Chapter 22
When Sam B arrived back at Bobby’s place, the house smelled of fresh cooked chicken. With Brenda busy preparing dinner, he slipped past the kitchen and into the bedroom, where he promptly changed his clothes, and checked the night stand for the notes his other half had left.
It was four folded-up pieces of paper torn from a notepad, with his unmistakable handwriting on them. Maybe a little neater than his usual fare. Typical.
As he unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over the writing, he began to lose the will to actually read the words. He knew that his only way out of this was to follow what his magnanimous clone had laid out for him. So why did he just want to curl up in this bed, pull the covers above his head, and never come out?
He rubbed his tired eyes. He did certainly need sleep, that was for damn sure.
Just read it, it’s only a few pages, he told himself before doing his best to concentrate on the instructions.
“Hey. Look, both you and I know I’d be better off doing this, but since that isn’t an option, I’m gonna just have to hope that you and Al can pull it off. Please don’t let me down. A child’s existence hangs in the balance.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. His counterpart was so damn condescending.
“I’ve identified that Brenda’s turn to alcoholism was brought about by her fears surrounding Bobby’s deployment. She’s afraid he’s not coming back, and that she’ll have to face life and the baby all on her own. She’s using the alcohol as a way to ease her anxiety about it all.”
It almost sounded to Sam B that Brenda would be better off not having a baby, at least if her husband wasn’t coming home. Which brought him to the possibility that he was here to prevent both the miscarriage and Bobby’s death. Great. Twice the work.
But it did make sense that Brenda was feeling this way, given what she’d blurted out to him this morning: “The only thing that’ll still be here for me when you…” She was definitely using it to fill some kind of a hole.
He read on.
“Brenda had quite a breakthrough with me. She even promised to spend the days up to Bobby’s deployment dry. I think she’s willing to give up the drinking for good if—and this is a major ‘if’—you can figure out a way to make her feel like she won’t be abandoned after you’re gone.”
Sam gritted his teeth, hoping there were some suggestions coming. This was exactly the kind of thing he felt unprepared to deal with: the nuances of human psychology. He was struggling enough with his own mind right now, let alone someone else’s.
And what did he know about leaving a lonely wife at home, anyway? That was more Al’s department.
“Now, you should find out from Al about the parents and families of both Bobby and Brenda, and snoop around to find out about their friends. Surely someone can be a support for her. Even that friend who was feeding her margaritas earlier, Jenny.”
This all sounded like a lot of work, and numerous opportunities to have more drinks thrown in his face. Sam heaved a sigh.
“Just remember, this requires delicacy. You need to open your heart to people, and understand what they’re going through. That guy Harvey may have responded to your violence and threats, but that’s hardly going to fix things with the wife.”
Sam scowled at the notes. Of course he wasn’t going to get physical with Brenda! What kind of a mindless beast did Sam A think he was, anyway?
“Keep your temper in check. I’ve seen how the littlest things set you off. You’re probably already stewing over what I just wrote there about violence.”
Sam rolled his eyes at this. It was easy for Sam A to say that; he wasn’t the one feeling such unbridled emotions.
“I think I know myself pretty well, and I’m fairly sure I’m not capable of hitting a person without it being for a very good reason, but… seriously, keep a lid on it. Anger is not gonna get you anywhere, and it’ll only make things worse. Don’t mess up what I’ve gifted you here, okay? I feel terrible about leaving, but I have important things to do—for the children. So I leave this in your hands, and I hope to God I didn’t make a mistake in that.”
The smugness of the letter ignited a new drive within Sam: spite.
Yeah, fine. He would do this, purely because everyone doubted he could. And he would rub it in his other self’s face later.
* * *
When the commune gathered in the dome for the new vote, Sam A proudly watched as the crowd split, with Alicia creating a majority on Sam’s side.
As it became clear that the proposal to remove all illegal narcotics from the commune had passed, Danny lit a cigarette and took a deep, long drag. His sunglasses hid his eyes—Really now, who wears sunglasses at night?—but Sam could feel them boring into him nonetheless. Just as they’d been boring into him on the bus all the way back here.
Sam approached him, giving an apologetic look.
“Danny, I wanted to thank you for handling this so well,” he said, smiling warmly. “I know this is a lot of change in a small amount of time, but I promise you, it’ll all be worth it.”
Danny plucked the cigarette from his lips, offering only an unreadable expression.
“It’s an open democracy—and the people have spoken,” he said flatly, as grey smoke curled from his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean your changes are going to stick. Al. People here care about their freedom. So if and when this bust doesn’t happen, I’ll be there to serve up your humble pie.”
“Noted,” Sam said, chuckling. “Tell you what: that humble pie can be thrown in my face if I’m wrong. Until then, we have a lot of work to do, huh? Classrooms to build, electricity to generate… drugs to get rid of.”
Danny frowned, and looked like he was about to say something, when Sam felt a tug on his shirt from behind. He turned to see Marsha smiling at him.
“Congratulations, Al,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see the transformation of this place.” She tilted her head. “I am gonna miss the LSD, though.”
Sam stifled a laugh. “Well, there’s plenty of other things to do around here.”
Marsha took him tenderly by the hand. “Yes there are.” She leaned in towards him, her other hand wrapping around his neck. Not kissing his cheek this time, but instead engaging in a deep, passionate kiss on his lips.
Sam felt his cheeks flush, and he took a step back, prying his lips away from hers. “Hey now—easy! I’m not Richie, remember?”
“I know,” she said, licking her lips. “Richie isn’t a jealous guy. In fact if he were here, he’d probably be kissing you too.” She winked. “Our love is as free as it gets, Al.”
“Oh boy…” Sam murmured as she led him by the hand out of the dome. As they emerged into the night air, he quelled his pounding heart. “Listen, as… um, wonderful a person as you are, I—” he dragged a hand down his face, and somewhere behind him, the Imaging Chamber door slid open, allowing Al to witness Sam’s awkward situation. “I just—I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Marsha looked crestfallen. “Why not, Al?”
“Yeah, ‘Al’,” Al chimed in, waving around a cigar, “Why not? Jeez, one of you surely has to have the sex drive, as repressed as it may be.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s not that I wouldn’t under the right circumstances,” he said, struggling to explain, “I just don’t feel right sleeping with someone who doesn’t really know who I am.”
Al groaned. “Oh, Sam. Live a little, why don’t you? These hippie chicks are a riot in the sack! And no strings attached!”
Sam shot him a warning look, before turning back to Marsha. “There are things about me I can’t tell you, Marsha. And if I did, they might change the way you look at me.”
Marsha frowned. “Bad things?”
“Not bad things,” Sam said. Boy, he wasn’t doing a good job of this, was he? It seemed he had reached the limits of his charisma with Brenda. “Just things that would change things between us.” Like the fact I’m not from another planet, for example. And I’m not ushering in the New Age.
He just felt it would be unethical to sleep with someone who thought he was some kind of outer space mystical being, when he was just a scientist from Indiana. But he couldn’t explain that without jeopardising his position here. It was simply better not to do anything, no matter how ‘hot to trot’ Marsha—or anyone else here—might have been.
As Marsha wandered back to her tepee, disappointed, Al shook his head.
“Oh, Sam,” he said. “That was a sad, sad sight. Such a waste to leave a lady hanging like that. Your double did the same damn thing with Brenda. If only I could offer them my services. Both at once.” He was looking dreamily into the distance, and Sam rolled his eyes.
“Okay, Sexy Sadie, let’s not make a fool of everyone,” Sam said with a smirk, quoting a Beatles song. “What brings you here, anyway? I’ve got everything under control, you know.”
“Well—yes, Ziggy tells me when the raid happens, they don’t find any drugs,” Al said, giving the handlink a smack on the side. “So technically you should be leaping.”
“But…?”
“But only half of you is done with the leap.”
“I’m not done anyway,” Sam said. “I still have irons in the fire here. I don’t want to leap until I get a good start on them at the very least.”
“Well, I guess you’ll get your wish, until Sam B’s got his side dealt with.” Al shrugged. “Enjoy your vacation, I guess.”
Sam beamed. “You bet I will. I have a hydroelectric generator to build tomorrow.”
Al shook his head. “I’ll never understand your idea of fun.”