Michael woke to the soft whir of medical equipment and the muted glow of medbay lights. For a moment, eyes still closed, he felt a sense of disorientation—as if he was forgetting something important. His body was heavy with lingering sedation, and a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. He inhaled slowly, noticing the sanitized scent of the air and a faint chemical tang.
Memory returned in a rush: the EVA, the storm, and then… everything. He snapped his eyes open and sat bolt upright, heart suddenly hammering.
Across the small room, on the other cot, another Michael—himself—lay staring up at the ceiling. The other man turned his head at the abrupt movement. Their eyes met. It was a strange sensation, locking gaze with a perfect mirror of one's own. With a deep breath, Michael forced himself to speak. "Morning," the other Michael—no, his mind corrected, Michael, just like him—said softly. His voice was rough from sleep or maybe residual sickness.
Michael swallowed, finding his mouth dry. "Morning," he replied, equally quiet. He became aware of Juliet standing just outside the medbay doorway, speaking in hushed tones to someone—Devon, perhaps. Sera's face appeared at the observation window for a second, then retreated. They were giving the two Michaels some space, it seemed.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool floor. The events of the previous day felt surreal now, like a twisted dream. But the reality was right in front of him, sitting up on the opposite cot, running a hand through unkempt hair.
"I don't even know where to start," Michael admitted.
The other Michael glanced down at his hands. "Do you… remember anything from last night?" he asked, voice tentative. "I mean, after we went to sleep."
Michael frowned. "No, I crashed pretty hard. Why?"
The other Michael looked troubled. "I had a weird dream, I think. Might have been a hallucination from the sedative. I felt like I was choking, like I couldn't breathe. I remember struggling, and then… nothing. When I woke just now I was fine, so probably just a nightmare." He shook it off.
Michael felt a prickle of unease. A dream of suffocating? Perhaps just anxiety manifesting, or something more? He decided not to dwell on it. They had more pressing issues.
He cleared his throat. "Listen… about what we found. The pod, the logs… It looks like I—" he stopped, realizing the presumptive phrasing, "—that one of us was created yesterday. A copy."
The other Michael winced, and Michael realized he was just as unsure which of them that statement applied to.
"Yeah." The other rubbed his face. "The evidence suggests it's me. I mean, the one who got pulled in first. I… I might be the copy."
Michael looked at him, surprised by the blunt admission. "Why do you say that?"
He shrugged, but there was a quaver in his voice. "It makes sense. You were out there physically the whole time. I appeared inside out of nowhere. The station thought you died and made a backup—you must be the original."
Hearing it said so plainly made Michael's heart ache unexpectedly. A part of him wanted to accept that—he had felt he was the original all along. But seeing the anguish on his double's face tempered any relief.
"I… maybe," he conceded. "But then, you have all my memories. Up until that last moment. Doesn't that mean, in a way, you are me? Just a me that branched off."
The other Michael looked up, eyes slightly red as if holding back tears. "I remember everything about my life. Our life. I don't feel any different. But I woke up in this place, and suddenly there's another version of me with the same memories claiming to be the real one. It's like I've gone crazy."
Michael felt a pang of sympathy. "I can't even imagine. I mean, for me it was… I came in to find another me inside. For you, you woke up and everything seemed fine, until—"
"Until I saw you through that window," the other finished, voice hollow. He shuddered at the recollection.
They fell silent for a moment. Michael's eyes wandered to the floor. "If one of us is a copy, do you think that makes him—makes us—any less real?"
"I don't know," the other said quietly. "What does 'real' even mean? I feel real. I bleed. I think. I… I care about people. God, I still care about our family back home, even knowing if I'm a copy, I'm not the 'son' they knew. How messed up is that?" His voice cracked.
Michael realized something: if he was the original, he had parents, siblings, friends waiting for him in the world. If the other was a copy, what did that mean for those relationships? Would they apply to him? Probably not in the eyes of others. He would be considered, at best, a twin brother, at worst an imposter. That was an awful fate.
"It's not messed up," Michael said firmly. "It means you care because you're human. You have those memories and feelings just like I do. You're as much their son and friend as I am."
The other Michael looked at him searchingly. "Do you really believe that? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"
Michael held the gaze. "I believe it. Logically, one of us has a continuous line back to being born and growing up, and the other's line started yesterday. But subjectively… we both remember that childhood. We both have lived those years, in our minds. That counts for something."
A tear escaped down the other Michael's cheek, and he wiped it quickly, almost angrily. "God, this is so… beyond anything." He sighed. "I wonder if this happened before, somewhere. If there are other people like us."
Michael shrugged. "If so, I never heard of it. Which probably means corporations keep it very quiet."
They shared a knowing look. Both had worked with big corporate entities long enough to know how secrets were kept.
"That's what scares me," the other Michael said, lowering his voice even though they were alone. "This tech… it's supposed to be secret. And now we're living proof of it. You think they'll let us just go home? Even you, the original, if that's what you are. You know about this now."
Michael's stomach knotted. He had avoided fully thinking about it, but of course his double was right. "Elena and I talked about it a bit, before I was sedated. She doesn't trust what HQ will do."
"To you either? But you didn't do anything."
Michael gestured at their identical faces. "To them, maybe we both did just by existing. We are a big complication."
The other Michael winced. "I really might be considered company property. The thing they grew in their lab." He spat the words bitterly.
Michael found himself standing and taking a step closer, almost on impulse. "You're not property. I won't let them treat you like that."
His double looked up at him, startled by the contact. Michael had placed a hand on his shoulder—a strange act of comfort, like consoling a twin brother he never had. The other Michael looked at him, his eyes watery and uncertain.
"How are you going to stop them? If they order one of us… me… to be terminated or taken away? You'd risk everything to fight that?"
Michael set his jaw. "I—I don't know. But yes, if it comes to it. The crew too, I think. They're on our side."
A ghost of a smile appeared on the other's face. "We have a good crew," he agreed softly. "I could see it in how they've treated me… even when they weren't sure what I was."
Michael nodded. He felt a swell of gratitude towards his crewmates. They had approached this with as much empathy as shock. Juliet patching both of them up tenderly, Elena asserting their personhood, Devon safeguarding them from the AI, Sera blinking back tears at their plight. None of them had turned into an angry mob or panicked beyond reason. Not yet, anyway.
The other Michael cleared his throat. "I keep calling you 'the original' in my head," he admitted. "But I realize I don't actually know for sure. It's just… that's how it feels."
Michael appreciated the honesty. "It feels that way to me too. That I'm the original, I mean. But I don't know how to really tell. Our DNA is the same. We think the same. I guess… maybe that moment our paths diverged is the only thing."
The other looked away. "You experienced something I didn't: being stuck outside nearly dying. And I experienced something you didn't: being inside safe, not knowing anything was wrong. Those are the only differences." He paused. "Well, that and this." He tapped the bandage on his side, where his wound from the hull probably was.
Michael instinctively touched the same spot on his own side, where he felt only smooth skin. "I don't have that injury."
"No, you wouldn't," the other said. "I got cut before I blacked out outside. You… the you inside when that happened… came into being after that, maybe without the injury."
Michael frowned. It was a small but telling discrepancy. If any physical difference could mark who was who, that was one. Unless the medbay apparatus somehow healed it while making the clone? But that was unlikely; more likely the clone was fresh without that damage.
He realized something. "If HQ examines us, they might use that kind of difference to tell us apart."