‘You know your dad better than the rest of us. I think Grant ordered Pearce to leave his clones mute so they’d always be inferior to real humans. What do you think, am I right?’

Shannon paused, as if the thought of reading her father’s mind filled her with existential dread.

Knowing her upbringing, Ewan thought, it probably does.

‘…Everything he ever did was about control. M-maybe you’re right.’

‘And if he truly wanted to give his clones the power of speech – to spy on his enemies or something – he’d be able to do it, right?’

She paused again.

‘Yes. He would.’

‘And he could even remove the war and peace settings in their mind, to make them act like regular people?’

‘…Yes.’

‘OK,’ said Jack, ‘then I propose a blood test.’

He pointed at Alex’s face and made fierce eye contact. Ewan was impressed at his friend’s directness: it was as if the experience of killing cloned versions of Alex had given Jack a newfound confidence around him.

‘We take some of Alex’s blood,’ Jack continued, ‘and put it in a petri dish or something to see how quickly it ages. In three hours’ time we look at it and check if it’s started turning to jelly. If it hasn’t, we know he’s telling the truth.’

There were nods of agreement all around the armoury, including from Ewan, but no words. Nobody in the group had anything to add to Jack’s logic, except for Alex.

‘For the sake of fairness,’ he spat, ‘how about all ten of you go through the same thing? OK, so Grant must have taken my DNA from somewhere. Most of us have been to New London. Even McCormick’s been once before! And if they took it from me, they could have taken it from anyone who’s been in the Outer City and bled on the floor, or spat, or sneezed, or picked their nose and wiped it on the wall!’

‘You’re wrong, Alex,’ Ewan said. ‘They didn’t take it from your DNA. Not unless your DNA has a memory. Shannon, do you think clones can be made with attached memories? If Pearce scans the previous model’s brain or something?’

‘…Yes.’

Alex snorted, and thumped an angry fist against the wall behind him. Ewan spoke again.

‘What are the chances of those clones finding their way to Lemsford?’ he asked. ‘What are the chances of all three of them being grown from your model? There’s a one in a million chance of it all being coincidence, so the other nine hundred thousand must be the chance of them remembering.’

‘You really do have learning difficulties, don’t you?’

‘They can’t get your memories from snot wiped on the wall,’ Ewan replied, ignoring the blatant insult. ‘At some point, your brain must have been scanned. It’s time to stop lying.’

‘I’m not f—’