Clones are property and that's that!
- Morgan Hempstead, Moonbase Director
"THANK YOU for complying with my invitation."
Thomas watched the seated speaker carefully, wondering at the sense of peril aroused by such a simple statement. This was Morgan Oakes, Chaplain/Psychiatrist - the Ceepee, The Boss?
It was late dayside on Ship and Thomas had not been long enough from hyb to feel completely awake and familiar with his long-dormant flesh.
I am no longer Raja Flattery. I am Raja Thomas,
There could be no slip in the new facade, especially here.
"I have been studying your dossier, Raja Thomas," Oakes said.
Thomas nodded. That was a lie! The stress in the man's voice was obvious. Didn't Oakes realize how much he betrayed himself to trained senses? You could not believe a word this man uttered! He was careless - that was it.
Perhaps there are no other trained senses to test him.
"I responded to a summons, not to an invitation," Thomas said.
There! That was the kind of thing a Raja Thomas would say.
Oakes merely smiled and tapped a folder of thin Shippaper in his lap. A dossier? Hardly. Thomas knew that it was in Ship's interest to conceal the real identity of this new player in the game.
Thomas! I am Thomas! He glanced around the Shipcell to which Oakes had invited him, realizing belatedly that this once had been a cubby. Oakes had taken out bulkheads to expand the cubby. Then, as Thomas recognized a mystical decorative motif between two dark-red woven wall hangings, he suffered one of the worst shocks in this awakening.
This was my cubby!
It was obvious that Ship had expanded enormously since those faraway Voidship days when it had housed only a few thousand hybernating humans and a minimal umbilicus crew. The changes he had seen on the trip here from hybernation hinted at even deeper changes behind them. What had happened to Ship?
This expanded cubby suggested an unsavory history. The space was sybaritic with exotic hangings, deep orange carpeting, soft divans. Except for a small holoprojection at Oakes' left hand, all the cubby's expected servosystems had been concealed.
Oakes was giving his visitor plenty of time to study the space around him, using the time to return that scrutiny. What was Ship's intent with this mysterious newcomer? The question was engraved large on Oakes' face.
Thomas found his own attention caught by the computer-driven projection at the holofocus. It was a familiar three-dimensional analogue of a ship orbiting a planet, all glittering green and orange and black. Only the planetary system was unfamiliar; it had two suns and several moons. And as he watched the slow progression of the ship's orbit, he felt an odd sense of deja vu. He was in motion in a ship in motion in a universe in motio.... and it had all happened before.
Replay?
Ship said not, bu.... Thomas shrugged off such doubts, reserving them for later. He did not have to be told that the planet in the focus was Pandora and that this projection represented a real-time version of Ship's position in the system. Some things did not change no matter the great passage of time. Bickel had once monitored such a projection on the Voidship Earthling.
Morgan Oakes sat on a deep divan of rust velvet while Raja Thomas stood - an unsubtle accent on their positions in a hierarchy which Thomas had not yet analyzed.
"I'm told you are a Chaplain/Psychiatrist," Oakes said. And he thought: This man does not respond to his name in a quite normal way.
"That was my training, yes."
"Expert in communication?"
Thomas shrugged.
"Ahhh, yes." Oakes was pleased with himself. "That remains to be tested. Tell me why you have asked for the poet."
"Ship asked for the poet."
"So you say."
Oakes allowed silence to follow this challenge.
Thomas studied the man. Oakes was portly-going-on-fat, dark complexion, faint odor of perfume. His gray-streaked hair had been combed forward to conceal a receding hairline. The nose was sharp and flared at the nostrils, the mouth thin and given to a tight, stretching grimace; the chin was wide and cleft. The man's eyes dominated this rather common Shipman face. They were light blue and they probed, boring in, always trying to penetrate every surface they found. Thomas had seen such eyes on people diagnosed as psychotic.
"Do you like what you see?" Oakes asked.
Again, Thomas shrugged.
Oakes did not like this response. "What is it you see in me which requires such scrutiny?"
Thomas stared at the man. The genotype was recognizable and that first name was suggestive. Oakes could have Lon as a middle name. If Oakes were a clone instead of a replay-survivor rescued from a dying plane.... yes, that would be an interesting clue as to how Ship was playing this deadly game. Oakes bore a more than casual resemblance to Morgan Hempstead, the long-ago director of Moonbase. And there was that first name.
"I've just been very curious to meet The Boss," Thomas said. He found a seat facing Oakes and sat without invitation.
Oakes scowled. He knew what they called him shipside and groundside, but politeness (not to mention politics) dictated that the term not be used in this room. Best not precipitate conflict yet, however. This Raja Thomas posed too many mysteries. Aristocratic type! That damned better-than-you manner.
"I, too, am curious," Oakes said.
"I'm a servant of Ship."
"But what is it you're supposed to do?"
"I was told you have a communications problem on Pandora - something about an alien intelligence."
"How very interesting. What are your special capabilities in this respect?"
"Ship appears to think I'm the one for the job."
"I don't call the ship's process thinking. Besides, who cares what opinions come out of a system of electronic bits and pieces? I prefer a human assessment."
Oakes watched Thomas carefully for a response to this open blasphemy. Who was this ma.... really? You couldn't trust the damned ship to play fair. The only thing to believe was that the ship was not a god. Powerful, yes, but with limits which needed exploring.
"Well, I intend to have a go at the problem," Thomas said.
"If I permit it."
"That's between you and Ship," Thomas said. "I'm well satisfied to carry out Ship's suggestions."
"It offends m...." Oakes paused, leaned back into his cushions.... . when you refer to this mechanical constructio...." He waved a hand to indicate the physical presence of Ship all around. "...as Ship. The implication...." He left it there.
"Have you issued an order prohibiting WorShip?" Thomas asked. He found this an interesting prospect. Would Ship interfere?
"I have my own accommodation with this physical monstrosity which human hands loosed on the universe," Oakes said. "We tolerate each other. You have an interesting first name, do you know that?"
"In my family fo.... . very long time."
"You have a family?"
"Had a family would be more proper."
"Strange. I took you for a clone."
"That's an interesting philosophical question," Thomas said. "Do clones have families?"
"Are you a clone?"
"What difference does that make?"
"No matter. As far as I'm concerned, you're another machination of the ship. I will tolerate yo.... for now." He waved a hand in dismissal.
Thomas was not ready to leave. "You, too, have an interesting first name."
Oakes had been turning toward the holo projection and its com-console at his side. He hesitated, glanced at Thomas without turning his head. The gesture said: You still here? But there was more in his eyes. His interest had been caught.
"Well?"
"You bear a striking physical resemblance to Morgan Hempstead and I couldn't help but notice that you have the same first name."
"Who was Morgan Hempstead?"
"We often wondered if the Moonbase director had allowed a clone of himself. Are you that clone?"
"I'm not a clone! And what the hell is Moonbase?"
Thomas broke off, recalling what Ship had told him. These replay survivors had been picked up at a different stage in human development. The resemblance, even the name, could be coincidence. Did they come from a time before space travel? Was Ship their first experience in the many dimensions of the universe?
"I asked you a question!" Oakes was angry and not bothering to conceal it.
"Moonbase was the project center which created Ship."
"On Earth's moon? My Earth?" Oakes touched his breast with a thumb. And he thought about this revelation.
"Didn't you ever wonder where Ship originated?" Thomas asked.
"Many times. But I never thought we did this thing to ourselves."
Thomas remembered more of Ship's recital now and drew on it. "Some people had to be saved. The sun was going nova. It required a herculean effort."
"So we were told," Oakes said, "but that was later. I am considerably more interested in how a Moonbase was kept secret."
"If there's only one lifeboat, do you tell everyone where it is?"
Thomas felt rather proud of this creative lie. It was just the kind of thing Oakes might believe.
Oakes nodded to himself. "Ye.... of course." He glanced at the com-console, then twisted himself more comfortably into the divan. Thomas was lying, obviously. Interesting lie, though. Everyone knew that the ship had landed in Aegypt. Could there be two ships? Perhap.... and there could have been many landings.
Thomas stood. "Where do I find transportation down to Pandora?"
"You don't. Not until you've told me more about Moonbase. Make yourself comfortable." He indicated the seat which Thomas had vacated.
There was no avoiding the threat. Thomas sank back. What a tangled web we weave, he thought. Truth is easier. But Oakes could not be told the trut.... no, not yet. The proper moment and place had to be found for laying Ship's command upon him. Shipmen were far gone in the puny play of WorShip. They would have to be shaken out of that before they could even contemplate Ship's real demand.
Thomas closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then opened his eyes and began recounting the physical facts of Moonbase as he knew them. The account was barbered only to the extent needed for illusion that Moonbase had been a project kept secret from Oakes' Earth.
Occasionally, Oakes stopped him, pressing for particular details.
"You were clones? All of you?"
"Yes."
Oakes could not conceal his delight at this revelation. "Why?"
"Some of us were sure to be lost. Cloning was a way of improving the project's chances of success. The best people were selecte.... each group had more data."
"That's the only reason?"
"Moonbase directives defined clones as property. Yo.... could do things to clones that you couldn't do to Natural Natals, the naturally born humans."
Oakes ruminated on this for a moment while a slow smile crept over his face. Then: "Do continue."
Thomas obeyed, wondering what it was that Oakes found so satisfying.
Presently, Oakes raised a hand to stop the recital. Small details were not of pressing interest. The broad picture carried the messages he wanted. Clones were property. There was precedent for this. And now, he knew the name behind those significant initials: MH - Morgan Hempstead! He decided to press for any other weaknesses in this Raja Thomas.
"You say Raja is a family name. Are you, ahhhh, related to the Raja Flattery mentioned in what passes for our history?"
"Distantly."
And Thomas thought: That's true. We're related distantly in time. Once there was a man called Raja Flatter.... but that was another eon.
Already, he felt himself firmly seated in the identity of Raja Thomas. In some ways, the role suited him better than that of Flattery.
I was always the doubter. My failures were failures of doubt. I may be Ship's "living challenge," but the means are mine.
Oakes cleared his throat. "I found this a most edifying and gratifying exchange."
Once more, Thomas stood. He did not like this man's attitude, the feeling that people were only valuable in terms of their usefulness to Morgan Oakes.
Morgan. He has to be a Hempstead clone. Has to be!
"I'll be leaving now," Thomas said.
Was that challenge enough? He studied Oakes for a negative response. Oakes was merely amused.
"Yes, Raja Lon Thomas. Go. Pandora will welcome you. Perhaps you'll survive that welcom.... for a time."
Not until much later when he was standing in the shipbay waiting to board the groundside 'lighter did Thomas pause to wonder at where and how Oakes had obtained those sybaritic furnishings for his expanded cubby.
From Ship?
