Passing Out

‘White’ Priam slid off the bench, gestured me to follow. The galley door opens into
the corridor, a few steps, he stops at a monitor, spoke in his language, then
continues walking.

The ship was crowded with Priams. Priams sitting on the deck, standing, moving,
talking; a nightmare quality; so many identical copies of one man.

For a moment I had a hallucination of seeing a hundred Doug Hookers. A hundred men,
exactly like me, and that would explain why Firebird’s version was so ‘brain dead’.

I wondered how many years Priam had lived among his clones, then to be exposed
to strangers….
we entered a meeting room. I was startled to see the seats full of Not Priams.
That was the striking thing.
None of those at the table were Priam.

These Gennies were a mix, so different and my eyes crawled over them blinded by
the abrupt change from the Priam Template.

“These are representatives of the various clans…or clone batches,” White Priam
indicted; “I will tell them what you have told me.”

While he palavered in his language, I noticed a hologram of a unique individual.

His hair was black, straight and short. His eyes had an Oriental cast.  His skin colour
was a brownish gold with a different sort of cast. He was average looking, not
unattractive, but clearly not a Gennie.

The holo was face, neck, chest, and what he wore seemed something like a Dasheki, in colours.

The group to whom White Priam spoke put me in mind of Monday morning freshman,
but the holo listened. Everyone in the room was a clone but the hologram.

Every man in the room was one of how many hundreds/ thousands of ‘batches.’
I had not ‘figured it out, yet’…but was beginning to catch some of it, when
the holo spoke to me.

“You know nothing of us, do you?” he asked archly.

What was I to say? That I’d passed as a Gennie?

He spoke in his foreign language, White Priam stood beckoned…

“He will speak with you in private..”

I fidgeted with my watch, realising it was on, everything being relayed to the
Terran Mil. I don’t know what this guy would tell me, but I think ‘in private’
would be right. I popped the battery, so my transmitter would stop, followed
White Priam to a room from which other Priams were evicted.

White P put down a cheap holo player, walked out, the image came on. Just
the top quarter of a Sagir. I moved to be in the green band, our eyes met,
he spoke.

“Suriname was one of the most ethnically diverse places on Terra. When Holland
wished to introduce the Eugenic technique, we did not object. At first.
They produced hundreds of clones, similar to the Zal which led you to this cabin.
We had thought Eugenics would look like us, not like Europeans.”

Okay, that should be Suriname 101.

“Over time, we had our own ‘templates’, but we like diversity, so the technology
rarely used. When we migrated to Sagir as a ‘Eugenic’ cult, it was more for
adventure than to live in a closed community. And not many wished to migrate.”

He waited for me to understand, I nod.

“Over the century Dalmar and other groups have attacked our ships, many of
our people have been killed. Sagir has a small population. Unlike those who
have a billion citizens where losing ten percent is unnoticed, there are not two
million Sagir. Losing ten percent is catastrophic. Especially when each person
is unique.”

He used the word with the portentousness it did deserve.

“None would venture space, contact between Sagir and Suriname which had
been active, died. No one would come, no one could go, because the Dalmar
would fire on our ships.”

I didn’t know this, but then, the part of space where the Gennie worlds were
was out of the way. Why should we know?

“We decided to take the original batches of DNA we had received from Holland
and create clones…Thousands of clones. Most would have an insertion of
melanin to create a dark skin tone. Dalmar would believe all Sagir were dark.”

Someone approached him out of range, I saw his hand disappear, return with a
mug from which he drank, which disappeared from camera range when he finished.

“This cloning began on ships around Earth. Clones grown in tanks, which would be…”
he paused, I supplied…

“Decanted…”

He tipped his head, accepting my term, went on.

“Decanted when physically about twelve years of age. We used the names as
batch numbers, the first batch OneTwoThreeFour, the second TwoThreeFourOne
…the last batch, created twenty six years ago….”

I knew about the names, at least that much.

“Clone ships flew from Earth to other places and the Agoutis would use a key
containing the pure DNA in such manner to be perceived by Dalmar. That key
opens all doors on Dalmar. They have so set their locks to read DNA within 91%
of their ‘Firsts’. There is no lock on Dalmar we can not open.”

I nod.

“An Agouti is a lure…his purpose to use the key, be pursued by Dalmar, so we
can destroy their ships in space.”

I nod, it was expected.

“Those as the one who escorted you go to Dalmar, gain employ in the Planetary
Shielding System…secret.  A way to use the heat of the planet’s core to operate
a device to create a force field around the planet.”

I leaned back in my chair.
I understood what had happened.

A ‘race’ of clones for the Dalmar’s to chase, keeping the citizens of Sagir safe.
Those, like White Priam, play Dals, get jobs in this ’secret’ installation, plant
bombs, so when the Shield was activated, Dalmar exploded.

“Our plan was then to kill Dalmar in space, track them to whatever planet they
selected, continue until they were all dead.”

“Genocide.” I say.

“Norms, as you call yourself, have given them succor on NewFrance, and as you
have revealed the danger of losing Hawking, the quandary is if agreeing with the
request to stand down.”

“How many clones are there?” I blurt.

He turned to someone, spoke in his language, I heard other voices, assumed
he was in a meeting room on Sagir…or maybe Suriname on Earth, I had no
way of knowing.

“About one hundred thousand are still animate.”

“If I understand you,” I say, “These clones were created for the purpose of ….”

“Dying.”

He said it without remorse, without inflection.

Where to Dalmar the ‘Firsts’ were precious, to the Sags they were common and
meaningless clones of no one they much regarded.

Clearly, with such a small population, they can’t absorb the clones, and there
being the sexual imbalance….
I suppose my thoughts were betrayed…

“Those on ships are drugged. Among other suppression is sexual desire. Agoutis,
away for long enough periods begin to experience…” and he made the kind of smile
I would have.

It starts to make sense…
an Agouti; like Priam, like Pete’s Superboy,  getting a jolt of hormones, and
unlike the average Gennie who’d put his cock in acid before inside of a Norm fem,
Sag Gennies are ready.

Considering how Hollywood went sex mad over me when they thought I was
a Gennie, these clones won’t have much trouble getting linked…

…I better tell Firebird about the drug so
she can adjust her social schedule…

And all we know or think we know about Sagir is untrue.  Those we call
‘Sagir’  are not from Sagir, they are an artificial form of humanity.  Rhyse
must know…she must know…and somehow…

Holo man is looking at me. It’s time for me to speak. Okay.

“I would suggest you keep information concerning Sagir involvement in Dalmar’s
destruction secret. The galaxy believes Dalmar blew itself up. Let it stay that way.
No one needs to know…”

He met my eyes with lack of comprehension. Clearly he didn’t appreciate how very
damning it would be for him to admit that his people were so cunning and capable
of such cold blooded evil as to spend decades planning how to destroy a planet.

He spoke to those in his room, and I grabbed the opportunity to text Firebird
so she’d be able to adjust her social calendar just as Holo man turned back
to me;

“We accept your assessment and allow the belief that we were blameless.”

“It’s the best idea.” I say.

After draining the last drop of ego out of it, I say; “As to the clones….”

It was distasteful to use the term, and I will reflect on it sometime later, for now..

“You need a number of clones in your ships as the Sagir ‘army’, and must, somehow,
integrate them into society. I can convince the Terran Mil you can stand down, as
long as they deal with the Dalmar on NewFrance …confiscate their ships, land
peacekeepers to limit their power, stuff like that. I can convince the Terrans to put
your Mil under some kind of Terran jurisdiction, some ships would operate as
an adjunct, others decommissioned, and the clones live on Norm worlds.”

He shook his head; “All clones expire in four years.”

I had my mouth open, but no words came out.

He looked at me as if I were amusing, then took a breath;

“They were created for a limited purpose.  With a limited life span.”

Priam would die in four years.

All I could think of; in four years Priam would be dead.

If I had held compassion for Sagir, it joined that for Dalmar.
And do I tell Firebird?