"The Replicant" by Neil Randall

One morning, before his shift started, a curious thing happened to Niles Campbell. As he stored his belongings away in his locker, he saw, in the adjoining corridor, walking alongside a group of high-ranking officials, his exact double, a man of similar age (forty-four), height (approximately five-foot-eight), build (resoundingly average), possessed of the same physical attributes: short, neat hair greying at the sides, a rounded not unattractive face and slightly prominent nose (all the more visible, as this man, Campbell’s seeming doppelganger, was then walking side-on to the staff changing rooms). Thinking it no more than a coincidence, a vision trick, the play of light as much as the relative distance involved, Campbell closed his locker and commenced with his daily work duties on the factory floor. 

      Only this wasn’t the sole sighting of the man in question. 

     Periodically, over the next few days, Campbell could’ve sworn that he saw his lookalike on half a dozen or more occasions: in the staff canteen, entering the physical aptitude testing unit, exercising in the communal recreation area, on the factory floor itself, even passing in the back of the Chief Directorate’s official car. And whilst these were only fleeting glimpses, the more Campbell saw of this man, the more he was convinced of their similarity, that he was looking at the very same face he saw in the bathroom mirror each morning. 

      This became so disconcerting, he couldn’t help but bring the matter to the attention of a colleague, fellow G-Sector manual operative Shaun Rivera.

      “I don’t want to worry you unduly,” said Rivera, in the kind of grave tones that could only ever unnerve, “but there have been some worrying noises coming out of HR recently regarding the corporation’s new recruitment policy. In a word, I’ve heard talk of them trialling new advanced forms of artificial intelligence.”

      “Artificial intelligence?”

      “That’s right. In the next twelve to eighteen months, those bastards are looking to completely phase out human operatives from all manual tasks. Any worker not reaching their designated work targets will be the first to go. And again, not to worry you unduly, but you almost certainly fall into that category, and you are almost certainly at risk of being dismissed from your post. Or worse.” 

      Rivera’s revelations troubled Campbell for the rest of the day, proving so distracting that  he assembled two circuit boards in error, one after the other, causing a significant delay on the production line, and was told to report to the Chief Directorate’s office immediately.

      “Your workstation  has been temporarily closed,” said the computer-generated voice in his implanted earpiece. “You will not be able to recommence your official duties until full authorisation has been received from your direct superiors.”

***

“Now, Campbell,” said the Chief Directorate, “we both know why you’ve been summoned here today, don’t we? For some time now, your substandard work performance has come to my attention. As you are well aware, we live in a highly competitive age, where market forces dictate. If we don’t operate at optimum capacity in every department, we will fall behind our competitors.”

      Whilst of slight build and advancing years, Peterson was still an incredibly intimidating figure; a stern, unflinching monolith who perfectly represented the corporation’s motto: Aggressive Innovation Through Consistent Excellence. 

      He continued, “More to the point, new labour laws have recently been enacted allowing the more sizable conglomerates, those with a leading role to play in the development, production, and sustainability of food and energy resources to develop a more productive and sustainable workforce. For that reason, you should consider yourself lucky. If, a few months ago, I had been handed a productivity chart like yours, you would have faced immediate decommissioning, perhaps even liquidation. But now, due to the incredible advances our research facility has made in the development of synthetic human technologies, you have been granted a reprieve, an opportunity to wrestle your fate back into your own hands.”

    “I don’t quite understand, Chief Directorate, sir, I –”

     The much older man raised a hand, gesturing for quiet. “Oh, but you will, Campbell, believe me.”

    Through a side door, two white-coated laboratory technicians entered the room. 

    “You would like us to commence with the demonstration now, Chief Directorate?” one asked, casting a quick, uncertain glance over his shoulder, as if something fearful and unwelcome was pursuing him.

     “Of course, gentlemen. We must debrief our subject here. Full implementation of our programme starts this very day.”

      Bowing respectfully, the two technicians ushered what initially appeared, and was soon verified as a perfect representation of Campbell himself, the kind of synthetic human the Chief Directorate had described a few minutes ago, dressed in the same official corporation coveralls, replete with logo and nametag affixed to corresponding breast pockets. 

      “Behold.” The Chief Directorate got to his feet. “Amazing, isn’t it? A state-of-the-art replicant, identical down to the last physical, emotional, and intellectual detail.”

      As unnerved as he was by this development, Campbell couldn’t help but feel a peculiar fascination towards this synthetic version of himself, in perhaps the same way a person is fascinated by their own reflection when certain physical changes occur: the aging process, new lines and wrinkles upon the face, a bruise, scar, pustule, permanent or temporary, significant or minor disfigurement. In  terms of likeness, it was perfect in every respect. It even had a shadowing of stubble upon the face, which Campbell invariably displayed, no matter how close the proximity to his latest shave. 

      “What is your name, official job title, and place of residence?” the Chief Directorate asked the Replicant. 

      “Niles Campbell. Manual operative. G-Sector. Currently, I reside above Facility B, room number 132.”

      “Good,” said the Chief Directorate, returning to Campbell. “As you can see, everything is in fine working order. We have created a fully functioning synthetic representation of employee Niles Campbell. Namely yourself. Only this particular replicant of the Wallace 300 Series is, at present, somewhat of a blank canvas. Whilst, as aforementioned, possessed of your level of intelligence, emotional capacity, basic memory recall, the unit lacks the hands-on, day-to-day work experience you have acquired over the last thirteen years. To gain that experience, to put its abilities to best use, we need this model to shadow you for the next three weeks, for you to mentor it, passing on the technical skills required to perform your duties to the highest possible standard. Only then will it be ready for full deployment.”

      “Wait,” said Campbell. “Let me get this straight. For the next twenty-one days, I have to work with this, erm…replicant. I have to give it on-the-job training, the skills to ultimately replace me?” 

      “Why of course.” The Chief Directorate smirked knowingly. “Then, at the end of that period, whoever is more productive will continue in post, and the other operative will be liquidated. So, see this as a challenge, not an exercise in inevitability. Even though you have little or no chance of outperforming your Double here, you have been given a unique opportunity to help advance society. Your name will enter the history books, you will be seen as a true pioneer, someone prepared to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

      “For now, go back to your living space and get some sleep. You need all the rest you can get.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “But I’m sure you’ll get on fine. I’m sure you’ll find this an enlightening and rewarding experience, no matter what the outcome.”     

The next  morning, the Replicant was waiting for Campbell in the staff changing room. Dressed in the same crisp, laundered corporate  coveralls as yesterday, it displayed stiff, formal characteristics, a distinct unnaturalness, despite its strikingly human appearance. Evidently, it had been allocated the locker next to Campbell’s. 

      “I see that employees place personal belongings in this storage facility.” The Replicant pointed to Campbell’s shoulder bag. “Is this a requirement, or merely a security measure? If the former, I would be grateful if you would enlighten me as to the contents of your own personal receptacle."

    The Replicant’s voice resembled Campbell’s so closely he couldn’t help but feel unnerved. 

      “Okay.” He unfastened the shoulder-bag and took out a dog-eared paperback book, sketchpad, pencils, an apple, and a high-energy breakfast bar. 

      Taking each item and turning it over in his hands, the Replicant blinked in confusion. 

      “I do not understand why you would bring such random items into the workplace. Why read made-up stories in this antiquated format when you have sophisticated e-readers containing literature crucial to the continued success of the corporation? And why sketch the factory floor and your colleagues like this? Granted, you have a keen eye, are a more than proficient draughtsman, someone who could easily obtain a position in the technical drawing department, thus becoming a far more valuable, less expendable commodity.”

     “I love to read, to sketch, always have done, ever since childhood. These are what we call hobbies, things we like to do outside of work.”

     “Outside of work?” The Replicant looked even more confused. “And why would you bring food items with you? We are allocated three meals a day in the staff canteen, are we not?” 

     Campbell shrugged. “Sometimes I get peckish around half-past ten, eleven o’clock time.”

     “But this is a designated work period. Taking time to satisfy your hunger would surely not be permitted, especially when there are manual tasks to undertake.” 

     “Not really. Due to the stop/start nature of the production line, there are often short periods of time where there’s nothing to do. During which I might eat an apple or read a few pages of my book, or even doodle  in my sketchpad.”

      There was an awkward pause.

     “It is of no importance,” said the Replicant. “I assume this is a quirk, an idiosyncrasy, something which Wallace 300 units of my classification have been tasked with eradicating from daily life.”

      When they reached their work station, Campbell walked the Replicant through his daily duties.

      “If you’d like to stand on the other side of the belt conveyor.” He pointed. “I’ll demonstrate exactly what is required of you.”

      On the slow-moving belt conveyor were partially assembled circuit boards. All Campbell had to do was affix a crucial micro-chip into a space provided, check that it was fully functioning – swiping it across a sensor – then place the completed circuit board back on the belt conveyor for packaging in another department. 

      This he demonstrated, assembling, removing, and then reassembling one circuit board in particular.

      “It’s not very challenging work, I’m afraid.”

     “I find that hard to believe,” said the Replicant, after completing its first circuit board. “For surely exceeding your daily work quotas is a powerful motivator.”

     “Erm, yes, there’s always that, I suppose.”

     Within a few short minutes, the Replicant was working at such an astonishing rate that  Campbell started to not only fear for his future but question why the Chief Directorate had felt this whole charade necessary. Clearly, the Replicant had been specifically designed to perform such duties far faster than any human being ever could, no matter how skilled, experienced, or motivated.  

      “And we can work right up until our designated break?” the Replicant asked, mid-morning. 

     “That’s right,” Campbell replied. “Four whole uninterrupted hours at a time.”

      In the staff canteen at lunchtime, Campbell felt compelled to ask the Replicant a question.

     “A few days ago, I saw you for the first time in the corridor outside the staff changing room. You were with the Chief Directorate. What have you been doing in the interim? – training, testing? If so, how long have you actually been, erm…how can I put this? – deployed at the facility?”

      “In this form, I have been in active service for approximately twenty-six months.” 

      “I see,” he said, slowly letting the information sink in. “If that’s the case, then why do you think this period of ‘mentoring’, one-on-one training is necessary?”

      “Put simply: it is not.”

      “So, the whole procedure is for you to study me, personally, and assimilate my traits, mannerisms et cetera? To, in all intents and purposes, become me.”

      “I fail to understand the meaning or logic of the question. I am already you. I am more you than you ever were, even in your youth, the days before you became employed at the corporation. I would’ve thought that much was obvious.”     

      On their return to work, the Replicant took up from where it had left off before their lunch break. Without an exchange of words, it activated the belt conveyor and began to assemble circuit boards at the same breakneck speed. At a loss as to what to do or say, Campbell simply immersed himself in his own work duties, working harder and faster than he had at any time in the last three or four years. 

      Hours passed without him noticing it.

      “Fine work today,” said the floor manager, as the machines shut down at the end of the shift. “Impressive figures.”

      As they swept and tidied the area in and around the workstation, Campbell couldn’t help but ask the Replicant a little more about his life at the facility.

     “And what do you do in the evenings?” 

     “Why, I participate in community activities, of course.”

     “‘Community activities?’” Campbell asked, as if he didn’t know what the Replicant was referring to: further education in a wide range of ‘specifically work-related’ subjects, physical conditioning training, team-building  exercises in the nearby recreational facility and surrounding woodland.

      “Would you be interested in accompanying me?”

     “Erm, no, no,” said Campbell. “I have a few things to do this evening.”

      Over the next week, Campbell noticed some alarming irregularities, things which made him look at the Replicant in a completely different, highly suspicious light. 

      One morning, he walked into the staff changing room and found the Replicant deep in conversation with Rivera. When the two men (or one man and one replicant) noticed Campbell’s presence, they stopped talking immediately and broke away from each other.

      Later that afternoon, the Replicant disappeared moments after their official lunch break had begun. When Campbell entered the canteen alone, he saw the unit sitting at a table with a group of other G-Sector manual workers. 

     “I’m sorry, Niles,” said the Replicant when Campbell approached their table, tray in hand. “But there doesn’t appear to be any space for you at this particular dining area. You will have to find an alternative table on which to eat your meal.”

     Like a young child prohibited from joining in with older boys at play, Campbell could do nothing but skulk away, feeling spurned, insulted, because clearly, if the men shoved up slightly, there was enough space for another worker to sit down. 

     Surprisingly, or worryingly from Campbell’s point of view, when he visited the social club the following evening, he found the Replicant holding court at the bar, surrounded by co-workers, regaling them with what looked like a highly amusing and convoluted anecdote. 

      This took Campbell aback. 

     The Replicant was clearly networking, schmoozing with other employees of his classification, making friends, including himself in G-Sector’s busy social calendar, something Campbell had ceased to do many years ago. 

      It was then that he started to question the true nature of the work trial itself, whether his selection for synthetic replacement had been solely down to his poor performance figures. Or whether, perhaps, it was his general attitude towards the core values his superiors attempted to inculcate in their underlings, how he had always been seen as an outsider, a loner, someone who didn’t really want to mix, fit in, be part of a team, someone who enjoyed his own time and insular leisure pursuits. 

     To compound an already unsettling situation, Campbell overheard two colleagues – non-descript manuals employed in the distribution centre – talking as they came out of the toilets.

      “That Niles Campbell,” said one, chuckling, “the new guy, the rising light of G-Sector, he sure is some storyteller, a real character. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in years.”

      From that day on, Campbell remained taciturn and distant whenever in the Replicant’s company. As a result, a strange, tetchy atmosphere now defined their working days. On either side of the slow-moving belt conveyor, each attended to their individual circuit boards. In the mornings, they exchanged nothing more than a formal nod before they began their duties. At lunchtimes, they went their separate ways: the Replicant joined his newfound friends and Campbell ate alone. In the evenings, when they took their leave of each other, Campbell invented all kinds of excuses – fictitious errands, phantom toilet visits, wholly unnecessary repair work (usually down on his hands and knees) – anything to avoid having to say goodbye to the synthetic version of himself he had come to despise.

     Nineteen days into the trial period, something as curious as anything that had happened since the Replicant came into his life took place. As Campbell headed back to his living space following another hugely productive day on the factory floor, Rivera sidled up alongside him.

     “Keep walking,” he said, in wildly overdramatic tones. “Don’t look over your shoulder. Make like we’re just two colleagues leaving off work for the day.”

      “What’s this all about?” Campbell whispered.

      “You, the Replicant, everything.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Nor do I, nor does anyone.” Rivera let out a bitter-sounding chuckle. “Yesterday, I looked over your fortnightly productivity sheets. Whilst you might not be aware of it, you’re almost neck and neck with that synthetic bastard.”

      “What?”

      “That’s right, Niles. I couldn’t for the life of me understand it. For months, years even, you’d let things slip to such a degree that you were selected for what can only best be described as ‘decommissioning’. Your situation couldn’t have been bleaker. For that reason, the other guys in G-Sector became increasingly hostile towards you. We thought that you’d brought this on all of us, that if only you’d have applied yourself, if you’d have worked a little harder, then senior management would never have dreamed of replacing us with a new synthetic workforce. And all of this has taken place in less than three weeks!”

     And he was right; about everything. 

    Although Campbell had barely given it a second thought (the way he saw it, no matter how hard he worked, a decision regarding his future had already been taken), he knew, through professional instinct and long experience, that he had been working at an incredible rate, wildly exceeding his daily work quotas. In the evenings, he found himself perusing official corporate literature for the first time in years, learning of new technological advances, changes to state legislation, job opportunities (he even filled out an application form for an official transfer, even though he knew his position would very probably be terminated soon). And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d read or done any sketches in the evenings or at break-times, when he had last picked up a book or pencil, even. Whereas before, the plot of a good novel or sketching of a fine picture would set him alight, now he felt distant, removed, as if from himself, from the very things which gave his grey, monotonous existence meaning. He was, to all intents and purposes, a model employee now.

     “Okay, okay,” he said, coming to his senses. “But what does this all mean?”

     “I’m not sure. For it will take a herculean effort on your behalf to better your current production rates, to edge ahead of the Replicant. But” – Rivera hesitated – “but you’ve got to try, Niles, really try. It might not just be your head on line here. It might be the whole sector, the whole facility.”

     “You don’t know that,” said Campbell, feeling the full weight of the proposition, the responsibility he now bore. “Nobody does.”

      The final two days of the trial presented Campbell with another set of puzzling anomalies. For he noticed a discernible slackening in the Replicant’s productivity; its work rate. Whereas before, it toiled unceasingly, completing each circuit board at lightning speed, it now broke off every now and then and stared around the factory floor, watching its colleagues at work, perhaps even daydreaming to a certain extent. And this struck Campbell so starkly because it reminded him of himself a decade or so into his tenure at the facility. After so many years of monotonous toil, when he came to realise that workers of his classification had little or no chance of advancement, he became listless, demotivated, he sought distraction in books and artwork, his thoughts were dominated by what he might read or draw during his free time in the evenings. Why was the synthetic human displaying all the slack, disinterested characteristics Campbell had succumbed to, he couldn’t have said: complacency, a minor malfunction, defective memory implant?

      At the end of their very last shift, the Replicant broke the uncommunicative pattern that had built up between them over the last two weeks.

      “I would just like to say that it has been a pleasure working with you. Hopefully – and this is my sincerest wish – you have come to realise that when two motivated operatives work side by side, they not only learn from each other but inspire each other to greater heights. I hope you have enjoyed the experience, and hold no bitterness towards me or what the future holds. For these last twenty-one days, you have finally become an asset to the organisation. That, my friend – and I also hope that you can see me as that: a friend – is something to be proud of; something they can never take away from you.”

     As unexpected (and hugely insulting) as this impromptu speech had been, what was even more unexpected was the hand the Replicant thrust forward. So unexpected, Campbell found himself reaching out and exchanging the most bizarre of handshakes. For the Replicant’s palm was limp, moist and clammy to the touch, like that of a man completely unsure of himself, the situation. And for a synthetic form of life, possessed of such confidence and assurance in every aspect of his synthetic existence, that didn’t ring at all true.

      “I will see you in the Chief Directorate’s office in half an hour.”

***

“Outstanding work,” said the Chief Directorate, studying one productivity chart after another. “That’s the real beauty of research in the field: unexpected but hugely rewarding findings.”

      He tossed the last report aside and fixed his dark brooding eyes first on Campbell then on the Replicant, seated in two visitors’ chair on the other side of the desk. 

      “Do you know how much development and trialling of the new Wallace 300 series has cost the corporation?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you know why we invest so much money in such projects? Because if we don’t, one of our competitors will. And there’s no way we can let that happen.”

      He got to his feet and started to pace the room.

      “But you’ll be pleased to know, gentlemen, that the experiment has been an unqualified success. We have learned something new and very important: fear is the key. If you tell an ordinary, simple-minded man that he has three weeks to live, what does he do?” Once again, he didn’t wait for an answer. “With passion, zeal, he sets out to do all the things he never had the courage to do before he learned of his fate. He sets out to do exactly what you have done, Campbell – worked like an animal, proving why you were employed by the corporation in the first place. So, well done. You’ve opened our eyes to something that has been staring us in the face for decades. And in the process, saved the corporation billions.

      “This, what we like to call ‘human factor’, has often proved baffling to us scientific folk. How can we motivate our workers to work longer hours for less renumeration, how can we make them go above and beyond the call of duty? In the olden days, they tried ideological means – the creation of a workers’ state, where everyone is equal, or a nation driven by the selfish pursuit of individual happiness, material gain, greed – but neither social paradox went far enough. No. Fear is the key. Only if their existence is threatened will the individual comply.

     “Due to our findings, we now propose to scale back our operation considerably, producing only around ten Wallace 300 models per year. Whenever productivity at any given facility is down, we will simply create what we now call ‘The Campbell Narrative’. We will select the manual worker with the lowest rate of productivity and threaten to replace him with a replicant. The three-week trial period proved perfect, duration-wise. Yes. In six to twelve months, if this data is correct, we should see a 3.5% increase in productivity – nationwide. That, gentlemen, disregarding the billions already spent on the Wallace 300 project is pure alchemy. So again, well done. You may not have got the result either of you wanted, but you have performed a great service for the greater good of the corporation. And for that you should both be very proud.”

     Campbell and the Replicant shared a quick, confused glance.

     “But – but what does that mean, sir?” asked Campbell. “In regards to the trial, the winner, to who is now to continue in the role of Niles Campbell.”

      “It means there is no winner, it means you will both be liquidated this very hour.”

     “What?” cried the Replicant. “But I –”

     “Don’t cry about it,” the Chief Directorate snapped at him. “You know your emotions are counterfeit.”

      “But surely, sir,” said Campbell. “There must be another way, a better way. We, after all, as you yourself just testified, have performed to the highest of standards. We’re an asset to the organisation, its lifeblood in many ways.”

     “We know that, Campbell, and it’s unfortunate – I, personally, feel terrible about the whole situation – but if we return you to the factory floor, the other G-Sector grunts will know that the trial was bogus, an experiment. It really was a lose-lose situation for you. Impossible. If you hadn’t have performed so well, you’d have been liquidated in the exact same fashion.”

      “But why does that Replicant have to go?”

     “Because it proved faulty; subject to what we call ‘wandering mind’ syndrome; it became far too intuitive and acquisitive for its own good. Neither of which we can tolerate. He will be dismantled and recycled.”

        The side door slid open, and into the room walked six hulking, heavily armed security guards, the likes of which patrolled the facility’s perimeter fence.

       “Please don’t struggle,” the Chief Directorate said to the two most expendable members of his workforce. “Resistance, as you now know, is futile.”

Neil Randall is a novelist and short story writer. His latest book, A Dark Day in the White City (Next Chapter Press) was released in April of this year. His shorter fiction and poetry have been published in the U.K., U.S., India, Australia, and Canada. Further news and samples of his work can be viewed at: https://narandall.blogspot.com/, including links to his new online review show Randall Reads…where the author reviews a book each week that made a big impression on him, and help shaped him as a writer.