"I want to open a business. There's this girl... Jenny Zaskin. She's pretty honest, Dad, we've been talking a lot together. I think that the two of us would make it, and I want to try that before having to worry about ever taking over Bio-Lab. I think it would be good experience."

Dad smiles. "So, how do you like Jenny? I should have told you that I thought you'd get along great."

"We didn't get along at first... but we got to know each other, and I think we can make it work."

He smiles again. "You know, son, your brother did the same thing, and made a success out of himself. I'm proud that you're turning out the same way." He leans forward, obviously interested. "Tell me all about it, son. Maybe I'll help."

As I start to explain my business plan to him over delicate gourmet dishes, I smile inwardly. Sometimes to stay on track is to rebel, and to rebel is to make a father happy. In a way, this is working out great for all of us. I get Dad off my back, Dad is happy about me following in Wesley Collins' footsteps, and the promises that I made are held.

I'm not Wesley Collins, but someday I'll find out who he was, who his friends were. In a way, the answer to the entire question of why I exist. But right now I bask in my father's happiness and make my plans. Life is definitely good.

-end