The Printer

A man and woman in Amsterdam are confronted with a problem.

One.

It was strange. 

In the moment it happened it was funny and weird, but looking back on it, it was strange.

 

The café was empty but we supposed that was normal for this time of day. It was customary here to order at the counter so we walked to the bar at the back of the room and leaned against it, gazing lazily at the menu on the wall, breathing in the emptiness of the place. The smooth marble surface was cold to the touch. 

 

The barista stood erect, methodically drying a glass with a dish towel. It appeared dry already but he continued to rub it, inspecting in the light for spots.

 

“You two seem calm and relaxed,” he observed.

 

I looked at you with a smile, “We are.“

 

He continued rubbing the glass and looking at us, “That’s good.”

 

“So,” you started, clearing your throat, “What do you have that’s… interesting?”

 

“We have tea.”

 

“Ah good, we’ll have tea!” you took my hand and squeezed it. We were amused with his answer; the name of the café was The Tea Shop. 

“Have a seat, I’ll be with you momentarily,” he gestured towards the unoccupied tables. 

Each table had fresh-cut flowers; we migrated to one with blue hyacinths. I finally had a chance to examine the room. 

It was a classy place with high ceilings, yet simply furnished. The floors were sealed concrete, the furniture made of hollow black steel. It was well-lit from the windows at the entrance but not unpleasantly so. An enormous chandelier hung in the center of the room. I tried to imagine its weight and how it was anchored to the ceiling. A giant mirror with a thick, ornate gold frame stretched along the wall next to us. It was nearly the entire length of the wall and gave the appearance that we were in a sea of empty tables and flowers. 

I took the chair facing the window to the street. You sat opposite, staring back at the counter. “Look at him, I think he’s an android,” you joked.

“Haha he definitely has strange English, it doesn’t sound Dutch at all. And his posture is amazing!” I touched each object on the table. The flower vase, the sugar cup, the candle, the ashtray. I grinned, “I had a nice morning with you.”

The barista approached and set two cups of tea in front of us. “How is your day going?” he asked as if reciting from a script. 

“Awesome,” you answered, “By the way, where are you from?” 

“I’m from here,” he replied and glanced in the mirror at himself before walking away. 

I smiled and examined the half-full cup of tea. Steam settled on its surface clouding its color, but when I took a sip I noticed it was hyacinth-colored blue and the perfect temperature for drinking. It smelled like electronics but tasted sweet, and I wondered briefly what kind of flowers the bees must be eating to produce such delicious honey.

We drank, set our cups down, and sat in the silence as the warm liquid seeped through our veins all the way to our ankles and fingertips. The light from the window was becoming dimmer; I hadn’t noticed any clouds in the sky and wondered if it would rain. I hoped so. 

Suddenly there was a white flash of lightning outside and a loud popping sound. The electrical power went out in the room, followed by a buzzing sound which also died after a few moments. “Must be a transformer that was hit,” I remarked, then remembered I hadn’t seen any pole-mounted transformers in the city. “Or something,” I added. The room turned gray, like watching an old television. Even the colors of the flowers were hardly distinguishable from each other. 

The barista appeared and lit the candle on our table. “It’s not necessary,” I told him, “We were just about to leave.” 

As we stood I turned to take one last look at us in the giant mirror but it was gray and lifeless. The room seemed frozen, like after the flash of a photograph. Silver-gray versions of us stared back at me. 

“Time to go,” you said. 

“Mhmm,” I nodded and followed you. 

I wanted to see the rain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two.

It was good to be back in the flat, good to be alone again after talking with brown-leather jacket guy for the past hour. It felt longer, it felt so long that I couldn’t remember waking up, couldn’t remember making coffee. Time was more slippery than usual today.

“Well. F**k.” You stood in the middle of the room drinking a bottle of water, “This is seriously fucked.”

I sat on the couch, holding my legs to my chest like a human ball. You put down the empty water bottle and sat next to me. I leaned into you, laid my head on your chest and closed my eyes.

“So,” I asked, “have you ever killed anyone?”

A two second pause. Then, “No.”

I waited a moment, finding the next words. “I don’t think we can ignore them.”

“Also, no,” you agreed.

“So what do we do?” I glanced up at your face. Your eyes were closed.

“I don’t know,” you buried your nose in my hair, “To be honest, I want them gone.”

“So do I.” Pressing my ear against you, I listened to your heartbeat, then listened to mine. “Then let’s get rid of them.”

In the hair on the top of my head, I felt you smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The brown-leather jacket was probably from Spain. It didn’t look Italian. Certainly it was from somewhere they knew how to work leather; it looked soft but still held its shape as it hung on the man who told us about the Duplicates.

“We believe they are in violation of at least 70 laws and regulations,” he explained, “but as you can imagine Dutch law is, ehmm, liberal in its interpretation of international legal code.”

“Excuse me,” you interrupted him, “you said you work in Den Haag? What is your position there?”

“I represent the State in international privacy law.”

“So, you’re an attorney?” you asked. He didn’t look like an attorney.

“I work in Enforcement,” he clarified, though it wasn’t clear at all.

You looked annoyed. “Fine, continue please. You were saying they used a kind of photographic process with the tea and the mirror. To make copies of us.”

“And the lightning flash,” he added, “this is how they developed a sophisticated 3D image of you both. A complete model of your bodies.”

It all seemed unreal but you continued, “So all this imaging equipment was in the cafe.”

“In it, or adjacent to it, or upstairs from it.” He paused. We stared at him. “That’s not our concern. Our concern, well my concern especially is finding a clear legal case against them so we can take action without being stuck in the court system for years in a public trial and exposure of this operation.” He tapped the paperwork on his desk with his well manicured fingers, “And I should remind you that you both just signed a non-disclosure agreement which binds you by very solid international law to not discuss this subject with anyone outside this room.”

You laughed at this, “Oh you don’t have to worry about that.”

I raised my hands, “Hold up. You said they take the images and use some sort of 3D printing, but how is that possible? In my work it takes hours and hours just to produce just a small object. How did they take our images and create two entire humans in a day?”

“We don’t understand exactly how they are accomplishing it on a cellular level, only that they are using organic material to create the Duplicates.”

“Surely you have some idea,” I looked at my copy of the non-disclosure agreement and adjusted my glasses, “It seems you also have an obligation here to provide information that could be deemed ‘beneficial’ to us.”

Brown-leather jacket guy blinked once and continued. “We believe they have a generic male and female form that contains a stock of various cell types. Like a cell soup. Then the cells are rearranged within the generic models using the 3D printing type process to make the organs, the skin, the features… to replicate what is in the image. In this case, you.”

“Is it only a physical resemblance, do they have thoughts?” I tried to imagine replicated brain cells inside a replicated skull under a replicated face, “How far do the similarities go, if I like sushi does my Duplicate also like it?”

“As far as we know they have normal brain functions to coordinate the body, breathing, the nervous system and so on. They lack the higher brain functions, it’s highly unlikely they share any of your memories or traits. ”  

“Hmm,” you growled, “So this has happened before, with other people.”

“You are the third case of Duplicates. The first case died unexpectedly, the second is still around” he looked toward me, “Well, you’re the third and fourth cases. You are the first female.”

“Huh?” I responded, “Why me?”

“Probably you match up well with their model. Normal height and weight, average features. Standard body type, skin color, hair,” he shrugged, “Easy to reproduce.”

“I always knew my averageness would be good for something,” I folded my arms and leaned back in the chair, “Turns out I’m a f*****g wet dream of normality for psychotic clonemakers.”

“You’re both taking this very well, thank you for your cooperation.” His face was expressionless.

I was growing impatient, “So why do you need us and this… this non-disclosure agreement?”

“You’re the Originals. We need to collect samples from you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I ran my finger along the needle marks on the inside of your arm. The sun was low in the sky but neither of us moved from the couch to turn on a lamp.

We had been talking about possibilities for hours. Kill them? Yes. Maybe. How? What if they fight back? Or if it’s not violent, if it’s poison or asphyxiation, how would we confirm they are indeed dead?

Maybe they could accidentally fall from a high place - you pondered. Can they swim? - I asked. We decided to assume they can.

You rubbed your beard, looking thoughtful, “She said they did not reproduce our genetic code.”

“You’re talking about the needle lady?” I asked, “Yeah she said the Duplicates don’t have real DNA, they can’t regenerate cells. Something like that.” We had bombarded Needle Lady with rapid-fire questions as she pricked us repeatedly, 8 needles in each of us and two uncomfortable scrapes of the inside of our mouths.

Your eyes were closed as you pulled today’s conversation from your memory, “She said they need to have a blood transfusion every week or so.”

“Uhhh she said the 3D people printing machine thingie makes the tissues and organs and hair and nails and everything, but they need to give themselves fresh blood regularly because their bodies can’t create new cells.”

You opened your eyes suddenly, “So if something were to happen to this machine…”

“Oh yes, that’s interesting. No machine, no fresh blood!” I sat up straight, invigorated.

You picked up your phone and began typing rapidly. I briefly wondered if googling ‘how to make explosives with household chemicals’ was tracked by any government agency, and realized I didn’t give a f**k.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three.

(part Three last chapter almost complete... coming soon)

Author's Note

Seeking feedback on readability and entertainment value.

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

You have used an interesting form. I always love an unusual narrator, and her telling the story to him is definitely unusual. But it is still readable. Some unconventional approaches turn out very awkward and difficult to follow, but you do not have that problem. I found the beginning is funny, the middle quite intriguing and I guess I will have to wait for the end. I am quite eager to read it and find out what happens. If you think of it, would you please send me a read request when you post the final part?

[Nearly Blonded]

I like the imagery here a lot. Was relatively easy to follow and I was intrigued as the plot thickened. Nice write.

[Karmee]

It has good plot through out. Reads very well. Wonderful imagery and descriptive.