“I’ll make a note of it, Mr. Adams. Anything you don’t eat you can deposit in the composter. There’s a small door just behind the kitchen sink.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” he said. “Oh, and that beer you got me, I prefer something simpler. Budweiser would be fine from now on.”

“Noted,” she told him. “But that request was from Mr. Higgins.”

“Mr. Higgins?”

“Yes, Brent Higgins. He’s the data analyst that will be working with you each day. He’s scheduled to come and see you this afternoon.”

“I know who he is. I just wasn’t aware he was going to be making beer requests.”

“Since he’s going to be spending so much time in there with you, I suppose he has a few extra benefits,” she said. “I can get that beer to you by this afternoon. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Something for a headache, maybe?”

“The medicine cabinet in the bathroom is fully stocked. You should find what you need.”

“I’ll look, then. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, Mr. Adams. It’s my job.”

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Andrea,” she said. “I’m the day shift. At night, you’ll speak to someone else.”

“Thanks, Andrea.”

There were at least three different things in the medicine cabinet that he could have taken for a headache. He was also covered for a sprained ankle, allergies, upset stomach and, apparently, a sudden attack of killer zombie bees. It was as well supplied as any pharmacy. He swallowed two tablets with a glass of water. Then he loosened his tie, took off his work shoes and stretched out on the mammoth bed. It was unexpectedly comfortable.

Despite the headache and the after-effects of the sedative, Jeremiah’s mind raced. He was amazed at the exactness of the clone. Everything about the appearance was precise, right down to the smattering of gray in the hair. And when he’d heard the thing speak for the first time on the monitor, he was struck not only by the voice but the intonation and the slight hesitation before it spoke. It was a habit Jeremiah had noticed in himself. It was positively eerie how accurate it was. And he knew for a fact that the similarities didn’t end there. Aside from the Meld duplicating thought patterns, behavior and the rest, the clone was a perfect copy of Jeremiah inside as well—right down to the molecular level, right down to the slightest cellular makeup. Dr. Pike had seen to that.

The first time he’d met the good doctor, for what Jeremiah had assumed would be a simple routine exam, he’d been put into a room-size scanner, strapped into a severe-looking chair that jerked around by way of hydraulics and had his entire medical history recorded. The machine, created by a team of ViMed scientists and specifically for use in this project, had completed a medical probe unlike anything in history. It detected everything, and left Pike with an exhaustive list of every childhood illness Jeremiah had ever suffered, every metabolic imbalance, every virus, vaccination and injury. It had even picked up on the fact that Jeremiah had broken the same arm twice, once at the age of seven, and again at twenty-two. The injuries had left him with the disturbing ability to rotate his left arm several degrees farther than his right. His clone, Pike had told him, would be able to do the same thing.