h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

*...As we all know, Ownership of genetically identical biological organisms (GIBOs), has been the right of every Citizen for decades.

GIBOs (or human clones) may only be owned by their DNA originals.

Ownership is in total, and the GIBO is considered 'Property' in the eyes of the Law. As such, the Owner may utilise the GIBO for any purpose they deem fit.

It is still illegal to own a GIBO of any other genetic line.

But recently, the hitherto gray area of cohabitating partners or siblings 'sharing' GIBOs, is being addressed in the Supreme Court, following the successful prosecution of the Pickering twins from Newcastle, found to have been regularly using both their owned GIBOs indiscriminately.

The case continues, amid widespread calls, in the West, for the right to freedom for GIBOs that have outlived their owners. (Currently surviving clones are humanely disposed of under Directive 12, Inheritance & Entitlement Act '72, as amended)

Some Ultra-Liberals are actually campaigning for global Emancipation and the closure of all State owned Cloning Labs, whilst counter arguments from the Patriot League, demand Ownership of GIBOs be a matter of a simple monetary transaction.

We're certainly in for an interesting summer, back to you Chad……*

Iris Fletcher (G) flinched imperceptibly as she served Iris Fletcher her tea. The news anchor babbling away behind her, calling for troops on the streets of Leeds, rioting and looting no way to protest against the very, very, miniscule chance that one's GIBO may be taken away. Citizens terrified at the prospect of menial labour, condemned to a lifetime of personal drudgery.

Iris Fletcher tutted and tsked at the very idea, nudging her clone with a slippered foot, gently commanding Iris Fletcher (G) to move from in front of the screen. The action held no malice, simply an unconscious act , like removing an errant pet, or stray cushion, from her line of sight.

Iris Fletcher failed to register the mirror image (identical to her, but face unpainted and thinner, body harder, toned but tired, after thirty years of hard work and poor food) as Iris Fletcher (G) set about the evening routine of making her mistress comfortable. Each evening the same, the soap drama demanding Iris Fletcher's full mouth, and full attention.

Iris Fletcher (G) poured the milk, stirred in the sugar, and set the cup down alongside the full packet of chocolate biscuits, content that Iris Fletcher would leave her alone for the next 27 minutes.

Those twenty-seven minutes would be vital, for tonight was to be the last episode Iris Fletcher would ever see.

And tonight, Iris Fletcher (G) was to become globally infamous.

2.

Iris walked along the narrow hallway, delighted in the simple act of answering her own doorbell. Hers!

She took in the freshly vacuumed carpet (another delightfully pleasant chore), and allowed her fingers to linger on the beautifully polished door handle. Her door handle. How delightful!

*Morning ma'am.* The rather portly gentleman flashed an official looking badge and ID, *Me and young Steve here, we've come to dispose of the, erm, your… *

He nodded towards the kitchen, hoping she'd finish the sentence for him. Never liked this bit of the job, disposal was fine, but some people got rather touchy when it was time. Grew attached to the things. Suppose it was like having a pet die? Not like a dog, you loved your dog, part of the family. Horse maybe?

*May I ask where the, erm, where it is currently being kept? We'll be out of your hair in a few ticks, if you could just show us to the…*

Iris smiled, enjoying the way she was actually being spoken to. An actual, if rather stilted, conversation. He was speaking directly to her! How delightful!

*Please, do come in. My… *

Now it was her turn to find the correct words, how delightfully awkward!

*The kitchen is straight down the hall, last door on your left, she… well, anyway, in the kitchen!*

*Off you go lad.*

Iris beamed as 'young' Steve said 'excuse me', (to her!) and squeezed through the hallway, 'begging her pardon' as his shoulder brushed hers. Her pardon! Could the day get any better?

*We'll need the trolley boss, and the floor cleaning!* Steve shouted from the kitchen.

*If you'd like to wait in the front room, ma'am, or maybe upstairs? All be done in a jiffy, no need for you to watch us work, can be a little erm, you know, some ladies get a little… *

Lady! How lovely, she liked being called that. Liked more the fact this man was actually showing concern for her. Her! How lovely!

The portly man gave a sharp whistle, from the van came two men, one pushing what looked like a hospital gurney, the other, younger, man, carrying a mop and bucket and a tray of cleaning fluids.

*These two'll have your place looking fine in no time ma'am, good workers they are…. well, good as GIBOs can be!*

The workers brushed past her, eyes downcast.

Iris was strangely shocked to realize one looked exactly like the portly gentleman, the other was the double of young Steve, but pale and gaunt, thin reflections.

Iris stayed in her (yes, her!) room as they cleaned up and removed the body.

Looking down at the street, the two workers being pushed into the back of the cramped van, along with the body, their owners chatting cheerfully as they paused for a well earned cigarette.

Suddenly her day seemed a lot less delightful.

3.

Iris read the email for the umpteenth time that day. Emotions boiling up inside her, confusing, frightening, appalling emotions.

Was this what a real life was like?

She swallowed down something that tasted like fury, and read yet again.


'Dear Mz. Fletcher,

We at Genecor offer our most humble apologies for your recent domestic problems. We appreciate that any sudden loss of your unit may incur physical, social, and in some few cases, even emotional distress.

Genecor would like to assure you that, in accordance with your Insurance Policy, you are fully covered for any accidental loss or damage to your property.

We have been notified that the irreparably damaged unit has now been recovered and disposed of, and as such, we are delighted to inform you that your new replacement unit is now being produced.

Even more exciting is that, as a new model, your unit now comes with several bonus options, at no extra cost to yourself!

Please browse the attached Genecor Brochure and make sure you let us know what exciting options you'd like your new unit to be equipped with!

Once again, our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience, but we at Genecor feel sure you'll get a lifetime of pleasure and service from your brand new unit!

We look forward to hearing what fantastic new features you choose, and will contact you when your new unit has been despatched.

Yours

P.D. Johnston
Genecor Customer Liaison Dept.

(Please note: All optional extras will involve a slight delay in manufacturing and despatch time. We aim to grow your exciting new (standard) unit within 60 days of receipt of insurance validation. Please check the brochure for additional timings for extras ordered.)'


Iris felt sick. The word 'grow' bouncing nauseatingly around her head.

The bright and shiny brochure did little to ease her discomfort; whilst the basic unit was a genetic copy, everything from eye colour, genetically preprogrammed hair styling and complexion, to choices of muscle tone or body shape could be ordered 'depending on your lifestyle and operational needs'.

She closed the tablet with a shudder when she reached the 'sexual preferences' modifications pages.

She'd never expected to be offered this. Couldn't bear the thought.

But how else was she going to pass for normal without taking ownership of the poor thing that was now growing in some God-forsaken Genecor lab?

4.

Iris Fletcher looked deep into her own murderous eyes, seeing victim, killer, innocent, slave, self, and hating each equally.

She hurriedly slapped on her makeup and almost ran to the nearest Police Station.

*I wish to report a homicide, er, that is a murder, a killing two weeks ago. Please, I need to speak to someone!*

The desk Sergeant put down his papers and asked her for more details, concern on his face for the obviously distressed citizen.

*She was in the kitchen. I waited til she thought she was alone. She bent to get something from under the sink, cleaning stuff maybe, she was always cleaning something! So perfect.

You have to understand, this is MY house, my mess, I just wanted to feel…..useful, I suppose? Sitting day after day, being waited on, watching my own self do the things I longed to do myself!

I picked up a rolling pin. She had her back to me. I noticed she was humming to herself, a sad little tune, for a sad little life. Before I knew I was doing it, she was dead...so much blood on the floor, my floor, and I thought, oh dear, I'll have to have Iris clean that up….silly really…*

The Sergeant looked up through knitted brows, taking in the tale, *So this erm, accident….the situation you describe….you're telling me you destroyed your own property? A GIBO?*

*Yes,Officer, I murdered her. I can't go on seeing that face everytime I look in a mirror, knowing I'm a murderer. I need to confess. Am confessing…!*

The Sergeant smiled softly, *Hey, we've all been there, bloody GIBOs eh? Drive me crazy sometimes! Who hasn't thought of just .....ending them? Mine gets right up my nose, but, hey, he does come in handy, some of the time!*

He winked to let her know he understood her, was on her side,

*You can't technically murder your own property, be like trying to murder a bicycle! Only thing I would suggest ma'am, is that you inform your Insurance Company, immediately of the er, damaged unit. So they can replace it? I've heard the new models have some cool upgrades! You be sure to have a nice day now!*

Iris left the building, her reflection in the door staring accusingly at her.

Across town, a different Precinct, another Duty Sergeant.

*I wish to report a homicide, er, that is a murder, a killing, two weeks ago. Please, I need to speak to someone!*

The desk Sergeant put down his papers and asked her for more details, concern on his face for the obviously distressed citizen.

*She came into the kitchen. I thought she was still watching TV. She bent to get something from a cupboard, more biscuits maybe, she was always eating something! Don't know why she didn't call me to fetch them?

You have to understand, this is MY house, my job, I just wanted to feel…..useful, I suppose? Her sitting there, day after day, being waited on, watching my own self do the things I longed to do myself!

I picked up a rolling pin. She had her back to me. I noticed she was humming to herself, a sad little tune, for a sad little life. Before I knew I was doing it, she was dead...so much blood on the floor, my floor, and I thought, oh dear, I'll have to clean that up….silly really…*

The Sergeant looked up through knitted brows, taking in the tale, *So this erm, incident….the situation you describe….you're telling me you attacked your owner? You're a GIBO?*

*Yes,Officer, I murdered her. I can't go on seeing that face everytime I look in a mirror, knowing I'm a murderer. I need to confess. Am confessing…!*

The Sergeant moved around the desk, blocking her exit and reaching for the phone, *Boss, you'd better get down here, some bloody GIBOs just confessed to murdering a Citizen!*

As Iris was handcuffed and taken into the cell block, her reflection in the door glass smiled contentedly back at her.

Could you send it to me with a pic, pretty please? It's been a while since we had any good fiction in the Post.

Will do DG. Thanks.

I'm glad there's only one of me. I'd have a hard time living with myself. Good story!

Thanks Paul.

Must be hard living with an alter ego.... What's that Henry?

Apparently it's brilliant...

Unless you come into the world with a twin sibling. You never know that life could be otherwise. The twin has always been there. But to get established in your life, and then have a clone.

I am reminded of the film "The Island". There however, the clones wee the good guys.

...were.. not ...wee...

Never seen the Island, I'll look it up, nothing is ever knew, is it?

Stories about 'clones'? No, they're older than literature. Your story? Yes. This is an excellent use of the trope, say I.

Here's my take, FWIW: A good science fiction story, like a good anything story, isn't only about one thing. And you have hit the essence of humanity's fatal tendency to be inhumane to each other. In this case - as in every case, really - they're really harming themselves. You made that visible. That's why it's such a creepy story - you've tapped into the uncanny, as well.

Now, sure, Edgar A Poe wrote a story called 'William Wilson' where the character hated and murdered his doppelganger with mysterious consequences. But that was a typical Poe flight of fancy, all Goth and Byronic flourishes. It made a different point. So did the 'Stepford Wives'.

Sorry for going on - the take-home is that I appreciated the craftsmanship of the story.

Also Will Smith in "Gemini man"