The Cat Has More Questions

Leaning against the wall, he lights another smoke and holds it out to me, but I shake my head. Since my change, I find nicotine ramps me up and I've had enough already; I don't need to bounce off the walls like a meth freak.

"It's not that simple. It would be easier if it were, but it couldn't work that way. We're not different people from another time; we're different versions of the same person altogether." He studies me for a moment. "Are you sure you want to dive into this? The science isn't a brownie baking class, and once you go through the Looking Glass, you can't come back. Knowing the truth changes how people see us, which is why we don't make it public knowledge. Besides, I don't see how knowing about our creation gets you to Final Jeopardy."

"I plan on sampling and cross-checking the samples to see what happens to each. I have an old friend who can examine it. I hope to get a clue what's going on from the DNA strands by looking for anomalies. I'm not sure what the next step is from there, but the info you give me might provide background for whatever questions he has. My friend is beyond discreet and I won't raise any flags anywhere, if that's what you're worried about. I'll make sure it's all anonymously labeled. I figure even if it doesn't help now, it might at some point. I didn't know what you might give me, so who knows what I can run with from here?"

He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. My answer must have satisfied him because he continues, "Right then, on we go. No matter how you shake it, no matter what our gifts or traits are, most of that is learned behavior, just like with humans. Think of us like chapters of a book. A book is a book no matter what the contents are, and pages always change from one to the next. Just because the story and the cover are different doesn't mean that a book is suddenly not a book."

Blowing a smoke ring, he stops, checking to see if I'm with him. "The problem the docs at the Company ran into after they released my brothers and I was a variable customer base. Human nature makes you all want the same things, but not exactly the same. Every one of you likes how we look—and why wouldn't you—but you find different things appealing or attractive." He winks at me playfully and I roll my eyes.

"Look around and you'll see what I mean. Some of the newer clones are so far removed from the originals that you wouldn't know we're related except for a familial resemblance. Scratch that, with the physical variations, you wouldn't even know who we're modeled off on some." He waves his hand, gesturing as if we're in The Rift and I could just yank a clone off the street.

"That's true, even with the droids, though I understand simple programming makes that situation easier."

"The lab coats figured out that our looks were the big customer pleaser, but they struggled to have us look alike while being unique personalities. Using normal cloning methods, they realized no matter how much editing of the ‘pages' they did, the book simply stayed the same. It was because they were using DNA from the originals, but tinkering with sequences to change certain chapters. Their ‘first tries' ended up eventually mirroring the original model every single time."

"Like how Antonio is like you or Cruise is like Trey or Jazz is like Alistair? Not exactly, but sort of?"

He shakes his head. "They're all next generation—what came next. But your brain work isn't bad." I must look puzzled because he eyes me warily through the haze of smoke. "Are you sure you're following the analogy, okay, Sandwich?"

"I'm not a nitwit. Thank you for dumbing it down for me," I retort, giving him a wry smile. His doubt makes me irritated and I stretch, feeling cramped with tension. "Since we're going to be here for a while, I need to stretch out. Unless it makes you uncomfortable to be beneath me?" I don't wait for his response, instead scrambling up to lie on my tummy on the cool stones of the wall. The woman and the kitty in me sigh in relief at the position and I smirk at him from above.

Taurus quirks a brow, looking as though he's about to spit out one of those irritatingly accurate quips, but simply grins. "I'm only checking, Sandwich. I gotta make sure you're still on board because after this, the water gets bloody deep. To give you the info you want to know, I have to dive into some high-end science. I don't understand it completely myself, but since I'm standing here, I'm inclined to believe in it. You'll have to take my word that I'm only relating what I've been told by eggheads. Also, you shouldn't be insulted by me grade schooling it up; it's too damned hard to grasp if I don't."

I can't figure out if he's trying to lighten the mood, temper his words, or disarm me. I've given up on figuring him out, so I roll my eyes. "I didn't ask for proof of concept, you jackass. If I didn't trust you to tell the truth, I would have left hours ago. Besides, because your sense of smell is as good as mine, you know that when people—even clones—lie, they smell like sweaty socks. It must have to do with their pulse rate. I smell every other damned thing like it's stuck up my nose—why not lies?"

Laughing softly, he looks at me quietly as he listens to me grumble. I'm just about to get into a snit over his condescending silence when he reaches up and tucks a tendril of stray hair behind my ear. That damned warm smile is back, and his fingertips brush my cheek lightly as he draws away.

The flustered feeling that gesture causes in my tummy makes me stop in my tracks and I'm not sure what to do. Soft is not something I expected from Taurus. I cover for my confusion by kicking my feet up in the air and smirking down at him. "Go on. I've digressed as I'm wont to do when people distract me in devious ways."

"I believe I'm hurt, kitten. You think I'm deviously distracting you?" He looks anything but wounded. "I feel it's my duty to inform you that if I was trying something like that, you'd be none the wiser." Before I can growl something in response, he shrugs. "Though it's always possible I'm underestimating your higher cognitive functions."

Arrogant jackass. Of course, that's possible, if not probable.

"Come to think of it, I've been meaning to ask you something. Since you're already huffy, it's a good time," he says casually, watching me fume down at him. "I need to know what your knowledge base is on a couple of scientific ideologies integral to the how's and why"s of what the docs did. It'll save having to cover something as I'm talking, so be honest. How familiar are you with quantum physics and the probabilities of chaos theory?"

Fuck. Now I'll have to admit I don't know something, and he can feel all superior.

I can't give into his ploy, so I pretend to ponder for a moment before I reply, "Physics isn't my forte, mostly because of math. I'm a biology gal. If you're keeping it simple, I should be able to follow along—my IQ is well over one forty-five, after all. I'll pipe up if I get lost; I'm not shy."

It probably surprised him I admitted I need hand holding through the tough bits, but he doesn't show it. Frankly, I'm aware of my limitations and math is definitely one of them. I wouldn't be touching any of this shit with a ten-foot pole if I didn't have to, but necessity is the mother of invention and all that rot. I take a deep breath so I can try to find my center so I'm working with brain and not beast. "Okay, lay it on me, prof. I'm ready for you to science me up and stuff."

"Right. So I'll assume—what with the kitty litter version of a Mensa card you've got tucked away somewhere—you're familiar with the law of physics relating to equal and opposite reactions. When you add quantum physics, you get another world of ‘huh?'. It changes to every action having an equal and opposite action, which differs from reaction."

One sentence in and I'm already bored. I nod, but it will get harder for me the further we go. I'm still itchy, hungry, and riled up from earlier. That and my lack of interest in the theoretical parts of science are making focus exceedingly difficult. It's taking a lot of energy to make my brain stand still to process.

Maybe I'm the wrong person to be gathering this information.

"Translating those theories into a relatable scientific hypothesis goes like this: reality isn't a single, solid strand in time and space. It feels a little ‘wibbly wobbly timey wimey' to say, but it's all wibbly wobbly at this level." He looks up, grinning at me when he realizes I got his reference.

"See, all the strands in the big rope of events represent different decisions and actions taken, which means they alter the lives we lead day to day. It's like a cosmic Choose Your Own Adventure book. Thanks to the only non-elemental weight substance in all realities being gamma rays, the docs realized it was possible to exchange materials from one reality to the next."

His brows furrow, and he shakes his head, correcting himself. "It's possible for the Company to, at least. Humans in the other world don't have the slightest clue about this. That's part of how our little slice of heaven through the portal exists, you know. Given that these strands represent massive, unimaginable differences between our realities, it's like the clones after the originals are from Earth 2 or something. If you can parse that, you know it's because we're talking about actions or roads traveled spanning the entire evolution of a universe, which is a sodding long time."

"Stop right there." I hold my hand up and then pinch the bridge of my nose. Why didn't I pay more attention in high school physics? A little more knowledge would make me feel like less of a numbskull. "I hate to be the dumb redhead of the class—more than you'll ever know—but that might not be grade schooled up enough for me. I know you're speaking English, but your lips might as well be flapping in French. Sadly, I'd get more if it was in French."

He grins, looking pleased with himself. "I warned you it got into deep, churning waters. Let's stick it in a lunchable and see if it's easier to swallow. Do you ever wake up in the morning, look at the clock, and not want to go to work or wherever it is kitties like you go during the day?"

"Only every day, my friend. I imagine because of the hedonist in me, I probably do that far more than most people." I tap the tips of my claws over the stones thoughtfully as I listen and practice control at the same time.

"Perfect! The hypothesis behind quantum physics depends on one rule: in our reality, on those days, you did what you were supposed to and hauled tail out of bed. However, in another strand, you aren't such a good little automaton and you don't. Or maybe you do in another, but you blow off work in another strand. Or in a different strand, you don't have a bed, only a hammock."

"Are you sure there isn't a way to explain this with like sock puppets or something? Generationally speaking, puppets are outstanding teachers for my age group. Oh! Maybe there's a nerdy engineer in a lab coat and a bowtie who could try?"

"You can get this, Sandwich, you need to stop letting the cat inside of you cloud your mind with animal instincts and turn on your higher brain functions. Think in the fourth dimension." His expression is full of exasperation, but he's eerily right on target.

"How very ‘Age of Aquarius' of you."

"That's the Fifth Dimension, and what did I say about focus? Christ, I'm never getting naked tonight." He cracks his neck and grumbles to himself, knowing I can hear every damned word.

When I open my mouth to snipe, he holds up a finger and continues, "Let's say we live in a ribbon. Visualize one ribbon, you got it?" I nod and he continues. "In this ribbon, you gave a shout to Talia, asking to meet with me. In another ribbon, you chickened out. Now we have two completely separate ribbons, right?"

I close my eyes to picture it as instructed, but I can feel him smirking and give him the middle finger.

Chuckling, he pats my knee. "Okay, in one we're here having a verbal spar, but in the other, you're asleep in what must be the biggest bed in the cosmos. Those two ribbons continue their path and spiral off into the future and never meet again. Picture that."

Sighing, I do so, squinting my eyes, which earns me another soft laugh. "So, this ribbon is real to us because we're here, but who knows what'll happen in the one where we never have this confab? Who knows how our lives will change now that we have met? Imagine the poor puss and peacock who don't get this opportunity—all these widening gaps make new realities. Despite that, they are similar enough that one of the lab coats figured out how to exchange info through that big span of nothing that separates each reality. Don't ask me to get technical on that part, as even I don't fully grasp the science."

It's nice to know he still thinks this favor he's doing me is going to change my life.

He is such an arrogant jackass. How in the hell does he, his ego, and Talia fit into a bed that isn't comparable in size to mine? He's playing nice, though, so I guess I should, too. And as long as I can get oxygen to speak with that monstrous ego smothering us, I will.

"The bottom line is that every single, tiny, minute little action taken by every living thing in this universe creates endless possibilities, which makes the number of those strands infinite. Voila! In an instant, there are different versions of the same people ready for the plucking. Chaos theory has its part, as nothing is ever perfect, but it's late. I don't think that shit has much to do with your question, so we'll skip the dinosaur theme park part of the explanation."

"I'll take an order of ‘leaving it out' forever. I'm still a wee bit confused, but I'm working it out. The pop culture references are helping." I'm also cranky as fuck. I hate having to tell him I'm an idiot when I insisted I wasn't.

Pride goeth, they say, and though my ego isn't nearly as healthy as his, I severely dislike being in the non-advanced classes.

"The least common denominator in relation to the different clones bit? There are infinite realities where the original lives and exists exactly like it is here. However, because of choices made and what happens because of them, our base personality and appearance are a combination of genetics and sociology that define us. But we write an entirely original story in every ribbon. We are who we are because of everything that has happened before us, from a fish growing legs to my breakfast this morning to what I'll do when I get home tonight."

I feel his gaze on me, and I open my eyes, nodding.

"Every time a path branches off, it creates a new ribbon and a new version of me somewhere else. The lab coats came up with this theory primarily to cater to the needs of the Company, but what they didn't expect was that they might make more money ‘creating' made-to-order clones for the client doing the ordering. They swapped DNA between the realities and poof! Git looks the same, but isn't the same at all. Keep in mind, I'm only explaining the basic skeleton of how the process works. How they actually accomplish this is mind blowing and a trade secret."

I give him an expectant look, having caught up enough to know I should be able to communicate this to my researcher if need be. He needs to give me a soundbite about the specific process to share.

"Fine, but if I get my ass reamed over this, I'm sending them after you," he huffs. "The short story is: same docs, all realities, like we said. Every reality that has the scientific capacity breaks down the DNA, attaches it to gamma rays small enough to slip through bitty holes in their realities, as they all had the idea at the same time. They all sent it out, knowing that the others would do the same, and here we are. They've shared strains from one strand to the next hundreds of times. It's definitely more technical and a lot of high-end science, but that's the basics, pet."

"It's making sense, I think. You're saying that on a fundamental level, the DNA will not be the same. It will look similar, like a familial match, because it's from incarnations of the three of you. That tells me enough that I know where to start, I suppose. Maybe I can even figure out why I've been feeling weird. Different donors constantly floating around inside of me might cause my strand to mutate."

He chuckles and lights another smoke, leaning against the wall. "No worries, Sandwich. I've seen weirder shit than you and imagine that I will again. Are we done here or are you planning on running me to the ground again the second I turn my back?"

I blink, realizing that we're done for now. He answered my questions; I made a promise, and there isn't much left besides heading home. I'm a little disappointed because I've been enjoying myself. I'd cut my tongue out rather than admit it to him, but I actually had fun.

I guess I don't hate him.

The shrewd look he gives me stops the words before I can reply. "It's not like you don't know where to find me, if something else starts twisting up inside that noggin' of yours."

A tiny smile curls my lips and I tilt my head, feeling pleased. "I might do that if I need help."

He pushes off the wall, looking up into the sky. "Have you ever taken the kitty face on the prowl? Like go out for a bit of sport—rip and tear—that sort of thing?"

Sliding off the wall with feline grace, I shake my head. "Nope. I don't know anyone who does that kind of thing."

His teeth flash as he looks over his shoulder, his eyes spearing me with an intense look. "You do now." Turning away, he waves and says, "If you are ever so inclined, find me. I'll be around. It's been interesting chatting you up, puss."

Before I can get another word in, he shimmers and disappears. I growl to myself, muttering under my breath about drama queens as I hop on the bike. I wanted answers and even though it took all night; I have them. They just led to more questions, but he warned me about that.

Sighing, I gun the engine and head off into the night to work off my pent-up aggression.