Redshirts

channel.’ It started in 2007, which means it’s now in its sixth season.”
    “This is completely ridiculous,” Kerensky said, around his pizza.
    Dahl looked over to him, and then pressed the screen to open up another article. “And playing Lieutenant Anatoly Kerensky on Chronicles of the Intrepid is an actor named Marc Corey,” he said, flipping the screen around to show Kerensky the picture of a smiling doppelgänger in a stylish blazer and open-collared dress shirt. “Born in 1985 in Chatsworth, California. I wonder if that’s anywhere near here.”
    Kerensky grabbed the phone and read the article sullenly. “This doesn’t prove anything,” he said. “We don’t know how accurate any of this information is. For all we know, this”—he scrolled up on the phone screen to find a label—“this Wikipedia information database here is compiled by complete idiots.” He handed back the phone.
    “We could try to track down this Corey fellow,” Hanson said.
    “I want to try someone else first,” Dahl said, and started poking at his phone again. “If Marc Corey is a regular on a show, he’s probably going to be hard to get to. I think we should probably aim lower.”
    “What do you mean?” Duvall said.
    “I mean, I think we should start with me,” Dahl said, and then turned the phone around again, to a picture of what appeared to be his own face. “Meet Brian Abnett.”
    Dahl’s friends looked at the picture. “It’s a little unsettling, isn’t it?” Hanson said, after a minute. “Looking at a picture of someone who is exactly like you but isn’t.”
    “No kidding,” Dahl said. “Of course, you all have your own people, too.”
    At that, the rest of them started to power up their own phones.
    “What does Wikipedia say about him ?” Kerensky sneered. He did not have his own phone.
    “Nothing,” Dahl said. “He apparently doesn’t meet the standard. I followed the link on the Chronicles of the Intrepid page to a database called IMDB, which had information about the actors on the series. He has a page there.”
    “So how do we contact him?” Duvall said.
    “It doesn’t have contact information on that page,” Dahl said. “But let me put his name in the search field.”
    “I just found myself,” Hanson said. “I’m some guy named Chad.”
    “I knew a Chad once,” Hester said. “He used to beat me up.”
    “I’m sorry,” Hanson said.
    “It wasn’t you, ” Hester said. “Either of you.”
    “He has his own page,” Dahl said.
    “Chad?” Hanson asked.
    “No, Brian Abnett,” Dahl said. He scrolled through the page until he found a tab that said ‘Contact.’” Dahl pressed it and an address popped up.
    “It’s for his agency,” Dahl said.
    “Wow, actors had agents even then,” Duvall said.
    “Even now, you mean,” Dahl said, and pressed his screen again. “His agency is only a couple of miles from here. We can walk it.”
    “What are we going to do when we get there?” Duvall asked.
    “I’m going to get his address from them,” Dahl said.
    “You think they’ll give it you?” Hester asked.
    “Of course they will,” Dahl said. “I’m him.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    “Okay, I see him,” Duvall said, pointing up Camarillo Street. “He’s the one on the bicycle.”
    “Are you sure?” Dahl asked.
    “I know what you look like, even wearing a bicycle helmet,” Duvall said. “Trust me.”
    “Now, remember not to freak him out,” Dahl said. He had on a baseball cap he had bought and was holding a copy of the day’s Los Angeles Times in his hand. The two of them were standing in front of the condominium complex Brian Abnett lived in.
    “You’re telling me not to freak him out,” she said. “You’re the one who’s his clone.”
    “I don’t want him freaking out until he sees me,” Dahl said.
    “Don’t worry, I’m good with men,” Duvall said. “Now go stand over there and try not to look…” She paused.
    “Try not to look what?” asked Dahl.
    “Try not to look so clone-y,” Duvall said. “At least not for a couple more minutes.” Dahl grinned, stepped back and raised his newspaper.
    “Hey,” Dahl heard Duvall say a minute later. He peeked over the top of the newspaper just enough to see her walk up to Brian Abnett, who was getting off his bike and unlatching his helmet.
    “Hey,” Abnett said, and then took another look at her. “Wait, don’t tell me,” he said, smiling. “We’ve worked together.”
    “Maybe,” Duvall