Michael Chan felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. He sat on the edge of the medbay cot, shirt removed so Dr. Whitaker could run the body scanner over him. His side throbbed where she had hastily cleaned and sealed the gash along his ribs. He barely registered the pain; his mind was too numb from shock.
Across the small medbay, only a few meters away, that other man—his double, his copy, his imposter, whatever he was—stood stiffly with arms crossed, undergoing the same scanning treatment. The other Michael's eyes darted to him occasionally with an expression that mirrored Michael's own mix of fear and anger. It was like looking into a distorted mirror.
Michael tore his gaze away and fixed it on Juliet Whitaker's face instead. The doctor was focused on her scanner readouts, professional calm masking what must be inner turmoil. Michael tried to ground himself in tangible sensations: the cool air on his bare skin, the hum of the medbay's ventilation, the faint ache in his muscles. These were real. I am real, he told himself, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Elena stood at the foot of his bed, tablet in hand, observing quietly. She offered him a small, reassuring nod when he met her eyes, but he sensed her unease. They were all on edge.
"Initial vitals are stable," Dr. Whitaker was saying, half to herself. She stepped over to the other Michael and adjusted the scanner near his temple, then glanced back at a screen comparing results. "Heart rates elevated in both, understandable given the circumstances. Radiation levels… higher in the EVA exposure subject, but nothing immediately life-threatening after treatment." She looked pointedly at Michael on the cot as she said the last part, indicating him as the EVA subject.
Michael grimaced; his stomach still churned from the radiation sickness, but he'd survive. The other Michael had apparently also been dosed with anti-radiation meds prophylactically, just in case.
Devon Okoro was perched by the medbay's terminal, linking the scanner outputs to the main system for analysis. Sera hovered near the door, tablet in hand as well, likely logging events or ready to call for help if needed. The tension in the room was taut, like a drawn wire.
After a few more beeps and whirrs of scanning, Juliet exhaled and put the device aside. "Alright. We have two very physically identical individuals here. Let's start with the basics." She addressed them both now, adopting the tone of a practitioner doing a routine exam, as if this were normal. "Full name and birthdate."
Michael answered first, his voice rough: "Michael Lee Chan, born August 17, 2043." It felt strange to say such a banal detail in this context. He saw the doctor nod and mark her pad.
The other Michael spoke immediately after: "Michael Lee Chan, born August 17, 2043." His voice was softer, but the words were identical. Hearing his own data repeated by someone else sent a chill down Michael's spine.
Juliet pursed her lips. "Serial number of your neural implant, if you recall it."
Michael recited, "MN-CH571-Alpha." He'd memorized it during training, as required.
The other Michael echoed, "MN-CH571-Alpha," just a beat after, as if they were in grade school giving the same answer.
Devon tapped at his console. "I'm pulling the implant IDs directly… and I'm seeing two active signals. Both with that ID." He turned in his chair to face them, incredulous. "That shouldn't be possible. Implants have unique identifiers."
Elena's brow furrowed. "Perhaps one is a clone of the ID, like a copied profile?"
"Maybe," Devon said, scratching his head. "But the network usually would flag a duplicate. It hasn't. It's as if the system thinks they're one and the same moving around. Which explains why the airlock system got confused."
Michael looked between them. "The airlock… yes, what happened? I tried to get in, but it wouldn't open for me." His frustration bubbled up. "I was out there banging and screaming while you all—" He stopped short of accusing them of ignoring him, but the hurt was evident.
Elena stepped closer, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. "Michael, listen. We thought you were already inside. The system showed an entry. We… we had you," she glanced at the other Michael, "in here. Alive. We only realized something was wrong when Sera picked up your comm signal later."
Michael took that in. It matched what he'd gathered: they genuinely believed they'd rescued him. How? He struggled to reconcile it. His mind flashed back to those harrowing minutes after the storm.
He spoke, voice low, recounting it as much for himself as for them. "I remember reaching the airlock and getting inside it—at least, I thought I did. I remember hitting the button, the door closing behind me… and then everything went black. Next thing I knew, I was floating just outside the airlock on my tether. The outer door was shut and I was still outside."
The others listened intently. The other Michael had uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, as if drawn in by the story of his own EVA.
Michael continued, throat tightening at the memory. "My helmet display was flickering. I had a splitting headache. I must've lost consciousness for a while. When I came to, I saw the station was still there, quiet. I tried the airlock panel with my gloved hand but it didn't respond. My access code… it didn't work. It was like I didn't exist. I was locked out."
Juliet's hand covered her mouth briefly, eyes sympathetic. Devon muttered a curse under his breath.
Michael forced himself to keep speaking, though his voice shook. "I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I'd died and this was… I don't know, some afterlife where I'm stuck watching. But I felt pain, the cold, my air warning was blinking. I knew it was real. So I used the emergency suit comm and began broadcasting on all channels, shouting for you. I hit the hull with a tool. I… I begged." He closed his eyes, remembering the desperate emptiness of it. "For a long time, no answer. I nearly… I almost gave up."
He realized his hands were trembling and clenched them until his nails bit his palms. Sera sniffled softly by the door, wiping an eye. She looked stricken by the thought of him calling for help without them hearing.
Elena bowed her head. "The storm had knocked out a lot. We weren't on external sensors at first. As soon as we heard you, we responded. I'm sorry you were out there alone."
Michael opened his eyes and met her gaze. He believed her. The captain's face bore genuine remorse. He gave a small nod, accepting it wasn't deliberate.
Then the other Michael spoke, voice subdued. "While he… you were outside," he said, looking at Michael directly, "I remember being pulled through the airlock and into this medbay. I blacked out for most of it, but I woke up inside, with Dr. Whitaker telling me I made it." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly unnerved. "I had no clue something was wrong. I thought I was the one who survived, the only one."
Michael felt a ripple of unreality hearing someone else describe his presumed rescue. To the other him, that memory was as real as Michael's memory of being left outside. They had lived two different fates.
Juliet exchanged glances with Elena. "It sounds like their memory timeline diverged at the moment of the airlock entry," she said. "One's experience continues inside, the other's continues outside."
"How could that be?" Sera blurted, then reddened as all eyes turned to her. "I mean, is it like… some kind of parallel universe thing?" She gave a half-laugh like it was absurd, because it was.
"No evidence of anything like that," Devon said. "This seems like a straight duplication event." He swiveled to face them fully. "I have a working theory, if you'll hear it."
Elena nodded. "Go on."
Devon tapped his temple. "Our neural implants. They don't just assist with comms and monitoring. They constantly back up memory logs to the station AI core – for analysis, for recordkeeping. Corporate loves data on us. Normally it's just a stream of numbers."
Michael knew this; he had signed the waivers. Everything he experienced was likely logged in some way for later review. It was invasive, but standard now in deep-space missions for liability and training.
Devon continued, "If Michael's implant flatlined for a moment out there, maybe the system flagged a fatality. Perhaps… the station or the AI has a protocol to 'preserve' a mind-state if a death is detected."
Michael's eyes widened. That sounded far-fetched. But then again, big corporations were known to experiment with neurotech. He looked to see how others reacted. Juliet was nodding slowly.
"I did see a neural flatline in his medical log," she confirmed. "For about two seconds, his brain activity ceased during the storm." She shot Michael an apologetic look for not mentioning it sooner. "I chalked it up to sensor error."
Devon leaned forward, excitement growing in his voice as he pieced it together. "What if it wasn't an error? What if he did die, clinically, for a second or two? The system might have triggered an emergency protocol. Perhaps uploading his consciousness, or activating a clone with the last recorded memories."
"Cloning… that quickly? That's science fiction," Sera said, though her tone lacked conviction.
Juliet frowned. "Actually, some biotech firms have been researching rapid cloning and mind transfer for high-value personnel. I've read papers."
Elena folded her arms, her face tense. "Our station isn't supposed to have anything like that. But… There were some sealed systems in the medbay I've never accessed, marked proprietary. Could the corporation have installed a contingency without our knowledge?"
A heavy silence followed. It was one thing to suspect; it was another to speak aloud.