The clone catastrophe, p.1
The Clone Catastrophe, page 1
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FOR SCIENCE
BEFORE WE BEGIN
Welcome back!
Your return pleases me.
I assume you are returning, and not diving in cold, without any knowledge of what has already happened. If you haven’t read the breathtaking account of how Nicholas V. Landrew of Yelm, Washington, became emperor of the universe, some of what follows might seem strange, confusing, or contradictory.
On the other hand—or hoof—even if you’ve read that account, some of what follows might still seem strange, confusing, or contradictory. That is the nature of reality. Or the reality of nature. Fear not. I will do my best to make things clear.
Speaking of which, I will recount Nicholas’s further adventures in the same manner as before, speaking directly to you here, in these brief illuminations, excursions, and intrusions, but giving myself a bit more narrative distance in the main story.
Essentially, I am Jeef, here. But Jeef is she there. You’ll get used to it. As have I. But enough about me. Or you. Let us drop in on our emperor, and see how he is faring with his new position in life.
UNBELIEVABLE
“You can’t make me take out the garbage!” Nicholas screamed. “I’m the emperor of the universe!”
After a long day at school, followed by two hours of homework, and a half hour spent folding and putting away his laundry, his only goal was to grab a snack from the fridge and take it up to his room, where he could relax, play games, and strew crumbs until dinnertime. Instead, he’d been ambushed with the one chore he hated the most. It didn’t help that he’d hardly gotten any sleep for the past month.
Still, he hadn’t planned to share the news of his exalted position with his parents quite yet. Nicholas clamped his mouth shut at the end of the outburst. His parents stared at him. He stared back, briefly, and then looked around wildly as he realized he’d blurted out the second largest secret on Earth. The first being that humanity was not only far from alone in the universe, but also far, far, far from being special, unique, or dominant in any way. Earth was, at best, a speck of dust.
Nicholas unclamped his mouth and attempted to explain the inexplicable. “I … um … I wasn’t…” He glanced down at his pocket for guidance, but his sentient and highly articulate gerbil, Henrietta, just sniffed her nose and tilted her head slightly to the side, as if to say, You dug this hole. You fill it.
“Too many superhero movies,” his mom said to his dad.
“Too many comic books,” his dad said to his mom.
“Too many video games,” they both said, in a pleasing harmony of voices they’d honed from years of singing together onstage as one half of a popular Beatles parody group that performed concerts all around the world.
Nicholas’s mom and dad, Melanie and Harrison Landrew to their friends, paused in their parental enumeration of all the usual suspects that could be blamed for unacceptable or overly imaginative behavior to smile at each other in appreciation of this lovely musical moment. After which, they sighed in unison at the heavy burden of raising a difficult child in this modern world—which seemed to have grown significantly more turbulent during the past month of unexpected gasoline shortages and surging oil prices—and turned their attention back to their one and only offspring. They’d often held private discussions where they theorized that Nicholas’s difficulty fitting in with his peers stemmed from a deep core of creativity that would eventually make itself known to the rest of the world.
“Even if you really were the emperor of the universe,” his mom said, “you’re still our son. What does that make us?”
Nicholas had no idea. He wasn’t used to either of his parents offering any sort of argument that resembled a deep thought or a logical construction. As the resident adults of the household, they fell mostly into the Because we said so style of parenting. He decided the best response was to keep his mouth shut and take out the garbage. And the best technique for doing so would not be the first one that came to mind—kicking it across the kitchen with enough power and accuracy to send it straight through the window. Given that he generally lacked both power and accuracy in his athletic performances, this was a solid decision.
At least, based on his mom’s use of “really were the emperor,” it looked like his parents hadn’t taken him seriously. That was not exactly a departure from their normal relationship. And it was totally understandable they wouldn’t instantly accept what he’d just told them, kneel before him, and turn over the car keys, given that he himself still had trouble, at times, believing he was actually the emperor of the universe.
So he donated his own sigh to the growing level of carbon dioxide in the kitchen atmosphere, acknowledged the inevitable struggle that lay ahead, and prepared for battle with his mortal enemy. Either the garbage can in the kitchen was too big for the plastic bags his parents bought, or the bags were too small for the can. The top of the bag clung to the top of the can like a tourniquet. Whatever the reason for the disparity, every encounter with the task led to frustration, a messy struggle, and at least one bruised finger as he wrestled the bag free of the can. If he’d been offered the choice of taking the garbage out or eating it, he suspected he’d need time to make a decision.
“Stupid garbage,” he muttered as he tackled the task.
The garbage has no capacity for thought. It can’t be smart or stupid, Jeef said.
Nicholas looked up at the sky. He always stared toward the sky, and outer space, when he spoke with Jeef, even though she was not just up, and her voice didn’t seem to come from any particular place. She was everywhere. Though she’d started life as a cow, she’d been atomized in the presence of an antimatter core, which resulted in her becoming spread throughout the universe. She was as much to his left or right as she was over his head. But he needed to think of her in less universal terms when he spoke to her. “Yeah. I know. But it’s still stupid.” He tied the drawstring on the bag after he’d wrestled it out of the can, and put it in the big bin by the curb. Then, he dragged the empty can back to the house.
His parents didn’t mention anything about his outburst when he came inside. During dinner, they mostly talked about whether it was time to replace the carpet in the living room. Nicholas wanted to suggest they replace the kitchen garbage can, but he figured this was not the time to raise that topic and remind them of his claim. By the time the meal ended, he was sure he could go back to his normal routine without fear of discovery.
Nicholas’s normal routine was nine parts ordinary, involving school, homework, family meals, science fiction movies, superhero comics, gaming, and whatever else a twelve-year-old boy does while he waits to reach a more significant age, like thirteen, eighteen, or twenty-one. It was also one part extraordinary, which explained his lack of sleep. For the past month, ever since becoming emperor of the universe, he’d slipped away nearly every night, by means of teleportation, accompanied by his trusted advisor, Henrietta, to romp around alien worlds with his guide, chronicler, and untrusted advisor, Clave. There was a whole lot of universe out there to explore, and the thrill of doing it was still irresistible. Even if he wanted to take a break, his presence was, to state the obvious, universally in demand. And there was only one of him to go around.
Tonight would be no different. After placing his plate and silverware in the dishwasher, he glanced across the kitchen at his parents, who were paying no attention to him, and then headed up to his room to launch himself into that evening’s slice of this far-from-ordinary adventure.
When Nicholas reached his room, he flipped up the top of Henrietta’s extra-large cage, where the entire adventure had begun, stepped inside, switched on his marvelously modified, perpetually powered cell phone, opened his equally marvelously modified communications app, and sent the message I’m ready to Clave. A moment later, as he was engulfed in a flash of purple light, he felt the familiar sensations of teleportation. As always, he was glad to leave Earth behind.
SPARE CHANGE
Despite millions of years of evolution, humans do not cope very well with change. Whether this change comes in the form of something insignificant, like having the muffin section of their supermarket moved to the other side of the deli counter, or from something monumental, such as discovering they are not alone in the universe, and thus most likely not the greatest living things in all of creation, change causes ripples of unease. And, while humans had not yet learned there was highly evolved life on other planets, things had changed in other ways on Earth, thanks to Nicholas.
His removal of all petroleum from the Earth’s crust had ended the petro-shielding that screened humans from the Ubiquitous Matrix. Citizens of all nations found they could understand each other without any language barrier. Or, more accurately, they could hear what was being said. Hearing and understanding stood as far apart as ever, with much depending on the willingness of the hearer to accept what the speaker was trying to say, or to even make the effort to truly listen to another being while simultaneously juggling a half dozen self-absorbed thoughts, fears, worries, and wishes. In other words, to use an old Earth saying, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The removal of all of Earth’s petroleum did not go unnoticed, especially in oil-rich nations, though the owners of that petroleum did their best to hide the disappearance as they struggled to figure out what had happened. Oil and its products don’t only provide power to turbines and vehicles. They also give enormous political and military power to those who control the supply. The initial fluctuation of gas prices was seen as annoying but not unusual by the general population. Later, as prices surged, annoyance would shift toward anger and panic.
The simultaneous introduction of unlimited free energy would have more than made up for this loss of oil, as Nicholas intended, had the same groups that controlled the petroleum not cornered the supply of several rare-earth elements required for the production of this new technology as soon as they became aware of it. Which, surprisingly, was not all that soon. More about that delay, later. For now, let’s get back to Nicholas.
SOCKS? NO SWEAT
“I almost spilled my secret to my parents,” Nicholas said when he stepped onto the bridge of Clave’s ship, The Nick of Space. He set Henrietta down next to the shallow box of newspapers he kept in the corner for her entertainment. She hopped in and started shredding a page with the headline Governor Launches Probe of Petroleum Prices.
“I mean, I did spill my secret,” Nicholas added, “but they thought I was making stuff up.”
Instead of responding, or capturing his usual recording of Nicholas’s arrival for later broadcast, Clave held out a bright red ball of fuzzy cloth. “You should change your socks.”
“Why?” Nicholas asked. He glanced down at his feet, but didn’t see anything wrong with his current clothing choice.
Clave sniffed. “Trust me. It’s a good idea. The Perlaki have a painfully sensitive sense of smell, and are highly offended by any form of mammalian foot odor.”
Nicholas had his hand halfway out to grab the offering before he stopped to ask the obvious question. “Perlaki?”
“An aquatic life-form on the planet Perlak. They’re at the top of our list for requesting a visit,” Clave said.
“What do they want from me?” Nicholas asked.
Clave opened a list on his console and tapped the top line, opening a second document. He scrolled up and down through it several times, mumbled various inaudible phrases, then said, “I can’t seem to find that part in my notes. Doesn’t matter. It must be important. As I said, they’re at the top of the list. They’ll fill us in when we get there.” He pushed the socks against Nicholas’s chest. “Get changed. They’re waiting for us.”
“The list…” Nicholas said, as if he were a French king saying, “The guillotine.” An endless stream of individuals, households, towns, cities, continents, planets, solar systems, and galaxies claimed to have an urgent need for the emperor’s attention. None of them seemed at all troubled by the fact that the emperor had only recently learned there was other life in the universe, or that the emperor’s own life on Earth had begun a mere twelve and three quarters years ago. But his age and inexperience proved not to be much of a problem so far. While the emperor had, among other things, to swear to solve that which couldn’t be solved, ever since making that pledge Nicholas hadn’t encountered anything much that couldn’t be fixed with a bit of common sense.
“I wish I could clone myself,” Nicholas said.
“That’s easy enough to do,” Clave said. “The technology exists. Though it’s hard enough civilizing one of you. I couldn’t imagine facing a cluster of you.”
“I was kidding.” Nicholas took the socks from Clave, sat in the co-pilot’s seat, and put them on. It did not occur to him to ask how an aquatic life-form would be troubled by odors in the air. Though he himself was troubled by something. “I’m already civilized. I’m just inexperienced. That’s different.”
“And equally difficult to deal with,” Clave said. “Strap in.” He took the ship to the nearby jump node. Each node allowed virtually instant transportation to a limited number of nodes throughout the universe. Each of those nodes was similarly connected to other nodes. In theory, a ship could get anywhere by means of enough jumps.
Nicholas counted the jump cubes as they loaded themselves into the console. There were seven. Each cube enabled a single jump. Nicholas sat back and enjoyed the sensation as the ship made the seven jumps required to reach Perlak. Then he braced himself for the usual jolting ride as Clave navigated the last stretch from the jump node to the planet.
It was a spectacular world, even when seen from far off. Nicholas glanced at it through the viewport, but didn’t pay much attention to the scenic vista of purple oceans and luminous clouds that would have made any of his fellow humans gasp. He’d seen so many planets.
“My socks don’t smell, do they?” he asked Henrietta. “The ones I took off?”
“Everything smells,” she said. “But your socks usually smell like cheese, so I’m not complaining.”
“Good cheese or bad cheese?” Nicholas asked. He liked American cheese and cheddar, but his uncle had some cheeses that were full of mold and smelled like they’d come out of another part of the cow that was farther back than the udder.
“They’re all good,” Henrietta said.
Nicholas decided not to ask what the rest of his wardrobe smelled like. But another question came to mind. “Jeef, can you smell things?”
If I turn my attention to them, she said.
“Do my socks smell?”
I prefer not to find out.
“I guess I can’t blame you.” Nicholas dropped the subject and turned his attention back to the viewport.
They docked at an orbiting landing station. From there, they took a shuttle to the surface, and then below it. The shuttle went directly into the water. Fifty feet down, it coupled with a chamber that seemed to be made of nothing but air.
“We’re in a bubble,” Nicholas said as he stepped off the ship. He winced as he realized the air inside smelled like tuna salad that had just started to turn bad enough to make you sick but not so spoiled as to kill you. If he kept his sneakers on for a whole month and took daily strolls through sewage pits, manure piles, and the floors of slaughterhouses, he couldn’t imagine his socks would smell even halfway as bad as the current air.
“Yeah. Of course we’re in a bubble.” Clave pulled out his sfumbler to record a snippet of the meeting to share with his followers. “Otherwise, we’d drown.”
“But it’s just a bubble,” Nicholas said. He pushed his foot against the floor at his feet. It felt like the thin plastic Jeef had been wrapped in when he’d first taken her from his refrigerator. That wrapper had become dangerously worn pretty quickly.
Nicholas thought back to the time he’d tried to swim underwater for the entire length of the lap lane in the community pool. He’d barely made it halfway. He’d promised himself he’d work all summer on his breathing, until he could go the full length and all the way back. But he’d never given it a second attempt. At the moment, as he tried to estimate how many lap lengths below the surface they were, he was regretting this lapse.
“Stay in my pocket,” he told Henrietta. He shuddered as he imagined her tiny claws puncturing whatever it was that protected them from drowning.
“That’s been my plan since we arrived,” Henrietta said.
