Copycat
By Matthew Green
The pilot veered his spaceplane starboard, then port. The other plane copied his moves exactly. Collision was imminent. He launched a missile at the enemy craft, which launched it’s own missile back. The missiles collided at exactly mid point between the two planes. The resulting explosion destroyed them both.
Jim Trawker screamed as his spaceplane was destroyed.
The screen displayed the words ‘Game Over’, in huge flashing letters.
"Excellently played."
Jim turned round with a start.
"Who are you?" he demanded, annoyed at the man for creeping up on him.
"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man, who was smartly dressed in a military uniform. "My name is General Stephenson. I hear you’re very good at ‘Space Commander’"
Jim wondered what kind of mother would call her child ‘General’.
"I get by," he said.
"Let’s cut right to the chase. We’re currently at war with an unknown enemy, nicknamed ‘Copycats’, their planes are identical to ours in every way, we’ve lost twelve pilots to them already."
Jim glanced at the squaddies across the arcade, who were busy smashing up a chocolate bar machine.
"If we’re at war, why aren’t they fighting?" he enquired.
Stephenson turned towards the squaddies.
"Them?" he said. "I wouldn’t trust them to fight. Squaddies are only in the army because if they weren’t the vandalism and destruction they cause while on leave would happen all the time. The army’s nothing more than a glorified prison as far as they’re concerned."
"I see. So what is it you want me to do?"
"You’re a skilled pilot, our planes operate the same as the ‘Space Commander’ game. You’d be a natural."
"But I could get killed!"
The General beamed.
"Gung ho lad, that’s the spirit."
Jim wasn’t in orbit long before he spotted another space craft identical to his own.
"Enemy sighted," he said, "proceeding to engage."
A light on the control panel flashed, indicating he was receiving a transmission.
"Enemy sighted," he heard his own voice say, "proceeding to engage."
Transmission echo, he concluded.
He locked onto the other spacecraft.
"Might as well get this over with," he muttered, with communication channels closed.
The missile fired, and collided with another missile at mid way between the two spacecraft. Jim had kept his distance, so the explosion didn’t engulf his craft.
He shifted from side to side, and the other plane copied his movements.
He ceased firing all thrusters, and allowed himself to orbit the Earth normally.
And the other ship copied him. It wasn’t attacking.
"Alien spacecraft," he transmitted, "I don’t want to hurt you. Please state your business here."
The computer registered that at the same time he was transmitting he was also receiving.
Jim listened to the message. It was the one he’d just sent out. Realisation dawned on him.
"Base," he said, "I’m coming home."
Jim stepped down from his plane.
"Glad to see you made it back alive," said Stephenson. "What have you to report?"
"The alien spacecraft," said Jim, "it didn’t just look like me. It was me. Some sort of mirror image, but solid."
"Of course," said The Professor, stepping into view. "There never was an enemy. There’s some kind of spacial disruption surrounding the Earth, it creates an exact opposite copy of anything which goes near it, that’s why they were able to counter any missile."
The Professor produced a pad and did a few scribblings.
"By my calculation," he said, "the disruption will move on in two days, then we can resume normal spacecraft launching without fear of colliding with ourselves."
The Professor disappeared from view.
"Assemble the squaddies, quickly," said the General, his eyes gleaming. "We have a war for them to fight."
And who would argue with him there, eh?
THE END