46
When Mick got back to Sunhampton, he wasted not a second in heading to Connor Perry’s house. There, he found Lee Hunter and Seelka Syrne keeping watch over the Connors. Lee and Seelka were sitting on the same sofa, right next to each other. It was a cramped living room, sure, what with six Connors residing in it. But there was still a chair or two going spare; no need for Lee and Seelka to be sitting all close like that. Mick suppressed a grin. Some cases didn’t need to be cracked – you could just leave them be.
“Think we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “Who wants a brew? Lee? Seelka? Connors?”
After making coffees for the nine of them, he told them what he’d found at the log cabin in the woods. Put simply, because Mick knew and preferred no other way, it seemed like whoever owned it had been illegally keeping five mimics there. Breeding them and raising them up so they could sell them on.
“But they outlawed breeding mimics outside of registered programs seventy years ago,” said Lee. “Who would break the law like that?”
“A criminal, Lee. They’ve got an annoying penchant for it. No sign of whoever was doing it, though. I think they must have cleared out when they realized the mimics were gone.”
After a little poking around, he explained to them, he had surmised that the log cabin was new. A hastily thrown up kind of thing, probably done cheaply by someone with the building class. It didn’t appear on town records or postal routes, which was why, when he saw it, Connor Perry had probably gone over to say hello to the owner, and see if they wanted to be added to the postal route.
“There were all these rose petals scattered around outside, where the chains were,” Mick explained, showing them a sample of one of the petals he’d collected. “What I think happened is this: mimics have to acquire things to copy through biting or scratching and what have you. That right?”
Lee Hunter nodded. “Uncle Bert got bit on the arse when he went to use a latrine near his hunting camp.”
“There’s a new fear to add to my collection,” said Seelka.
“Well, somehow, one of the mimics must have acquired the form of a rose bush. And they can slip in and out of forms at will, can’t they? So they must have hidden it from whoever was raising them.”
“They can really do that?” asked Seelka.
“They’re craftier than a fox that just graduated from the Easterly College of Slyness,” said Lee. “Trust me. The one that copied Uncle Bert? Took it weeks to give itself away. It was Uncle Bert’s gas problem, you see. The mimic didn’t want to copy it anymore. Finally got sick of having to fart all the time and surrendered.”
“Oh wow, they have preferences, too?”
“Some of them develop likes and dislikes, yup.”
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“Way I see it,” said Mick, “Once one of them got the rose bush form, the others only had to scratch or bite it a little to acquire it, too. So picture this: the owner is away somewhere, and the mimics notice Connor heading their way. By the time he arrives, they’re all waiting in rose bush form. They’ve got big, green branches lined with thorns. To all appearances, they’re just plants, no? Connor wouldn’t have even looked at them twice. Only, unlike plants, the mimics can move their branches around. So when our postmaster walks up to the cottage door, he gets jabbed by a branch. Then another. Before you know it, five mimics have acquired his form.”
“Thought they were chained up?”
“Only by these old, brass hooks sunk into the ground. One of them must have gotten loose when they were in Connor’s form. After that, not a big issue to free the others.”
The six Connors had been listening to this with rapt attention. As strange as Mick had found them yesterday, the novelty had worn off now, and it was easy to forget they were even there. It was because they were so silent. Yet, when one of them spoke, they all did, and then there was no shutting them up. Part of him thought maybe the real Connor would always be the one who spoke up first and the others just copied him, but it was a different one that spoke up each time. They were devious little creatures, alright.
“What do we do about it?” asked Seelka. “I hate Postmaster Perry being in this mess.”
“Thank you,” said one Connor.
“Thank you,” repeated all the others.
Mick held up a book he’d taken from a desk inside the cabin. On the front of the book was the title, ‘Breeding Mimics: A Treatise.’ He shouldn’t really have taken it. Shouldn’t have even been in there without a warrant, in fact, but he judged this to be an emergency on Connor’s behalf. This overrode bureaucracy.
“According to this, mimics get access to a person’s memories up to the point they acquired their form. They get access to their personality too…but only to a point. The aspects of a person’s personality each mimic gets is almost like a bowl of pot luck stew. When it gets ladled out, some of them get more carrots in their bowl, some get more potatoes. So, we could expose all six of them to some kind of new experience, then question them about it. Ask how they feel, see how they react, that kind of thing. We might get a feel for which of them is the true Connor by their responses, because they won’t be able to act like him perfectly.”
“Oh, so like, take them to a new place, maybe a beauty spot, and see what they think of it?” said Seelka. “And if they complain about it and act grumpy, they’re probably Postmaster Perry?”
“That’s one way. According to the book, though, mimics have to stay near to the thing they mimicked. Depending on the complexity of what they’re mimicking, that is. That’s why our little gang of Connors haven’t gone their separate ways. Plus, mimics tend to form close familial bonds. In any case, if we separated the six of them far enough apart, all but one would lose their Connor form.”
“So we just need six secure places to take them, and six people to keep an eye on them all,” said Lee.
Mick set the mimic treatise down on the table, and eyed the six Connors. Without taking his gaze off them, he said, “Both those approaches would work. But I think there’s an even easier way.”
“What’s that?” said Seelka.
“We just need to see which of them has five jab marks on them from the thorns. Easy as a slice of lemon meringue pie.”
“Won’t they all have jab marks if they’re copying Connor?”
“Only the real Connor will have five. Think about it; the first mimic stabs Connor with a thorn. It gets a copy of Connor as he is. The second mimic jabs Connor, and its mimicked form will have a thorn mark from the first mimic. And so on. Only the real Connor will have five punctures.”
“I thought mimics could copy forms from each other? So they might not all have marked him.”
“Nah. They can only do that with simple ones,” said Mick. “For copying a person, they’d each need a sample from the source.”