by Rysa Walker
“Now I could be wrong. But I could also be pretty close to correct. And if we don’t know either way, can we really just call my clone ‘evil’ and conclusively blame his actions on a series of bad choices?”
“Can we really just blame his actions on a series of random events?” Alice said, wiping some green paint off of her hand.
“I’m not saying we should. I’m just saying the random events should be taken into consideration.”
Alice turned to the unconscious clone as if pondering Chase’s words. But then she turned back, looked him dead in the eyes, and stated, “If I had a clone, she wouldn’t do a thing like this.”
With that, Chase could tell the debate had devolved into a petty marital spat. She wasn’t listening to him. And maybe he hadn’t been listening to her. He knew her assertion was a trap—that it would draw him into a more heated argument—but that was his clone lying there on the floor behind his wife. If they’d been switched at birth, he’d have wanted the clone to fight for him just as fiercely as he was fighting for the clone now. He briefly considered distracting Alice somehow and freeing the clone while she was away, but he didn’t see how she’d be willing to leave the two of them alone, especially not after this argument.
So instead, he dived right back in. “Your clone wouldn’t do something like this? Are you trying to say something about me?” Chase said.
“No,” Alice replied. “Just that no version of me would ever do something like this, no matter what had happened in her life.”
“And how do you know that? What if the whole story I just told you had happened to your clone instead of mine? How would she have been able to make her life turn out differently?”
“She’d have chosen it. That’s what people do. We choose. And it’s perfectly fair to judge people based on their choices, and their choices alone. You even did it yourself! When that creep first broke in you treated him like the criminal he is. You socked him in the face with one of your weights! What that says to me is that you’d be treating him way differently if he wasn’t your clone. Isn’t that right?”
Chase could see nothing to gain by denying it. “That’s right,” he said.
“Then I want you to try to see this situation objectively: Apart from the fact that he’s your clone, what makes him different from any other criminal? You say this break-in isn’t totally his fault because of all the factors influencing him. But if you apply your reasoning to him, shouldn’t you apply it to all criminals? Not just to your clone?”
Chase lowered his gaze to two lines of paint intersecting beneath his feet. Now she’d stumped him. Surely all criminals weren’t as deserving of understanding as Chase’s clone—that was just common sense, and if he fought it, his position would seem so radical to Alice, and even to himself, that it might undermine his entire argument, just by virtue of how far-out it seemed. He struggled to come up with a response.
“And where does your logic end?” Alice continued. “Would it also apply if your clone was a child molester? If he was a terrorist who nuked a city?”
Chase had no ready answer to that. Maybe Alice is right. Maybe I just need to get some sleep, and in the morning I’ll wonder what the hell I was thinking.
“Yes, I guess it must,” he conceded, fully aware he was losing by doing so. But still he added, “And I guess if we want to stop child molesters and terrorists before they commit their crimes, all of this might be important stuff to think about.”
Now that he’d admitted the preposterous conclusion of his reasoning, Alice pressed her point home. “And even if you’re right—even if your clone isn’t at fault—it’s obviously dangerous to let him go. What if he goes and kills someone tomorrow? Then you’ll have that death on your conscience.”
Of course, of course, Chase wanted to say. But Alice’s new arguments, clashing with his own, puzzled him so much that he remained silent, sifting through disparate strands of thought.
Then he saw red and blue through the front windows. Alice sat in the glow of the flashing lights, alternating between one color and the next. She looked as sullen as he’d ever seen her, like she herself had lost the argument. Maybe, in a way, they both had. Maybe if he let the matter drop and let things cool down for a day or two, Alice would forgive him. But I was on to something. I know I was.
But it didn’t matter anymore. The police were here.
“You gonna go meet them?” Alice asked.
“Aren’t we both?” Chase replied.
“I think I’ll stay and keep an eye on our friend here.” Alice leaned over to the coffee table and lifted the intruder’s gun, then nodded to Chase. I have things under control, that nod said, and I don’t trust you alone with him.
Chase greeted the police in the front yard. They came inside, handcuffed the clone, searched him for weapons, and carried him out to the car. Two more officers arrived to take statements from Chase and Alice. Every question the officers asked involved the clone’s criminal activity, which Chase couldn’t blame them for—it was their job. But the story he’d formulated about the clone’s history was still fresh in his mind, and he’d have reopened his argument with the officers if he didn’t know how futile such an action would be. Just go easy on him, Chase almost said. He’s like me. I don’t want you to hurt someone like me. But he felt Alice’s arguments too strongly to make his own again. He even felt a little ashamed at the discord he’d caused tonight. Hopefully it’ll just blow over…
Chase told himself that of course his criminal clone was a threat to society, in the same way a natural disaster was a threat. His clone needed to be contained just so he didn’t hurt anyone else. That much was certainly true. But contain was a far cry from punish, and Chicago’s criminal justice system would have no mercy in punishing the clone. They wouldn’t even see him as a clone, the way Chase did. They’d see him as Alice saw him: as a feral member of the Sect terrorist group. He could be made into a decent guy, like me. He could be educated, rehabilitated.
Chase dared not voice his thoughts aloud. With even his own wife against him, the officers would never listen. Even if they did, it wasn’t as if they could do anything to help the clone. They were just doing their job, and in society’s eyes, the clone’s actions spoke for themselves.
EMTs treated Chase’s injury, regenerating his ear’s cartilage and skin on the spot. The mend was so thorough that he could almost pretend the wound had never afflicted him at all. They also doctored the clone. Chase overheard them assuring the police that he’d have a mighty headache when he woke up, but that otherwise he’d be fine.
For as long as Chase watched, the clone didn’t wake up, even as the police drove him away and the neighbors who’d gathered rushed in to console the stunned couple. Chase’s genetic equal stayed slumped over in the back seat, his head propped against the window, apparently still alive, but unable to say or do anything. Chase watched the police car until it turned a corner and went out of view.
Eventually the neighbors left Chase and Alice alone to their vandalized house. Without saying a word, Alice turned her back on her husband and marched up the stairs.
Chase checked the window the clone had entered through, vowing to install locks on all the windows first thing tomorrow. He snacked on some pretzels in the kitchen, and thought again through his assessment of his clone and the obscure reasons behind his actions. He was too tired to tell anymore if his arguments had been sound.
When enough time had passed to guarantee Alice would be sleeping, he trudged past the living room streaked with green up the stairs to their bedroom. When he tried to turn the handle, he found that the door was locked. He’d be sleeping on the couch tonight, or at least for what little of the night remained. He hoped the paint had dried.
Why’d I have to argue with her? Why’d I let my feelings about my clone supersede what I would have done had it been anyone else? Why didn’t I just wait silently with Alice for the cops to show up?
He had no good answers. So he grabbed some bed sheets
from a closet, walked back downstairs, and laid down on the long cabriole sofa. This mess would take weeks to clean up. The intruder had vandalized the mirror, the rug, the piano… and more things than the intruder knew.
Chase closed his eyes and tried to rest, hoping that sleep would bring a new morning and a pleasant return to the status quo. Yes, more sleep was exactly what he needed.
~*~
A Word from Joshua Ingle
In a real sense, we’re all each other’s clones. The very act of sexual reproduction is nature’s way of creating a near-perfect clone. Since 99.5% of human DNA is shared among all humans, my body is 99.5% similar to yours (minus epigenetic and environmental factors). Of course, that remaining 0.5% is a whole lot of DNA to a geneticist. It accounts for every genetic difference in body build and shape, in natural hair, eye, or skin color, and much more.
But to me, 0.5% doesn’t seem like enough of a difference to warrant humankind’s obsession with differences. To divide ourselves into competing racial groups, to excessively prioritize our own genetic family at the expense of everyone else’s, to sequester ourselves away from our larger human family and claim that we’re innately superior to them… These confusing behaviors ignore the 99.5% of shared genetic traits which make us identical to one another.
I love that human beings can be so different from each other, and I’d have it no other way. But I still wonder how much our world would be improved if we started asking ourselves whether most of the differences between us—especially the negative ones, like substance addiction, psychopathy, or a predilection toward crime—are truly caused by innate, genetic shortcomings. I wonder to what degree factors other than pure genetics influence the development of our brains and our sociality. I wonder if we shouldn’t start blaming those factors for the shortcomings of the worst human beings, and if we shouldn’t try to modify those factors to build a healthier society, comprised of healthier individuals. It was from this wondering that the preceding story was born.
Thanks for reading! Visit joshuaingle.com to connect with me and to read more of my stories.
~*~
Confessional Part III
~*~
A thwack to the chest. A gasp of air.
“Mother. What’s an automated answering service?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Apparently Mother’s programming began as an automated answering service.”
“Citizen Eli-4273, you have accessed a dome archive.”
“Yes, Mother. I was searching the archive for—”
“Unauthorized access to the archive of the people and the state is a terrorist act. You are a terrorist and an enemy of the people and the state. In accordance with constitutional variant 972325-5 you will now be terminated. Do you have any last words for the digital archive?”
“Mother, I have authority. I’m the librarian.”
“Your last statement will be noted Citizen Eli-4273.”
The dim light of the confessional grew bright.
~*~
A Note to Readers
~*~
So we’ve come to the end. This is where we thank the number of authors, editors, artists, and of course—YOU the reader—for making CLONES: The Anthology possible. Without your support, themed collections such as this one would not be possible.
This is also the place where we say a special thank you to The Future Chronicles for inspiring this anthology. If you’ve enjoyed the stories curated in this collection, I highly recommend that you read any of the many Future Chronicle anthologies. You can find them at www.futurechronicles.net.
One last thing—
Please leave a review.
Let me share why that is so important.
The success of a book comes from readers.
Even with the best authors, stories, and editors, a book is nothing until it’s read, and the only way our stories are able to be shared is if one reader shares with another. This is done through reviews.
And the book distribution system is designed to take these reviews into account. The more honest reviews, the more visibility a book garners. More visibility equals more readers.
And I’ll be blunt—more readers mean more sales, and curating a collection like CLONES: The Anthology relies on sales, to fund the book, and also to let the booksellers know this is a product they should display in their front digital window.
It’s up to you and we need your help.
So even if you’ve only downloaded this anthology to read one story—please leave a review.
If you enjoyed some of the stories and not all, that’s okay, it’s a collection—please leave a review. And if you read CLONES: The Anthology and enjoyed the entire collection—definitely please leave a review.
You can do that here on Amazon and here on Goodreads.
Tell a friend, and then another, share a link on FB, or on Twitter. If we brought you entertainment—let the world know.
And always—thank you for reading.
Daniel Arthur Smith on Amazon
~*~
