Science Fiction
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.
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.
My name is...John.
Brandon wanted to find a woman he could put his arm
around and have her shoulder slide into the nook of his
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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 M. Bennardo
Published on Nov 19, 2012
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 Kenneth S Kao
Published on Apr 14, 2011
by D. Thomas Minton
Published on Jan 3, 2012
by Steven L Peck
Published on Jan 16, 2012
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 didn’t look at Abraham as he said, “They’re tools, Uncle. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be using them, not socializing with them.
Published on Sep 10, 2010
by Steven Saus
Published on Dec 8, 2010
by Henry Szabranski
Published on Sep 11, 2012
by Lavie Tidhar
Published on Apr 22, 2011
by A.C. Wise
Published on Jul 15, 2011
