textfiles/stories/clon

CLONES TO US!
  by Thomas Nevin Huber

  It was Quorsflic and raining. I was on vacation from EN. Doc and I 
were old friends from way back. I had gone into the news field and Doc 
had gone into the medisci field. Because we were old friends, Doc was 
always trying to get me to give him some air time. I figured this was 
one of those times. It turned out to be the most important story of my 
life.

  You see, Doc had an idea in his head about unlocking the genetic 
history of the cell. I thought he was crazy. In reality, he was one 
bit reprobate and four bits genius. That mixed into one of the greatest 
medisci minds of our time.

  It was raining. I hated the rain, but Doc didn't mind. He never did. 
He was pounding on my door, shouting something about "finding it," 
whatever "it" was.

  I got tired of the pounding and yanked the door open. He looked 
surprised and said, "Oh. You are home."

  "Of course," I muttered back. "Now what is this `it' thing you're 
shouting about?"

  "I've unlocked the History!"

  "What history? What happened to the world when Kurskie didn't come 
into power?"

  "No, dammit! The History Of The Cell!"

  "Oh." Of course. It was *That*, again. He always talked in initial 
caps when he spoke about That.

  He was grinning from ear to ear. Well, almost. The smile seemed to 
split his face. "Who do you want to clone?" he asked.

  "Me? You're asking me?"

  "Yeah, you. The ones I want are all unobtainable."

  By then, I'd walked over to the big couch and sat. It had been 
overstuffed back a few years ago, and now all you did was sink in. I 
sank. Doc closed the door and locked it.

  "What's that for?" I asked.

  He looked at the door and remarked, "I don't want *Them* to *Know*."

  ". . ." That's what I did when I didn't know what to say.

  Doc was always off on some tangent. Ever since they passed the sex-
regulating laws, he had been upset. I think that he was probably one 
of those, but I never said anything. The laws had done their thing in
controlling rampant sex crimes and diseases and Doc was pissed. He 
didn't like the idea of not being able to just go out and get some once 
in a while.

  "Well?" he demanded.

  ". . ." Then it struck me. "Who would you like?" I asked him. "Me? 
Tiny Finorra. But she's not available."

  I sat back with jaundiced eye and looked at him. (Actually, my eyes 
are not jaundiced, but it sounds good.) "What do you mean, `not 
available?'"

  "She's mated."

  "But your clone?"

  He thought for a moment. Then he went over and sat in my big over-
stuffed chair. It was like the couch. He sank and thought.

  I watched carefully and after a moment or two, his face started
brightening. He got a wonderfully wicked look in his eyes. "All I 
need is a cell!"

  Before I knew it, he was out of the chair and trying to get out the 
door.

  "It's locked," I observed.

  "Why?" he asked, groping for the lock.

  ". . ."

  He fumbled with the locks and got it open. "Come on!" he demanded, 
holding the open door. "Let's go get a piece of her and get started."

                               *  *  *

  "Getting a piece" didn't have the connotation most of you might 
think. He meant a literal piece. Like, "A strand of hair?" I looked 
at him through the rain. I hated rain.

  "Yeah. That's all I need. An real strand of her hair."

  I stopped in the middle of the street that we were crossing and 
immediately an idiot driver leaned on his horn. "Take a tube," he yelled 
and I did my thing at him. This is a nice rag, so I won't tell you what 
that was. He knew, however, and almost ran me down with his old floater.

  "Where?" I asked as I watched the idiot driver coast on down the 
street.

  "Where what?" Doc asked, also looking at the departing idiot.

  "Where are you going to get a strand of her hair?"

  "At the hair shoppe, of course."

  Of course. Any idiot knew that, including the driver. So what did that 
make me?

  No. Don't answer that.

  By the end of the day, Doc had drug me all over town and me on my 
vacation, too. To the hair shoppe, to the pharm, to the bank, back to 
the pharm. You get the picture. If any of you have teen kids and take 
them shopping for school clothes, then you know the routine.

  My head was buzzing and my feet hurt as we took the transitube back 
to Doc's place. I was sniffling, wishing that Doc was working on a cure 
for the cold, instead of his damned clones. I was wet. I hated the rain.

  Doc's place is on the edge. Not of town, just reality. He had it 
built back in the early years of the space era. Something about being 
ecologically correct. Windows and funny stuff. Not many of those houses 
left anymore. 'Course Doc is a bit strange, anyway. So he and the house 
got along.

  He was unlocking the door with his keys. Too many locks, I thought. 
Why not use the thumb print thing? "It can't be fooled," I told him. 
"Goes right down to the molecular level." It was still raining and I 
was wet.

  "That's what gave me the idea," he said as he continued to work at 
his locks.

  "What?"

  "The thumb print id. They discovered how to record the cell 
information."

  "Huh?"

  "The cell information in the thumb id -- they discovered how to 
record it."

  He just told me that.

  At last the door was open and I went inside to drip in his porch. 
He started working on the next door. Why he locked the first one didn't 
make sense. We could have climbed into the porch easily enough. But we 
didn't and I dripped.

  I sneezed and Doc said something like bless me. I pulled out my dirty
laundry and blew my nose. Ugh. I was getting sick.

  Twenty minutes later we were in his lab. I had my cam out, taking vids. 
He carefully unwrapped the tiny package containing Her one strand of hair. 
Uh, Tiny Finorra's one strand of hair. I know you know who she is. She has 
got to be one of the greatest looking models of non-clothing anyone could 
care to look at. And she helped sell a lot of non-clothes. A lot.

  I sneezed again and said, "I thought the cells in the hair wouldn't 
work."

  "It doesn't matter," he said, motioning for me to take some more 
vids. "I can take any cell, living or dead and make this work. All you 
need are the right ingrediants."

  "Expensive ingrediants," I bemoaned. "I co-signed the note at the 
bank, remember."

  "Yeah, but for Tiny, it'll be worth it."

  "In about twenty years or so."

  "Nah, hand me the other package."

  "Doc, growth hormones don't make it. We all take twenty years or so 
to mature. Unless you like 'em young."

  "It won't take that long."

  "Why not? You can't grow an adult any faster."

  He looked at me, smiling broadly. "I can."

  "!" I shook my head.

  "Just take the shots," he said.

  So I stood around for two hours taking vids of Doc doing his thing 
with the hair and the ingrediants -- I told you they were expensive -- 
right? I made sure I recorded that part of it.

  "Why don't you lie down?" he asked.

  That sounded great. "Where?"

  "Over here." He moved a bunch of stuff, mostly books and sweaters 
and a blanket. A blanket? A cot! I headed for it and lay down. Me and 
the blanket.

                               *  *  *

  He shook me awake. It was dark outside. I could tell because the 
lights were on and the windows were dark.

  "What? Is it time to go home?"

  "No," he whispered in a hushed voice. "She's ready to Wake Up."

  "She?" I grabbed my cam.

  "Yeah, Tiny. I stopped her growth at eighteen. That's when I fell in 
love with her!"

  "Uh, Doc. . ." I didn't quite believe him.

  "Yeah?"

  "What day is it? How long have I been out?"

  "Two, three hours. Why?"

  I did my jaundiced eye thing again. "Two to three hours? Eighteen 
years? Time doesn't work like that." I felt my face. It was smooth. No 
weeks or months had passed. Or else Doc had used the anti-hair stuff on 
me just to fool me. I felt my hair. Still the same old length. Too long 
and too short for the girls. Sigh.

  Doc helped me get up, camera and all. The cold was settling in my bones 
and I ached. But, when you're at Doc's, you do what Doc wants you to do.

  "I gotta do something about this cold, Doc. Do you have anything?"

  "I can give you a `scription. But you'll have to come by the office in 
the morn for it."

  "Tanks," I mumbled, my node clogging at that moment. I sneezed again,
clearing it.

  "I'll make an exception," he told me. "I'll write it up tonight, if 
you want."

  "I want."

  "So do I. Now, come on."

  He drug me across the room where . . .

  "Tiny?" I took a vid. She was covered, except for her head, with a 
blanket.

  "Yup. That's her at sweet eighteen. Maybe a bit younger, but that's 
her." 

  "She's beautiful." I took another vid. All I could see was her head 
and the outline of that marvelous body of hers.

  "Can I look?" I asked as I plucked at the edge of the blanket, cam 
at ready.

  He slapped my hand away. "Of course not! That wouldn't be proper."

  "But . . ."

  He shook his head. "If she wants to reveal her body, she will," he 
said. I took a vid of him for the record. He smiled.

  "Tiny won't reveal anything," I told him. "She never did any of the 
skin stuff. Hows about I get a shot now?"

  "Nope, you can't. As to the skin stuff, I've got her codes for the
compudram."

  That's another story. Doc and his compudram machine. With it and 
the codes, he could make the image of her act out anything he wanted. 
Talk about perversions. Thank Johaicom for his laws. Otherwise, I just 
know Doc would have . . . Well, never mind.

  "What do we do to wake her up?" I asked, shooting another vid of her.

  "We don't. It's almost time," he reverently whispered.

  "Time for what?" I didn't whisper.

  "For her to wake up. The cells mature and she'll open her eyes. . ."

  We were staring at her eyes. They were open. I quickly took another 
vid of her face.

  "Tiny?" Doc asked, leaning over her. I let the cam run, catching 
vids fast enough for continuous motion.

  Her blonde hair glistened in the light. She turned toward Doc, a 
strange stare in her eyes. I continued to let the cam run. The shots 
were great! She was beautiful -- so young, so fair, so innocent.

  Doc stared back at her. He raised his eyebrows. He smiled. He said, 
"Hi," and a dozen or so other mundane things. She just stared that 
strange stare. After a while, I shut down the cam. I had all the vids 
I needed and she wasn't doing anything interesting.

  I pulled Doc to one side. Her eyes didn't follow us. I think I'd 
figured out why she looked the way she did. "She's a newborn, Doc. 
She's not playing her dumb blonde routine. She's just like a new born 
kid! The stare's the same stare a newborn has for the people around it 
-- if it isn't crying."

  I paused and looked at her. Tiny wasn't crying. Doc shook his head 
and wandered back into her line of sight. He bent over her and peered 
into her eyes, making soft cooing sounds. I took another vid of him doing 
that. If what I thought was correct . . .

  He straightened and turned back. "You're right. Her eyes have that 
look -- wonderment and suspicion, all wrapped up in one package."

  We both looked back at her. She opened her mouth and let out a breath. 
Then she said, ". . ."

  "Damn," Doc swore. "I'll bet she doesn't even know how to have sex."

  I'm glad I didn't have the cam running. That kind of talk could get him
into deep trouble.

  "Whatcha goin' to do?"

  He stood back and thought. "Well," he said as he moved toward her, 
"let's get her off the table and into a chair. Then we can think.

  I got my cam up and vidding him as he started to help her sit up. He 
head lolled around, just like a new baby. "Damn." He gently put her back 
down.

  She didn't have the muscles of an eighteen-year-old. She had the 
muscles and mentality of a new born. She lay there for a long time, eyes 
just staring into nothing. I'm not even sure she could focus her eyes.

  "What now?"

  "Damn," he swore again. He was obviously perplexed. I looked at the 
cam's readout and decided I had enough vids to do a decent story. I 
really didn't want to be around when she decided she was hungry. Or if 
she decided she needed to, uh, go potty.

  Besides, I was still on vacation and wanted to get rid of my cold. 
"See ya later, Doc," I said as I headed out.

  All he did was look at me.

                               *  *  *
                               
  I checked back with Doc off and on over the next couple of weeks. 
He was making progress, but not much. She was able to hold her head 
straight, though it wobbled a bit. If you didn't feed her, she'd start 
crying. If she didn't get changed, she start crying. If she was tired 
. . . well, you get the picture. It wasn't pretty.

  I don't know if Doc did anything sexually or not. I kinda doubted it. 
In fact, it was fast becoming apparent that Doc really wasn't as bad as 
I thought. He was becoming almost -- fatherly.

  I continued to record the events as they unfolded and wondered what 
my bosses would say if I broke the story. Hell, someone would have to do 
it, sooner or later.

  Finally, I decided it would be sooner and I'd do it.

  Charlie, my boss, couldn't keep from laughing at my first draft. It 
really nagged me, because I thought the story was pretty good. Maybe he 
wasn't laughing at my story. But then, what could he be laughing at.

  After he finished, he looked at me and asked, "This is a joke, right?"

  "No, boss, it isn't."

  "Rag stuff, then."

  "Nope."

  He peered at me and then gave me a dirty look. "You gotta a release?"

  "Release? Of course I got a release from Doc."

  "No, from Tiny?"

  ". . ."

  "Well?"

  "How do you get a release from a newborn?"

  He got up and came around the desk at me. I stood my ground and he 
went right past and got his coat. "Come on," he demanded.

  "Where?"

  "To Doc's. I gotta see this for myself."

  I don't know what my boss was laughing at before, but now, he wasn't
laughing. I couldn't always figure out what my boss was thinking.

                               *  *  * 
                               
  After we got to Doc's, it didn't take long for Charlie to decide 
that I was serious. His perplexed look told me a lot. He didn't like 
what he saw and didn't like trying to convince the world about my story's 
veracity.

  Charlie leveled Doc with his first question. "Does she know?"

  "Who?"

  "Tiny Finorra -- the real Tiny Finorra."

  "Of course not. I could lose my manhood for that."

  My boss leveled an acid gaze at Doc. "You bastard," he said, then he 
looked at me. "How much were you invovled in this?"

  I took a deep breath. "I helped Doc raise some money. But I'm clear, 
now."

  Tiny's clone spoke up. "Daddy?" She was wearing a loose top and 
shorts. The shorts were wet -- in the wrong place. She looked like she 
wanted to cry.

  Doc got a pained look on his face and went to take care of Tiny.

  Charlie shook his head. "We've got to break the story. But who in 
Hell is going to believe us?"

                               *  *  *

  It took us two weeks to figure that one out. I figured the boss spent 
a number of nights sleepless, too, because he visited Doc at least once 
a day. Each time, he'd come back looking very unhappy. And the next 
morning, he'd be horrible to work with.

  Finally, we hit upon it. Break the story, just as if nothing had 
happened. . . . Don't make anything up. Just let it fly.

  Sure, no one would believe us, but who'd care? It certainly would get
coverage. And probably boost our ratings, too.

  So, I went back to work, doin' a job of it and puttin' it together, 
just like it happened in bits and pieces. As hackneyed as it sounded, 
the boss wanted the truth and nothin' but the truth.

  So we broke the story. "Tiny Finorra Has Competition . . . Herself!" 
was the way the header read. Our first break was short and to the point. 
A brief flash about Finorra being cloned and more to follow. We had it 
all ready.

                               *  *  *

  The only problem was that a lot of the ent group used the news to 
lead into a fictional story. This wasn't fiction, but that didn't help 
our investors. They barraged us with calls telling us exactly what they 
thought.

  I couldn't blame them. For some EN represented a lifetime's work. For
others, it had been prestige. Now they all felt betrayed.

  Fortunately, my boss was prepared and he publicly announced that they 
would reveal the clone to the public. A lot of doomsayers said it would 
never work. They said we were using the real Tiny Finorra to perpetrate 
the hoax. The boss went ahead, anyway, having me write the whole story, 
from beginning to end. Or at least, up to the present time.

  Doc was elated. As part of his deal with the boss, he got me to 
publish the full technical explanation, since no self-respecting journal 
would touch it. Then, he personally invited the scientific community to 
the event.

  The day of the event came and everything went as well as we could 
expect. A lot of the rags were their with their crews, all ready to jump 
into the fray. Everyone was civil, but I knew there were a lot of profs 
and such just waiting to prove Doc wrong. Boy, were they in for a shock.

  Then, the shocker. We really didn't know what the real Tiny Finorra 
would do, but we half-expected her and her lawreps to show up. They did, 
and Tiny interrupted the whole thing by getting up in front of the crowd 
and announcing a massive suit against EN, Doc, and myself for fraud and
misusing her name.

  Then she promptly modeled her line of non-clothes. For some of us, 
it was okay. But some of the vidgroups would not be showing that part on 
the nightly 'cast. Not in some places.

  In the middle of it all, Tiny's clone made her appearance. The real 
Tiny took one look and lost her cool. She fainted on the spot.

  After she recovered her composure (I think it was an act), she 
demanded that the clone reveal who she really was. Tiny's clone promptly 
peed her pants.

  Then dropped them, because she didn't like wet panties.

  "Well," the real Tiny said, "Why don't you take off the rest of your
clothes."

  "Okay," the clone replied in her innocent voice and promptly stripped 
bare. "Isn't this fun?" she giggled. "I like going butt-butt."

  I looked at Doc, but he was studying the wall. He never had any kids 
of his own, but I could tell, he just might make a pretty good dad.

  So, there they were, both bare to the world (except for Tiny's non-
clothes that didn't hide much of anything). It was obvious that Doc had 
been working with the clone, because she had started developing some 
pretty good lines. I swallowed and wondered if Doc had . . .

  Later, he told me that he hadn't. I think that's what really saved 
his hide. Because once Tiny realized she'd been outclassed by herself, 
she dressed, then helped dress her clone. Doc had hastily grabbed some 
clean panties from her bag.

  Doc went on to receive accolades and awards and lots and lots of 
money. The real Tiny Finorra was jealous for a while until some shrink 
got to her and convinced her that being selected as the model for the 
first clone. . . . That shrink impressed her so much that Tiny up and 
ended her mating agreement. The clone was part of it but there was more 
to it than that. Doc was making money with the clone. He charged fees to 
every specialist that wanted to probe, interview, or run tests on her. 
One afternoon (it wasn't raining and the sun was shining) Tiny showed up. 
Doc was having the clone do some modeling for the press. Only she wasn't 
modeling clothes. She was modeling the not-clothes that the real Tiny 
Finorra modeled.

  Tiny took one look at the clone and stormed off, saying something 
about having to lose weight or she'd be out of a job. The next day, 
she showed up again, but this time with a ambulance chaser and claimed 
custody for her other self.

  Doc couldn't do a thing about it. The laws were being drafted as Tiny 
made the claim. There would never be another clone created.

  It turned out that Tiny didn't need Doc. He still got lots and lots 
of calls for speaches and hearings and all that. The money still came 
in and he smiled all the way to the local credibank.

  Tiny's career was obviously winding down. The press had seen the 
clone and an eighteen-year-old was a lot nicer to look at than a thirty-
two-year-old. So Tiny retired from active modeling and had her clone do 
it for her.

  Doc must have done something right, because it didn't take long for 
Tiny to wrap him around her finger. So tightly, that he couldn't say no 
when she asked. (I'm not sure he wanted to so no, now that I think about 
it.)

  Tiny and Doc were mated after the customary waiting period. With the 
money she and Doc received, they lived happily for a while. The only 
strange part was that Doc never did get what he wanted. It turned out 
that Tiny was a follower of Johaicom and believed strongly in that 
preacher's precepts. No sex outside the mating arrangement.

  Doc was satisfied, except he had to put up with Tiny -- the real 
Tiny.  And she was not nearly as tiny as the Tiny clone.

  Oh, yes. Doc tried one more experiment with Tiny. He unlocked the 
genetic history and created everything but the head. No brains there, 
either. However, Tiny didn't need any spare parts and the laws passed 
prevented Doc from going any further.

  I guess Doc was really the one that created the whole Clones To Us
movement. Regardless of what he really thought. Him and the two and 
a half Tinys.

                               #  #  #

Copyright 1994 Thomas Nevin Huber
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Tom Huber is rapidly approaching middle age (50). Involved with computers 
since the early '60's and has been employed as a technical writer for a 
major computer manufacturer for over 12 years. Previous works include 
numerous user, installation, service, & tech manuals, and magazine articles. 
Hobbies include genealogy and running his bbs. Look for a major series of SF 
novels, prerelease title, STAR SPAWN. Many shorts are related to the series.
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