Andrew Neiderman - Deficiency

"If we don't catch anything significant, don't tell my father," he warned. "He's never gone fishing without success."

"Stop competing with him. You're your own man, Curt."

"Aye, aye, Dr. Freud."

She smiled and shook her head. Then she turned serious.

"Do you suppose there is some kind of psychological drive to recreate ourselves in our children?"

"Are you kidding? If I heard him say, 'when I was your age...' once, I heard it a hundred thousand times."

"Maybe that's part of this unrelenting drive to clone ourselves," she offered.

"I'm sure it is. I'm sure it has a lot to do with ego. I'm so good. There should be more of me. Of course, there would have to be more of you or I'd be in competition with myself," he said. He laughed, but she didn't. "What?"

"That's what he's all about, I think, competition. In the end he wants to be better than his original self."

"He's already better. He's survived."

"Yes," she said. She looked worried.

"Terri?"

"Let's go back, Curt. I want to go back," she said with that final and firm tone he recognized.

"Why?"

"As far as I know there are only two people, three now counting you, who know the truth, Curt. The other person is Will Dennis, and we've handled him wrong, I think. This isn't a matter of negotiations. You don't negotiate with cancer or pneumonia. You eliminate it.

"Or," she added pulling in her fishing pole, "it eliminates you."

"Right," he said, somewhat annoyed. "I knew this vacation idea was a dream."

"It's not that," she began, but he pulled the cord and got the little engine going, revving it up as high as he could to drown her out. She fell back against her seat as he turned the small boat and headed for the dock. She saw him squinting.

"What?" she asked, sitting up and turning.

"Someone's on the dock waving at us. It looks like... our boy, Will Dennis," he said.

Her heart stopped and started with a thick, resonant pounding she could feel in her temples.

"Is he alone?"

"Far as I can tell he is," Curt said.

They drew closer.

"I guess you got to him," he added.

Will Dennis stood back as they brought the boat in, Curt cutting the engine and stepping up.

"Will," he said, nodding.

"I thought it would be better to come out here to speak with you, Doc," he told Terri as Curt helped her out of the boat.

"Something new happen?"

"Yes. We got him," he said.

"You got him?"

"How did that happen so fast?" Curt asked. He reached for the poles and the marine bag.

Will shook his head and smiled.

"These guys are good. I'll never resist calling in the Feds. Petty jealousies in law enforcement help only the perps."

"That's very big of you, Will," Curt said.

"Yeah, well, you grow with your problems, Curt." He looked toward the house.

"Great place. How about we have some coffee and talk?"

"Okay," Terri said. She looked at Curt who nodded and the three of them started for the house. "Well, I can't deny this is a big load off my mind," she continued. It was Curt who first heard the footsteps behind them and turned. Terri had her arms folded and her head down. She kept walking beside Will Dennis.

"Terri," Curt called.

She paused and turned.

Dr. Garret's duplicate was standing there, holding a pistol pointed directly at Curt. She looked up at Will.

"There was nothing I could do," he whined, his arms out. "He had me in his gunsights the whole time I was on the dock. He jumped me at a gas station about an hour ago and made me take him out here."

"Made you?" Curt asked.

"At gunpoint," Will added.

"What do you want?" Curt asked, stepping forward aggressively, ignoring the gun.

"Curt!" Terri warned.

Now that she was actually confronting him, she could of course see how perfect was the mirror image of Dr. Garret Stanley, only she noticed some swelling in his cheeks, a reddening of his complexion, and a clear symptom of a thyroid problem -- bulging in his eyes. He was breathing hard, too.

"What do we want, Mr. Dennis?" he asked Will, smiling. "Well? He wants to know. Tell him."

"He wants more," Will said obediently.

"More? More of what?" Curt asked.

"More of everything, just like everyone else. Let's all walk slowly to the house. Mr. Dennis had a good idea. We'll have some coffee and talk." Curt hesitated on the balls of his feet, poised to charge.

"Curt, please," Terri cried. It wasn't only the sight of the pistol that frightened her now. The man was having some sort of physical reaction and from her perspective, it made him look even more maddening.

Curt looked at her and then joined her, glaring up at Will Dennis.

"This is your responsibility," he told him. Will said nothing. Curt grasped one of the fishing poles tightly. Terri could see it in his face -- he was thinking of spinning and striking him.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't be plotting anything," he said seeing them talk. "Stay together," he ordered when they reached the door. "Slowly, go ever so slowly. I'm right behind you."

Terri opened the door and they all entered. She looked back at him and saw he was sweating profusely now. His gun hand trembled a bit.

"Mr. Dennis," he said pointing to the rocker. "Why don't you take the center seat. You're used to being the center of things, aren't you? Go on," he snapped. Will looked at Terri and Curt and then walked to the chair and sat.

"Comfy?" he asked him.

"Listen," Will began, but stopped and stared.

He had his hand up for silence and then tilted his head as if he was listening to something. He smiled and nodded. Then, he stepped forward and shot Will Dennis dead center in the heart.

In the house the .38 sounded like a cannon. Will Dennis's chest seemed to explode, the blood spurting down his white shirt. The impact made him rock in the chair. His look of surprise froze on his face and his head fell forward and the rocking stopped.

Terri screamed.

He turned to her and Curt, who were frozen in place, Terri clutching Curt's hand.

"My God," she managed.

"We had no need of him now," he said, nodding at the dead Will Dennis. "All he would do is wiggle and squirm, lie, and make every effort to save his pathetic life. It's his nature. He lacks the pure honesty of someone like me who never denies his true purpose.

"You two should feel honored," he continued, "I'm truly the New Man, the future of the species. All we've been up to now is God's little experiment, not yet perfected. Oh, well, at least He has given us the ability to finish His work, eh?"

He wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand and saw the layer of sweat. He glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall and turned to Terri.

"What do you think, Doc?"

"You don't look well," she said.

"I know." He smiled. "But I know what I need to make myself well, better than well," he said. "You're not as young as I like them these days, but I know you can give it to me."

"I can help you more easily," she said. "You look like you're suffering a vitamin B, deficiency and acquiring beriberi. I have B-complex serum in my medical bag. A simple shot..."

He shook his head.

"No, that's not enough. Even with a continuous IV feed, they kept me in a nearly semiconscious state compared to how I can be," he said, "They were never very interested in my being a fully active individual. Everything has become more complicated. There's only one way to reach the level we need now. I have two mouths to feed, so to speak. You see," he said to Curt who moved protectively toward Terri, "that's what we really meant by more. We need more." The look in Curt's face told Terri he was going to do something dramatic and drastic any moment. Surely he would die, she thought. There was no way to reason with this person. Something Doctor Stanley had told her about people who believed clones lacked souls returned. There was no remorse, no sense of morality in this laboratory offspring. Whatever Doctor Stanley had created, he hadn't foreseen a certain mad coldness.