in a room not far away, the other clones talked quietly about their situation. "Do we live, or die?" said one, "Imperfect copies? The people who made us are not perfect, either", brought answering nods around the room. Another spoke up, "They are killed, and it is murder, or a tragedy..we are killed, and it's good medicine..why are we so different?"

the rest of them muttered to themselves..that was the central question. If a clone killed it's maker, is that patricide? or suicide? or some other crime yet to be named. The copy still existed, so was the original life all there was?

They turned as one when the door opened. The technicians entered, followed by Tarin. The technicians gestured to the small crowd in front of them. "These are the other copies..I just don't see what good it will do to talk to them about it..they know nothing".

"Nothing? they're perfect copies of.." whispered Tarin, and changed expressions as he looked at the face of the technician.."What I mean to say", he began in a 'I'm being overheard by someone' voice, " is that the thought processes of these people are much the same as the original. It's almost like interrogation by proxy", he smiled. He walked to the middle of the room.

"I have something important to tell you", he said. "The clone known as #1 has escaped and murdered his creator. It may have been an accident, or not. What I'd like to know, is..what would you do in his place?", and looked meaningfully around the room at the assembled copies..

Message edited on: 07/08/2004 19:04

I wish I'd said that.. The Staircase Wit

anahl nathrak uth vas betude doth yel dyenvey..;)