The ten-page report had been the first stepping stone in a digital paper trail, which had led him to the correct region of Grant’s information atlas. The summary report had contained the name of one particular human scientist – Richard Unsworth, curiously enough – who had been tasked with collecting and analysing the research. Nathaniel Pearce had been the primary researcher, and the man who had watched the explosions and blood fireworks, but Unsworth had dealt with the boring paperwork side of his abhorrent experiments.

Unsworth’s personal section held enough files and subfolders to fill an average civilian’s computer, but Ewan felt he was close to the needle in his data haystack. He had narrowed his search down to three folders, all of which were labelled with nerdy sciencey names that sounded too clever for him.

The clone two desks away moved and the back of his head twitched. Ewan almost leapt to his feet, but calmed himself when he discovered the clone had only stood up to stretch. Ewan was closer to Grant’s bedroom and the brain of New London than ever before, and his nerves were showing.

He got another shock a moment later, when the printer behind him pierced the silence of the chamber. Zip-whirr, zip-whirr, zip-whirr. Alex stood up from his seat and walked to the back of the room.

Ewan shook his head as discreetly as he could. While he was stuck in his seat, drawing as little attention to himself as possible, Alex had no problem walking across a roomful of clones towards the noisiest object in the chamber.

But is that confidence or desperation? If I had gaps in my memory, I’d probably throw caution to the wind too.

Whatever ‘caution to the wind’ is supposed to mean.

Wait… did I just find what I’m looking for?

Inside the penultimate folder of his search lay an average scientist’s lifetime of work, and the bulk of Pearce’s research over the last six months – from the opening preamble and theoretical principles, through a thousand spreadsheets of experimental data, to the final preparations for coordinate tracing and mapping. Ewan didn’t understand a word, but he knew it all needed deleting.

Pearce and Unsworth had proved that even the world’s cleverest scientists were not always smart people. They had made the same mistake that the Oakenfold staff once had with their students’ behaviour records, and kept all of their files in one place to be found and destroyed by the first rogue teenager who had the chance.

Two other clones rose to their feet. Ewan moved his eyes, and noticed that the stretching clone had not sat down again.

He highlighted every file in the magic folder, and planted his forefinger on the delete button. His heart skipped a beat, then his actions were met with the most annoying safety net in human history: the double-checking dialog box.

Are you sure you want to delete the selected item(s)?