Featured Story
Recent Stories
Stories by Topic
News
Enter any portion of the author name or story title:
small-go-arrowsearch
Sign up for free daily sci-fi!
  Subscribe to Daily Science Fiction
your email will be kept private

Breaking News
Get a copy of Not Just Rockets and Robots: Daily Science Fiction Year One. 260 adventures into new worlds, fantastical and science fictional. Rocket Dragons Ignite: the anthology for year two, is also available!
Kindle Edition
Kindle Edition
DSF stories are available in monthly digests for Kindle!
DSF for Kindle
Publish your stories or art on Daily Science Fiction:
Submit your story
Check story status
Stories
Everything we've published! Click on a topic to read...

Science Fiction
Aliens (75 stories)
Biotech (49)
Clones (15)
 
Fantasy
Fantasy (51)
 
Hither & Yon
Humor (22)
 
Date Order
Not just rockets & robots...
What is Science Fiction?
"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.
close






Science Fiction

Clones


Clones have been a much developed topic in science fiction for more than 70 years. Now that we know they're actually within the grasp of current technology, some of the thrill is gone. Yet, in the right hands clones continue to provide fertile ground for imagined futures worthy cautionary and ecstatic.

by Sarah Bartsch
Ceri slammed the door, shaking the authentic antique wood frame, which meant the situation was worse than Ash had thought. He cringed, worried about making Dad angry, but Dad wouldn't care much about the stupid expensive door once he found out about Fluffy. Their parents were on holiday at the Mariana Trench resort, the current fashionable destination for the scientific elite. It was a boring place where pretentious jerks sat around hmming and oohing at each other, competing for the most expensive room in the place and pretending dehydrated food didn't taste awful. There was nothing else to do because it was a bunch of cramped, claustrophobic pods thousands of feet underwater. Dark and boring and a fad, and he hadn't wanted to go at all. Not even a little bit. Ceri was happy to be left behind, too, and it was her idea to have the party even though they'd been "expressly forbidden" from inviting friends over, what with the feline flu outbreak.
Published on Sep 5, 2014
by M. Bennardo
As I peer from the window of the third-story lab in Bingham Building, I can just see the other guy crossing the rain-slicked cobblestones of the quad. He's hunched over, defeated. In shock, probably. He has no bags, but he's leaving forever. Everything he owns is on his back or in his pockets--a cheap suit, two hundred bucks, and a bus ticket to Topeka. It's all because, a few minutes earlier, she studied the two of us--me and that other guy. Because she pulled out her magnifying glass and scrutinized every line of our bodies and faces, peered into our eyes, tapped our knees, checked how our hair met our scalps.
Published on Nov 19, 2012
by Gio Clairval & Cat Rambo
Every time they saw the apparition, it meant more acrobats would die. Someone would spot him: white trunks, white tunic, floating in the vast billowy confines of the Big Top's canvas ceiling. The nearest acrobat would let out a keening, grief-stricken wail. A body would fall, unfastened from the balloon that had kept it airborne. Then another would plummet, and other, until all lay broken on the ground, balloons spinning free. The billboards read: "Pale Glow, the Merciless Killer," and: "The Man of Mist Won't Stop Before All Acrobats Are Dead," and: "Pale Glow Hates the Circus!"
Published on Oct 22, 2013
by Andy Dudak
The 3877th instance of Fingal Reginald Boyd can't believe what he's hearing. He is the first instance of the Boyd-dissociation to be denied reintegration. The skull of his meat puppet, with its landscape of memory and regret, suddenly seems very small. "I'm sorry," 3877 says. "Can you repeat that?"
Published on Jun 20, 2013
by JG Faherty
id was sure he heard a note of envy in Bob's voice. "Yep. Hadn't even been test-driven yet. Practically right off the truck." "Ain't that sweet." "Comes with a ten-year warranty, too. Anything goes wrong, they fix it for free."
Published on Oct 25, 2010
by Marco Giandomenico
The experiment had been a success. I was staring at my clone, marveling at how different he looked from my self-image. He was a living reflection with new independence and he examined me with the same sense of wonder and bewilderment.
Published on Apr 17, 2014
by Kenneth S Kao
My name is...John.
Published on Apr 14, 2011
by D. Thomas Minton
Brandon wanted to find a woman he could put his arm around and have her shoulder slide into the nook of his
Published on Jan 3, 2012
by Steven L Peck
She is sitting in the library, reading. I see her face glowing in the soft light of the magazine. The familiar face I've known every nuance of for the better part of my life. She blinks twice deliberately, turning the page. AS she does so, I see the radiance of the screen flicker in her face. Her legs are curled beneath her on the cozy, lab-grown-leather chair. She notices I'm standing in the door watching. She smiles, then goes back to reading. Should I tell her? I can't decide. The ethical debate is all over the map. Even the professionals don't have a clue and have not reached a consensus. The insta-polls on the highest hit sites are split 50-50. Although, "Ethics Now!!" is running 60/40 in favor of telling her. I watched her with the boys this morning. They were laughing about our holiday in Austria when she fell into the stream while trying to jump across it. A video replay from my headcam leaps onto the kitchen screen--one of the kids must have accessed for the hundredth time. It is funny. She makes the leap, lands on the other side on both feet and then spins her arms frantically as she loses balance and falls backward into the stream. Even I join the laughter.
Published on Jan 16, 2012
by Conor Powers-Smith
Usually Tyler allowed himself twenty or thirty pages of reading before considering the day truly begun, but he'd had time for no more than three pages when Marta knocked on the library door, took two steps into the room, and said, in the ringing voice she used in the house's larger spaces, "Someone at the door for you." "Okay," he said. "Coming." He'd never been able to make his voice carry the way Marta could; it was either speak normally, or shout. He could almost see his words fade and vanish somewhere in the forty-odd feet between Marta and himself.
Published on Jan 31, 2014
by Cat Rambo
He ignored Abraham. What had the old man ever given him beside disapproval and grief? Now Sean was taking himself and his shameful activities away, leaving Abraham with nothing to disapprove of. Sean didnít look at Abraham as he said, ďTheyíre tools, Uncle. You donít need to worry. Iíll be using them, not socializing with them.
Published on Sep 10, 2010
by Steven Saus
Sarah pulls into the driveway, and we all start to whisper. The tension and arguments of the day melt away in the heat of the birthday candles being lit. Rover whines from the bedroom and one of us--hard to tell which in the darkened living room--shushes the dog. "Better that Rover whines instead of eating the cake," the person hiding behind the couch with me says. I nod before remembering that he probably can't see me either. We might argue later. We probably will, since we're a little too alike to get along comfortably. But right now we're all focused on Sarah, just waiting for her. As the last candle is lit, the whiff of butane reminds me of smoking. It reminds me of how badly I craved a cigarette when Sarah and I last argued.
Published on Dec 8, 2010
by Henry Szabranski
Simon would not say goodbye this time. He had worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, paid enough, to not say goodbye to his wife ever again. He leaned his head against the glass wall of the pod and stared inside at River's freshly printed body. She looked up at him, smiled and said, "I love you."
Published on Sep 11, 2012
by Lavie Tidhar
They caught up with him at last on the edge of Soi Cowboy. He'd been running for some time: a doll-repair shop in Nong Khai on the Mekong river, a stint in Vientiane--he'd dumped his last ID, changed his node in a back-street warez lab in Kunming and fled, fled across Laos and into Thailand, into Issan: where nothing ever happened, and one could--almost--disappear. They came for him nevertheless, as he knew they would, and he fled again, at last trying to hide himself in Bangkok, the city masking him, the hum of its endless electronics, wireless signals, radio and telephone and optics, cables and satellites all acting to hide one single human in that vast digital space--but they found him again and he had to run.
Published on Apr 22, 2011
by A.C. Wise
Here is Doll at five years old. She's sitting rigid and silent in the closet, hoping Henry and Jakey will forget she's there. They're fighting about her. The gap between the doorframe and the door lets in a sliver of light that bisects her eye. Through the gap, she can see Henry in profile. Doll can't see Jakey, she only hears him, yelling at his father.
Published on Jul 15, 2011
 
Copyright Info
Tell a Friend
Send Feedback
About Us