A moment after the eye slit snapped closed there were a series of loud clicks as the locks released and the door slowly swung open. Babbage had to step back as the door swung out at him. If he hadn’t moved it would have moved him itself. The thing was at least six inches thick solid steel.

The room that opened up for him was unlike any the uninitiated would have expected from the outside. Bright, clean steel floors, gleaming surfaces, high tech gadgetry lining every wall.

The only thing in the room that wasn’t gleaming was the man himself. Madigan. Barely five foot tall and weighing less than Babbage’s coat, greasy strands of hair pulling down from his head, stretching the wrinkles of his skin out in a vain attempt to escape. Covered in dark overalls and grime. But then you looked into his eyes and saw that the sparkle reflected from all the surfaces of the room began there.

“Babbage is it? Seems to me I know that name.” Madigan stroked his chin and gave the appearance of trying to remember. Babbage wasn’t fooled.

“Yes, we’ve met before. You’ve improved things around here.”

“Well one can’t be too careful around these parts. Never know who might be banging on your door.”

“Your door looks like it could take some banging.”

The gleam in Madigan’s eye only seemed to get brighter.

“Yes, Babbage. Seems to me I remember now. Always wore that ridiculous coat. And the pipe – still have the pipe?”

Babbage was impressed despite himself. He reached into his coat and slowly drew out a well-loved tobacco pipe.

“Naturally. Don’t use it much these days though, more for old times sake.”

“Yes, moved on, haven’t you. More of a Dupin now than a Holmes. Where is Watson, by the way?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Babbage had the uncomfortable feeling they were talking about something else entirely. He wasn’t used to being at a disadvantage.

You’re just not used to someone acting stranger than you.

Madigan just stared and let his eyes grin back.

“Tell me, Babbage, how can I help you?”

Babbage slid the pipe back into his pocket and withdrew the memory plug. He’d been thrown and was running on autopilot.

“This, I was wondering if you could help me with this.”

Madigan’s eyes slid down to the plug for a moment before returning to Babbage’s face. He was much more interested in the detective.

“And what is it you have there?”

“A memory plug, a simple one really, but I think it may contain some useful information.”

“And?”

“And I’d like to access its contents without worrying about any unexpected consequences.”

“Ah. So you expect consequences. Unexpected ones, as you say.”

Madigan stood still and waited, but Babbage could do the same. There was no use saying anything more.

“I may be able to help.” He spun on his heel and walked further into the recesses of the room. “Follow me, I think I have just the thing you’re looking for.”

Babbage followed him back through the workshop, through a door and into another glowing room, this one with seemingly even more gadgets and equipment strewn around it. In the middle of the room stood Madigan, and next to him, Madigan again.

The one on the left spoke.

“Apologies detective, I find it a necessary security measure to never open the door myself.”

Babbage stared at him. The gleam in the eye was still there, but then, it was there for both of them.

“That wasn’t you?”

“Oh no, that was Alan here, one of my regulars. He’s quite effective, don’t you think? Don’t feel too bad, it’s what he was designed for, even named for. Ever heard of the Turing test detective? You should study your history, it will help explain some things.”

There was nothing to say to this man, you just had to let him have his fun. Ride it out.

Madigan watched his face but didn’t find what he was looking for. The glint in his eye dimmed slightly and he held out his hand.

“The memory card, please.”

Babbage handed it over and Madigan gave it in turn to his clone.

“Of course, there’s always the possibility that it was me all along and I’ve simply been lying to you. Occam’s razor you know.”

He stepped back and gave the clone a once over before turning back to Babbage.

“And now detective, I suggest we retire to a safer viewing area.”

Madigan led them back out through the door and into an adjoining room that Babbage hadn’t noticed on the way through. A large window covered one wall, allowing them to see back into the room they’d just left. Alan stood there, perfectly still.

Babbage finally found his voice.

“So was it you, or Alan who answered the door?”

Madigan turned to him and the gleam was back.

“My dear detective, that would be telling.”

He leant over the console in front of him and flicked a switch.

“Alan, please insert the memory plug now.”

Babbage turned his attention to the next room and watched the clone place the plug in the slot behind his ear. He was surprised to find his fist clenched inside his coat. Something bad was about to happen.

As soon as the plug was inserted the clone’s head shot back, his mouth open, throat tensed and straining. The booth was soundproof, but Babbage could imagine the noise. He’d heard it before, that animal roar, laced with a tune, repeating over and over. He pushed his nails into his palm to force the memory back out of his mind.

A moment later it was over. The clone had collapsed into a heap, smoke curling slowly away from his prone figure.

Madigan turned to Babbage and fixed him with a look.

“Oh dear. That’s the third time Alan’s died this week.”