EVE Fiction

implemented as safeguards were left intact. Yet the question remained, why was he in such a vegetative state? At first, we assumed that there was a problem with the scanning, that his retransplantation fell within that 0.3% chance of malfunction inherent with all clones. This would have meant that our friend was lost beyond all of our control, since even the activation of a new clone would not fix this problem. We took pity on the poor man, catatonic as he was and injected his clone body with an instantly lethal nanotoxin. A mere two hours and exactly eighteen minutes after the time of the accident, he was completely dead to this world and his time of death was recorded as such, as was standard procedure. At this point, the cloning facility workers assumed control of his empty shell, to perform a complete autopsy, as well as a new transneural-burning scan of the corpse brain for a comparative study of the one they had on file, in order to properly determine what had caused the malfunction. After all tests were concluded on the empty shell, its implants were removed, then the cadaver was recycled so that the biomass could be recovered and used for the manufacture of another blank shell body. The day ended for the rest of us, and we were given a few days of reprieve for mourning and to allow for the cleanup and construction of our new lab." Here Deckerson pauses the narration of his story for a brief moment to recollect his thoughts.

• "That sounds like a horrible way to finally go. I'm sorry you had to lose a colleague that way, I truly am." Enya says sympathetically, while also encouraging him to continue on.
• "It was the following morning, I was in my quarters reflecting on all that had happened the previous day, when I had received an urgent call over the station comm. that my presence was needed in the cloning facilities immediately. Upon entering the facility, I noticed there was an air of confusion and frustration among the workers. I asked what was so urgent, after which I was directed towards a newly reactivated clone of the man we had just lost the previous day. Exactly twenty-four hours, down to the precise second after his mind's first retransplantation, the process had happened again entirely on its own accord. The entire facility was baffled and left with yet another mystery. You see, the remainder of his client clones were still left attached to the system awaiting for recycling. At the time, there was no need for disconnecting them since they were never to receive another signal for reactivation from the fluid router located in the scientist's pod, which was already breached. On top of which, the technicians were already too busy with the accumulation of relevant data from what they had, to be burdened with its dismantlement. Yet here he was, in the exact state as he was in yesterday. I spent the rest of that day pouring over the data collected from the autopsy of his previous clone cadaver and system diagnostic/operation logs. Aside from some curious findings of the same minute trace amounts of radiation, as was found in the destroyed lab, correlating in the cells of the developed brain, there was nothing to determine what had caused the original malfunction or the sub sequential reawakening. The only other discrepancy found was between the original burning scan photo and the one done after the autopsy. It appeared that for all intent and purposes, he had gained a few memories, which as we all know was impossible. Exhausted, I allowed the cloning technicians to take control over the new clone shell and the entire procedure from the day before was repeated. Before heading back to my quarters for the night, more out of curiosity that anything else, I asked that they not disconnect the rest of the client clones from the system. In my weariness, I half concocted a semi-working theory about what was going on and was anxious to see if it had any merit. I am a scientist after all. The events of the following day were to prove my theory correct." Rowan takes a slow drink from his ale to requench his parching mouth, which was becoming dry from the retelling of his story. He notices that his recounting has had an unexpected effect on the listener. I don't think I've ever had her complete attention like this before. Could she actually be concerned about me?
• "I have to ask, why were you the one investigatin' his accident? Didn't you have people on the station to do that sort of work?" she questioned, delving into the matter with her signature astute curiosity.
• "This was my project... I am the chief executive of it. Truth be told, I couldn't help but feel a little responsible for his death... Still, most importantly, I had a duty to personally make sure that no outside influence was involved in this incident. Projects like ours will always have adversity among the stars." He said in defence of his actions, "A potential leak could have had our research shut down and shelved for months, or maybe even years. Such an interruption would have been dire to our success, especially at such a critical time in the experiment. I felt that I at least owed him that in death."
• "Hmmm, how very thoughtful of you Decker. Stop it already, you're makin' me all misty eyed." Enya says with a light note of sarcasm. "And what about this theory of yours?"

• Rowan follows suit with a quick salute, then with eyes closed he tilts his head back and downs the rest of the liquid contents of his pint glass. A warm feeling fills his being with a satisfying glow. "That really hits the sp---" He began to say before he had fully opened his eyes, only to find Enya's two empty glasses sitting before him, and nothing else. From the outer part of the bar, the tiny waitress following her directions, siddles up to the table and drops down a bill pad. She then begans clearing away the empty glasses and again scurries off to perform her other duties.
• Same old Enya. A slow smile curls across his face as he recollects the days long past with his now missing friend. He puts his thumbprint to the bill pad and the proper amount of isk is instantaneously withdrawn from his account. With the tab now paid in full, Deckerson starts making his way towards the exit of 'The 'Empty Well'. In a few well paced strides, he is on his way home. With the light from the exterior neon flashing on his face, he turns back towards the inside of the bar and pulls a coin of a sizeable denomination from his pocket. Spying his tiny little waitress through the doorway, he whistles a short note, gaining her attention and then flicks the coin at her. To her it is like a dream come to life. To him, it is a parting glass for his friend... I wish you all the luck on your project Enya.
• Confident in that last thought, Rowan Deckerson heads to his quarters to make preparations for his long journey.

(I would like to dedicate this short story to my beloved Hayley; my unerring truth hidden amongst the folds of time and space...)