Clone Chase

“The cloning of human beings is a subject fraught with ethical and moral controversy. If cloning can ensure the infinite replication of specific genetic traits, a judgement would need to be made as to which traits are desirable and therefore worthy of perpetuation. The persons empowered to exercise such judgement would be in a position to change the course of human development.” Excerpt from a late 20th century encyclopaedia.

* * *

Mona wandered down the darkened alleyway. Her mother had warned her not to come down to the B-level, but she’d gotten lost. And now she didn’t know how to get back to the A-level. It was horrible down here. It was all dark and gloomy and it stank and the people were weird. They even drove cars! Her mother had said that once upon a time everybody had driven cars, even ordinary A-levellers like them, but Mona didn’t understand. Why would they have driven cars when they could have used hoverjets, which were so much better. Mona had been preoccupied with these thoughts and so was not prepared when a gang of filthy B-levellers pushed her to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream but a filthy, stinking piece of material was shoved in her mouth. And then, in the tradition of all good damsels in distress, Mona fainted.

Petrov strode down the street. He, too, hated coming down to the B-level but he had no choice when there was a computer crash at one of the factories. He was an advanced computer technician, and this was one of the only downsides of his job. It would be better if he never had to go down into the B-level, but fixing the factory computers had go him where he was today, and it wasn’t like they could have factories in the A-level. It was inconceivable; they’d pollute the air! It was okay for the B-levelers, they were poor and didn’t care.

Just then Petrov heard the cut-off scream of a girl. He turned to peer down the alley to the left, where the scream had come from. Through the smog he could see the vague outlines of a group of B-level thugs. No doubt they were assaulting some poor, defenseless young girl. He’d better go and rescue her. Petrov sprinted down the alleyway. As he reached the gang he started pulling the thugs away. Then he realised one of them was holding a knife. He started backing off, his hands in the air.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I had no business here. I’m sure she deserved it. I’m really sorry.” Petrov broke into a run. The B-leveler lunged at him. Petrov gasped and slumped to the ground as blood began to ooze onto his shirt.

* * *

Alexis walked in the door. She sighed. It hadn’t been a good day. She’d only made $100,000! How was she going to survive if profits continued like that?
“Lights.” The lights came on at a soft level, programmed to soothe and calm her.
“Messages.” The messages screen came up on the computer console, which was recessed into the wall by the door. There were no messages, which was hardly surprising. Usually when people wanted to contact her while she was out they did so through the wrist interface she always wore. Just then a buzz came from the door com. She called up the door viewer on the computer screen. It was her good friend Sergeant Cohen. He sometimes cam to visit her when he was on duty to make sure she was safe and will. Why he did this when there were a score of well-armed security guards manning the building she didn’t know, but she never said anything. As she welcomed him in she noticed he was looking very sombre. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he got in first.
“I’m afraid your husband has been involved in an accident.”
“How long will it take him to recover?” she asked. It wasn’t possible for him to die, the medical services in the A-level were just too good. Of course had he been a B-leveler…but no, she wouldn’t think about that.
“We rushed him straight to the medicentre. I’m afraid that although they tried their hardest they couldn’t save him. He had been down in the B-level and it was some hours before he was found,” the police officer took her hand “If it’s any consolation, his actions did save the life of a young girl. A group of B-level thugs were assaulting her and he tried to rescue her. Unfortunately one of the thugs had a knife and he stabbed your husband.” Alexis forced a few tears to roll down her cheeks, but they both knew it was only a formality. She would send off an application to the BCGM (Board of Cloning and Genetic Mutation), they would consider the circumstances of his death and his disease risk (7.8%, as far as she could remember from when he’d applied for insurance), and they would approve the cloning. 5 months later Petrov’s clone would be released and everything would go back to normal. It was a good thing he hadn’t died of natural courses. They had never, in the entire history of the Board, approved the cloning of a natural deceased. They couldn’t, it would lead to massive overpopulation.

5 Months Later
Riaan followed her guide, also a professor of Cloning and Genetic Mutation, down the corridor and into the laboratory.
On one side of the room was a mass of computer consoles, each with a scientist working busily at it. On the other side of the room the wall was filled with rows and tows of unoccupied, dormant bodies. She listened in as the professor began to speak, grateful for the distraction.
“Now this is the most important room in the CGM complex,” he said. “It is the Homo Sapiens Cloning Room. You will see on this side of the room the computer consoles. This is where, our skilled team of scientists work hard at cloning human beings. When someone is approved for cloning some cells from their body are sent here and put into one of the computers. One of our team then uses these cells to map the person’s DNA. 0nce this is done the, DNA is programmed into a special substance in one of the cloning booths. It then takes around 5 months for the clone to grow to it’s original’s size. There is one here we are about to release. It’s not often students like you are lucky enough to witness such an event. The clone has been moved to one of our release booths.”

The professor, who Riaan considered was appearing more and more conceited as he went along, moved across to a booth that, unlike the others, was not filled with the life-creating substance. The man was now clothed in a business suit, which was obviously the mode of clothing his original had favoured.
“The first thing we, need to do is program his memory. It will be identical to his original’s in every way except that he won't remember anything of the accident in which his original died. This is the same function as one, the human mind exercises naturally as a method of trauma prevention.” Riaan watched closely as he typed something into the console on the side of the booth and then inserted a card into the slot next to it. A light beside it went green, and then a robotic arm came, down out of the top of the booth and did something to the clone's neck.
"What's happening now?' she asked.
“A computer chip is being embedded into his neck so we can track him once he's left the complex in case anything goes wrong. And now he is ready to be released. We must leave now, as the release is conducted solely in the presence of a counsellor specially trained to help clones adjust to their new lease on life.”
As Riaan left she had a feeling of complete and utter terror, but she put it down to the sight of the rows of cloned bodies.

Alexis didn't bother looking at the door viewer when the buzz came, over the door com. She knew who it was - she'd been waiting for this moment for five- long months. She could have gone into suspended animation, but how would she have known whether she'd made or lost money? She ran over to the door as it opened on her husband.
“Oh Petrov! I'm so glad to see you! Sit down and tell me, how you are! Did you get the, Clone's Grant?” Petrov relaxed into one, of the seats, which immediately morphed to fit his shape, and pulled her towards him.
“I'm just fine,” he said.
“Are you sure? You sound a bit- what?! Petrov?! PETROV!!”

Dr Mikhail looked up as the young man entered the room. He’d spent most of the day showing a young student around the complex. She hadn't asked many questions, just listened. She'd make a good employee.
“Sir, we have -a problem.” said the young man, an aide, with a slight hesitation. Mikhail was renowned for not knowing that you couldn't shoot the messenger.
“What?”
“The clone we released this afternoon? Clone #458? Well, he's disappeared.” The professor's head snapped up.
“I'm coming. You can tell me what happened on the way to the Tracking Room.”
“Well, sir, we released him and tracked him back to his home just to make, sure he got there safely. Once that was done we left him. Then we checked again an hour later, as per procedure, and he was still at home, but when we checked the next hour he'd disappeared. We checked everywhere on this planet, all transport systems, both earth- and space-based and the space stations, but we couldn't pick up his signal. We didn't check the Planets; he couldn't have got that far yet.”

By this time they were in the Tracking Room. Dr Mikhail strode across to a monitor next to which a small, red emergency light was flashing. Unlike the monitors surrounding it, there was no white, dot visible on this one. The professor frowned.
“Check the Planets just in case and get onto Interpol to try and find him," he ordered. “It may just be that his computer chip malfunctioned."
"Yes sir!" said the young aide. He remembered to salute, as was appropriate in the presence of a senior, and then raced off to do his task.

A few minutes later he was back at Dr Mikhail’s side.
“Sir, I checked the Planets and they've got no trace of him, but when I contacted Interpol they checked his files and apparently his original was some sort of expert computer technician. There is the possibility he deactivated the chip himself. Interpol are starting an immediate search, and they'll put his details on the World Computer Service in case he shows up.''
“Good. But why would he want to deactivate the chip?" the professor wondered.
“He, could be planning to commit a crime, of some sort," offered the aide.
“We pay you to work, not think," snapped Dr Mikhail. “He may be planning to avenge his death, though. Get onto Interpol and advise them to warn all their B-level patrols And tell them to keep me posted."
“Yes sir." the aide saluted, and then rushed off once more.

The Interpol officer switched off the call viewer and turned to his assistant.
“Warn the B-level patrols that the escaped clone may try to cause trouble. Still keep up the search everywhere else, though, in case he turns up somewhere unexpected. Oh, and keep me informed.”
“Yes sir!” The young man saluted and left the room. Seconds later a young woman walked in without saluting. The officer frowned. Typical, you never could trust a female to show respect.
“Sir, there’s been a death reported. The clone’s wife. They ran the post mortem scanner over her, but they couldn’t find any reason for her death. It was like she’d just had the life sucked out of her.”
“Very well. Thank you for telling me. You may leave now.”

Petrov’s clone walked into the nearest public computer booth. He called up the Interpol ‘Wanted’ screen. Sure enough, there were his picture and details, on display for anyone to see. Not that the screen was used often. Still…there was a risk. He typed in a code and pressed a button on the side of the screen. The screen went black for a second, and when it came back on both his details and his picture were gone. He called up the CGM Complex screen.

Dr Mikhail shook his head. This clone was proving more difficult to capture than anyone had expected. An emergency meeting of himself, the national city0state leaders and the Interpol captain had been called. So far, in two days the clone had deactivated his computer chip, killed anyone who might identify him, including that nice you student, and destroyed all his details and personal records. Basically, he had made himself invisible. Now the emergency committee was discussing ways to capture him. One plan was to use old-style telephones taken from the museums to communicate all information, meaning the clone wouldn’t be able to interfere.

One theory was that it had mutated and become some sort of human disease. If they didn’t stop it, it had the potential to destroy the entire human race. And if it was a human cancer it might duplicate itself and overrun the world. For all they knew it already had. A man had just been reported dead in the exact same circumstances as the other people the clone had killed, except that no one could figure out why the clone would want to kill him. Now the committee was waiting for the results of a check on the man.

Dr Mikhail was jolted out of his thoughts as a face came up on the computer screen that floated just in front of them. It was a young Interpol officer. He saluted and then addressed himself to the Sydney city-state leader, who was the highest ranking official in the room.
“Sir, we’ve completed the check on Mino Carachev as requested. He was due to take up a position on board the Mikon space stateion as a computer technician this afternoon. It is possible that the clone may have taken his place and is planning to wreak havoc on the Earth from there.”
“Thank you, officder. Warn the space station, but tell them not to take any action whatsoever. Contact the army and get them to send an elite squadron up immediately.”
“Yes sir. Oh, and I’m afraid there’s some more bad news. There was a leak of the story to the media, who immediately gave a n emergency bulletin. People have panicked and are blockading government buildings demanding protection. The rioters have already killed ten clones.”
“Thank you for informing me officer.” As the computer screen disappeared the various leaders began muttering about the idiocy of the leak, while the Interpol captain fumed silently at the Sydney city-state leader’s decision. Call the Army in! Why bother? His Interpol officers could do just as well, if not better. It’d be typical if the Army messed things up, too. Oh, well. It’s not like there’s anything he could do. But one day he would make Interpol stronger than anyone else…

Private Kansky smiled as he boarded the shuttle to Mikon space station. He’d been waiting for this day all his life. An official, elite, world-important mission. It’d be dangerous, sure, but it was exciting! It was the next best thing to war, seeing war wasn’t something that happened anymore.

Private Kansky became more and more excited as the shuttle docked with the space station. The commanding officer stood up of a quick de-briefing.
“Now you all know what you’re here to do. The clone has been isolated in the G section. He is tall with a dark complexion. All others in the section are fair, so he will be easy to spot. Your orders are to shoot on sight. Be careful, this clone is very dangerous, and we don’t know what measures he may take to protect himself. Now go and get him!”

Private Kansky and his partner walked down a corridor, their laser rifles at the ready. He stopped and looked around the corner. Yes! The clone was down a dead end corridor, unarmed and unaware, with no way to escape. Kansky grinned to himself. This was his moment of glory. He signalled to his partner. They rounded the corner and opened fire. The man fell down immediately, a shot through his heart and a rapidly spreading bloodstain. He was dead, no doubt about it. Private Kansky contacted his superior to break the news.

Dr Mikhail was in his office again, but this time celebrating, when the young aide came in.
“What is it this time?” he asked, genial for a change.
“The booth has been deactivated as you asked, sir, and I have just received word that the Board has been executed in Hyde Park, with a large turnout.”
“Good. The deserved it. They should have known better than to let that man be cloned. You may go now.”
“Actually sir, there’s something else. There’s been another death…”