"Do you think he'll be alright?" Tubinger asked. "He argues and objects at every step."

"He signed the release," van Els replied. "As long as he doesn't walk away, or tell us Stop or No, he's deeply committed to the program, as far as I'm concerned."

At that, Tubinger scurried away, wondering how much he could pretend to not know, if the whole thing went sour.

 

---

Groans From Timbuctoo
by Kaleigh Way
 
4. How Many Peas Are In a Pod?
 

Isaac van Els was massively intelligent and possessed a monumental ego, but he didn't let either of those things blind him to practical realities.

Right now, for instance, when a group of congressional representatives had flown all the way across the country for the sole purpose of chewing him out, van Els bowed his head and listened. Really listened. He was contrite where appropriate, as honest as possible, and as humble and sincere as he could manage. He chose his battles very carefully, sticking to his guns only when absolutely necessary. And he was always respectful.

Any other self-important scientific prodigy would have scorned the legislators and tried to make them feel like idiots. Not van Els.

He knew that they needed to feel in charge. He was well aware that most of what was being said was simply for show. All the real fallout, the true implications, would come afterward. For now, he simply had to watch his words... and avoid making promises, concessions, or — above all — confessions.

Unfortunately, the congressional panel was determined to nail van Els to the wall. They wanted to make an example of him, to flex their congressional might. If they could bring van Els to heel, no one at Timbuctoo would doubt who was really in charge.

And so, armed with piles of documents and a carefully mapped strategy, they called him in and constructed a laundry list of issues, sins, transgressions, and possible crimes.

They accused him of:

• Experimentation on humans
• Failure to seek authorization
• Failure to explore the ethical implications of his research
• Failure to follow medical and psychological protocols
• Failure to receive written informed consent from his research subjects
• Reckless disregard for his subjects' rights and welfare

The list went on and on.

They pointed out, for example, that Dr. Kang could have died of a broken neck during the big-head transformation, and that he'd made no provision to protect her.

They made much of Sammy's sexual reassignment, as well as the temporary changes undergone by Doctors Mahon and Kang. They made van Els admit that not only did he not follow the established protocols for gender reassignment, but also that he had no idea what those protocols consisted of.

"Sammy is a case that particularly troubles us," one Massachusetts congressman said. "It's my understanding that gender reassignment is meant to be a long, slow, gradual process, in order to give the subject ample opportunity to change their mind."

"Have you met Sammy?" van Els asked. "Have you seen her? She's quite happy in her new body."

The congressman removed his glasses and fixed his eyes on van Els. "Are you a qualified professional in the field of mental health, sir?"

"No," van Els admitted.

"Do you have the professional preparation and experience to assert that these people you've... altered won't suffer long-term psychological damage from what you've done to them?"

"Congressman, I don't know whether you're aware, but the device takes a sort of genetic/somatic snapshot of a person. If they don't like what they've become, they can always revert to what they once were."

"And yet," the congressman pointed out, "in the specific case I've mentioned, you've destroyed Sammy's orginal 'snapshot' — haven't you?"

van Els stopped short. "Yes, that's true," he admitted. "But that was at her specific request."

The congressman smiled grimly. "Then she can't go back, can she?"
 

---

 

The session lasted eight hours, with a surprisingly brief break for lunch. It was followed by a second, and then a third day of interrogation.

During the relentless questioning, van Els found himself compelled to admit — first to the panel and then, more importantly, to himself — that he'd been extremely lucky: lucky that no one had been hurt, emotionally scarred, or killed.

"Good luck is a wonderful thing," the congressman pointed out. "But luck comes and goes. It doesn't carry any guarantee, and if your only strategy is trusting your luck, eventually you're going to come down hard. You're playing with dynamite, doctor, and sooner or later someone is bound to be badly hurt."

On the fourth day, the panel interviewed Sammy. van Els was not allowed to be present.

He sat in his office, sitting very still, replaying the questions and answers in his head, digging out implications and hints... piecing together as large a picture as possible from what was said and not said... and it didn't look very good for him.

The one thing he could not afford to lose was his autonomy. When van Els was brought to Timbuctoo, he was given a unique level of freedom. He could pick his own projects and unilaterally decide how they'd be carried out; he could assemble and disband teams as he saw fit. He was subject only to the overall administrators, but more as an equal than a subordinate.

But in the end, the federal government pays the bills, and the one who pays the bills has the final say.

They want to put me on a leash, van Els thought. And that is something I can not and will not abide.
 

---

 

van Els never closed his office door, and as he silently surveyed his options, he saw the Jackson brothers, Ben and Reuben, walking down the hall toward him.

Ben caught van Els' eye, waved a greeting, and walked in without knocking. "Come on, Rueben," he called over his shoulder, and his brother followed him in.

"Got a moment, Dr. van Els?" Ben asked, taking a chair. Rueben remained standing until van Els, smiling politely, gestured to a seat.

Ben and Rueben Jackson were twins, but not identical twins. No one ever called them "The Jackson Twins" — they were always "The Jackson Brothers" or "The Two Doctor Jacksons."

"And that is exactly the problem," Ben explained. "A lot of people don't even believe we're twins!"

"We were born seven minutes apart..." Reuben began.

"And *I* am the older twin," Ben complained.

"... but everyone thinks I'm a few years older than Ben," Reuben explained.

In fact, the two looked nothing alike. It was hard to believe they were brothers, let alone twins. Ben was a good-looking man, with dark hair and average build, while Rueben was lanky and awkward-looking. He was thin, but there was just too much of him: his arms and legs were far too long; his head, ears and mouth were far too big. van Els tried to not look at the man too much, because he began to see a irresistable resemblance to a ventriloquist's dummy... along the lines of Howdy Doody.

Ben talked on and on, and van Els forced himself to listen. He didn't really care; he wasn't interested, but he wanted to be distracted from his problems with the congressional committee. He pushed it all aside and listened to the self-absorbed man who was sitting in front of him.

"What exactly do you want me to do for you?" van Els asked.

"It's like this," Ben said, "We've heard that you take a kind of snapshot of a person... of how they are... and then — even after you transform them into something completely crazy — you can change them back to exactly the way they were."

van Els nodded. "Yes, that's true."

"So we were thinking," Reuben continued, "That if you took a snapshot of one person, you could kind of... apply that snapshot to somebody else. Could you?"

van Els frowned. He was surprised that the idea hadn't occurred to him already. "Yes, that's true," he said. "It would be a very effective cloning process, although you'd have to find someone who was willing to be exactly like you."

Ben offered, "You could turn that device into a factory for turning out twins."

"I suppose... oh! Now I see what you're driving at!" van Els responded, suddenly connecting. "You two want to be identical twins!"

"Yes! But there's another thing," Ben went on. "We know that you need to do some... some kind of wild transformations to whoever steps in your machine... in the name of science... but, if... at the end, you kind of... stamp me first, and then seven minutes later you stamp Reuben, then we'll be identical twins, but I'll still be seven minutes older, right?"

van Els was so taken aback that all he could say was "Ah!" but after a few moments he said, "Yes, of course that would be right."

"So could you do it?" Ben asked. "Would it work?"

"I could," van Els said, "and yes, I have no doubt that it would work — but I'm under quite a bit of scrutiny right now, and I don't know when I'll be able to put people inside that machine again."

"Oh, come on!" Ben retorted. "You're Isaac van Els! You can do whatever you want!"

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ben, but there is a limit to everything. For the present, all I can say that I'll keep you two in mind. I'll do my best to make you two the next ones to step into the machine, but right now I don't have an experiment that could justify the risk."

"What risk?"

"The congressional oversight committee has strong reservations about what I've done so far. They feel I've been reckless with the lives of the people who've been transformed."

"The bastards!" Ben growled. "If we want to take the risk, isn't the risk ours to take?"

van Els looked down for a moment and said, "The congressional committee doesn't see it that way, Ben." Then, Ben's we echoed in his head and he looked at Reuben, who'd been conspicuously silent. Uh huh, van Els thought, and reached out to touch the obvious sore spot.

"Well, gentlemen, when I am able to help you, I will, but when that day comes, there is one thing I'll need to know: Which twin do you both want to look like?"

Rueben — lanky, awkward Reuben — licked his lips and said, "Me!" at the precise moment that Ben replied, "Me, obviously." The twins shot stares at each other.

"I thought we agreed!" Ben cried in surprise. "You were going to look like me!"

"I did agree," Reuben admitted, "but then I changed my mind."

"Okay," van Els said in a pleasant voice. "You two go off and figure out where you want to end up. When you do, come back and let me know." He rose, excused himself, and retired to his quarters. He didn't have a headache, but his brain felt so hot he wished he could take his own head off and soak it in bucket of ice water.
 

---

 

The twins didn't return that day or the day after, but a third Jackson came to visit: Harris Jackson, no relation. Harris didn't beat around the bush at all.

"Dr. van Els, I've heard that the Doctors Jackson were here to see you. They want you to turn them into identical twins."

"Sorry, but I'm not going to comment on private conversations that I may or may not have had," van Els replied.

Harris was undeterred. "Then let me put it hypothetically," he said. "Could you take any two people and turn them into identical twins?"

"Yes."

"And if — just choosing a name at random — the Jackson twins asked you to make them identical, then — again, speaking purely in a hypothetical way — suppose a third person also wanted to be a twin —"

"You can't have three twins," van Els objected.

"Regardless... the question is: could you make three identical people?"

"Physically identical, yes."

"So I could be a third Jackson twin, couldn't I?"

"You couldn't be a third twin: you'd be identical triplets... *if* such a transformation were to occur."

"But you could *make* it occur, couldn't you?"

"Yes, but why would I want to?" van Els asked with a frown. He was finding Harris Jackson to be even more irritating than Ben. "And even more to the point, why would you want to?"

Harris paused for a moment before he answered. He looked into van Els' face, considering for a moment. Then he spoke. "I'm an only child, Dr. van Els. I have no living relatives. Not a single one. I was an orphan, and once I grew up I began looking for my family. What I found was a very bare tree. No brothers or sisters, no parents, no grandparents, no aunts or uncles, no cousins..." Harris shook his head. "No one. Just me. So when I heard that the Jacksons were going to be identical twins, I couldn't help but think I want some of that."

"Listen to me, Harris," van Els told him, "I can't say that the Jacksons are going to do any such thing. But whether they do or whether they don't, it would be unethical of me to make you the twin of another person without their express and written permission." And I might want it notarized, van Els mentally added.
 

---

 

After Harris Jackson left, van Els sat down at his computer and did a quick search: How many Jacksons worked at Timbuctoo? Ironically, or comically, at least memorably, there were exactly five total. The other two were women.

He'd just made a mental note of where the women worked, when Rueben Jackson came creeping up the hallway. Rueben was alone, and literally walking on tiptoe. He kept glancing over his shoulder in a furtive way, as if he were afraid of being followed.

"Hello, Dr. van Els," he whispered. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Rueben, have a seat."

Rueben sat and cast several glances out the door.

"If you sit in the other chair," van Els told him, pointing at another seat, "no one will see you unless they walk into the office."

"Oh, good!" Rueben said, with a huge sigh of relief. He sank into the chair and began wringing his hands.

"What's wrong, Rueben?" van Els asked. "You don't want to do this twin thing, do you."

"No, doctor, no," the poor man replied. "It's all Ben's idea. All our life it's bugged him that we're not identical. Do you know that only one-third of twins are identical?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"Ben says it almost every day. He asks why we couldn't be in that one-third."

"But you, I take it, don't want to be a twin at all."

"No! I don't. Maybe if it were someone else... but Ben! He is so pushy and controling. He's a real control freak. If he knew I was here talking to you..." Reuben shook his head and sighed.

van Els smiled sympathetically and asked, "Do you know Harris—"

Reuben quickly interrupted with a scoff. "Oh yeah! He's worse than Ben!"

"He wants to be a 'third twin' as he puts it."

"I'd be glad to let him take my place, but Ben wouldn't have it. He calls Harris a pretender."

"Hmmm," van Els said. "Do you know there are two more Jacksons here at Timbuctoo?"

"Oh, yes, the girls. They're kind of related... cousins of cousins. But we don't... they don't want anything to do with us. Ben is just... you know. Harris, too."

"Okay," van Els said. Two less possible "twins," then. Aloud he said, "So, you'd prefer to stay as you are, Reuben?"

"Well...," the man said, twisting his hands hard, and screwing his face into a picture of desperation, "that's the thing. I... I'd really... oh, God, Dr. van Els! I want to be a girl! You did it for Sammy, can you do it for me?" Reuben's eyes welled up, and he began to sniff.

"Oh!" van Els said. He was completely and utterly taken by surprise. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was the congressional panel, and their objections to what had happened to Sammy. "Well, Reuben, have you ever seen a doctor or psychologist about wanting to be a woman?"

"No," Reuben replied in something very near a sob. "Ben would never let me. He won't let me talk about it with anyone."

"Ah," van Els said. "I've gotten in a lot of trouble for what I did to Sammy..." he began to say, but Reuben cut him short.

"Yes, but you're Isaac van Els, for Christ's sake! You can do whatever the hell you want! If there was no one else on earth who could help me, YOU could still help me!"

With that, Reuben dissolved into tears. van Els got quickly go to his feet, shut his office door, and sat down next to the crying man. In the end all he could do was wait for the poor soul to cry himself out.

"Listen to me, Reuben," van Els said. "Right now I need to be careful, and the only promise I can make to you is this: If I *can* help you, I *will* help you."

At that, Reuben smiled and began to dry his tears. "I can't tell you what that means to me," he said.

van Els spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Honestly, Reuben, I don't know what my promise is worth."

"Dr. van Els," he said, "It doesn't matter who they send or what they tell you: there's not a person alive who can outwit you."

With that, Reuben left, smiling as if his deepest wish had already come true.

van Els sat, his mind for once an utter blank. He sat there until one of his female techs stuck her head in. "Everything okay, doc?"

"Uh... yeah," he replied, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Is there anything you need?"

"Naw." She shrugged and smiled. "I'm just wondering what comes next. You know. Never a dull moment; that's what's great about working with you."

"Thanks," he said, and after she walked away he thought, What does come next? Everyone seems to think that *I* have the answer. Then, unbidden, the smug face of the congressman from Massachusetts came to mind. Was that going to be the face that defeated him? Was that the face he had to answer to?

All of Timbuctoo was holding its breath. The question in everyone's mind was: What will van Els do?

van Els himself was asking, What *can* I do? Then he remembered Reuben's tearful declaration: "You're Isaac van Els, for Christ's sake!"

That silent question What *can* I do? hung in the air for a moment, until van Els leaped to his feet and shouted, "That's the wrong fucking question! I'm Isaac van Els, goddam it! NOBODY tells me what I can and cannot do!"
 

---

 

He went back to the alien device. There was something in there that had been bothering him. It had something to do with the snapshots. He knew where they were stored, he knew how to label them, how to view them, how to delete them, but...

He poked around, typing on the alien keypad, moving controls, clicking, examining, exploring... until at last he realized what he was looking for...

And then, a certain combination of keys... and...

BINGO! He found the hidden treasure! Too excited to even smile to himself, he skimmed over mountains of new data... or old data, depending on your point of view. He scribbled out several sheets of notes, printed a few screen shots, and turned off the machine.

Then he scurried off to Language Analysis to find Sammy.
 

---

 

"No," the congressman from Massachusetts said. "Absolutely, unequivocally, no."

van Els glanced at the man for a moment, but he kept his eyes on Trubinger, the man in charge of the Timbuctoo project.

"Are you sure that's what these are?" Trubinger asked.

"That's what it says," Sammy replied, in a barely audible voice.

"And you're not just saying that to help out your hero here?" Trubinger asked Sammy.

"No, I'm sure that's what it says," Sammy insisted, a little more loudly this time.

"I don't care what it says!" the congressman shouted. "We've got to put a stop to this reckless experimentation."

Trubinger swiveled around so he could look the congressman in the face. "Could you quit shouting? Please? We may be on the verge of the biggest breakthrough this place has ever seen, and potentially one of the biggest steps in the history of mankind."

"Oh, please!" the congressman said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Let me put it this way," Trubinger told him. "If you can't keep your mouth shut and let us work, I'll have security escort you out. And then you can tell your grandkids how you were kicked out of one of the most historic moments in... in... in history!"

The congressman's eyes bulged and he choked for a moment in outrage. But his jaw snapped shut, and he didn't speak again.

Trubinger looked to van Els.

"These are snapshots of aliens," he said. "They took them before assuming human form. Now, there are two things we need to do: one is to apply the alien snapshots to human volunteers. That will allow us to see exactly what the aliens look like. We'll be able to examine them in every way. We can bring in everybody in Timbuctoo, and anyone from the outside that we need. Dr Kang's old group can feed them..."

"... with the easy-bake oven," Trubinger supplied.

"Exactly. *That* discovery was quite convenient in its timing. In any case, I'd suggest that we transform our three volunteers, and continuously evaluate their well-being. We can change them back to humans at any moment."

"Are the three Jacksons willing to do that?"

"Yes," van Els replied, "They're ready for anything, as long as we... grant their wishes, so to speak."

"I don't see any problem with that. Do you, congressman?"

The man mutely shook his head. He was brimming with anger, but there was nothing he could do.

"Then there is the other thing," van Els went on. "I've discovered that the device keeps a history."

Trubinger's eyebrows went up.

"The last time an alien used the device to masquerade as a human was thirty years ago," van Els informed him.

"Hot damn," Tubinger commented. "And did he change back?"

"No," van Els said. "He could still be out there."
 

---

 

After a good deal of discussion and planning, a limit of three days was placed on the alien transformations. As part of the preparations, the three Jacksons were subjected to intense examinations and interviews. They were briefed on every detail of the process, and not only signed waivers and consents of every sort, but their consents were also recorded on video.

Ben Jackson bristled and fumed, but he went along. The three men were kept separate from each other, mainly because Ben had become so contentious.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Tubinger asked. "He argues and objects at every step."

"He signed the release," van Els replied. "As long as he doesn't walk away, or tell us Stop or No, he's deeply committed to the program, as far as I'm concerned."

At that, Tubinger scurried away, wondering how much he could pretend to not know, if the whole thing went sour.
 

---

 

The Jacksons stuck it out for the whole three days: they lived in alien bodies, ate the alien food, and willingly subjected themselves to every test and exam the doctors and scientists could think of.

During their time as aliens, the Jacksons had no idea who was who, despite the fact that van Els had transformed Reuben into a female of the species. Reuben knew, and was glad, although in the end it was a purely intellectual pleasure.

At long last, when the days were done and every single test concluded, Ben was returned to being Ben. Seven minutes later, Harris became Ben's exact copy, and then Reuben was transformed into a pleasant-looking woman of average height.

"Ooh, my head is so much smaller!" the new girl exclaimed in delight, "and my ears don't stick out like wings any more!" — as though that was the most remarkable change of all!

Although the brand-new twins were perfectly identical, it was easy to tell which one was which: Harris was beaming from ear to ear, while Ben was scowling and grousing and complaining. He kept repeating, "It isn't right! It just isn't right!"

In the end, van Els cornered Ben, and pointed out that he'd gotten his wish: he now was, and had, an identical twin.

"You beat every other set of twins on earth," van Els pointed out. "He is even more identical to you than someone born as your identical twin."

"It's still not right," Ben growled.

"Listen to me," van Els told him. "Do you know what Shakespeare would have said? He would have told you, Some are born twins, some become twins, and some have twins thrust upon 'em. Deal with it."

At that, Ben finally shut up.

© 2011 by Kaleigh Way