David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Lord Felph waited beside the vivification table, along with all his children, and Orick and Tallea. Gallen felt surprised, having believed that donating a sample of his genome would be a private act.

But he recognized immediately a level of tension in the room that was almost electric. Perhaps it came from the strained expression of Lord Felph, who wore a shabby brown robe and stood gazing at Zeus, his eyes flickering with anger. Perhaps it came from his children, who stared resolutely at the floor.

“Well then, there you are, finally,” Felph said to Gallen and Maggie, hardly turning away from Zeus. “Here is the DNA sampler. Just set your hand here.”

Felph pointed to a white pad near the table, and Gallen set his palm on the spot. A small device came up under his hand, whirred momentarily as it peeled away a tiny scrap of skin, then retracted, taking it into storage.

The central gem in Gallen’s mantle glowed as the artificial intelligence overhead recorded his memories.

Felph turned, addressed his children. “I requested your presence because this is a big day. A very big day. It is the first day of freedom for my children.” He clipped his words off, biting them back. “Already this day, some of you have used your freedom badly. I found Zeus running around naked on the roof, and he threw one of my droids from the citadel, after recording a little message for me.”

Felph sighed, and he spoke in a tone of grief. “So, I must consider, ‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’

“Herm, what shall I do? How can I hope for a civil response to a civil request from you children?” Felph gazed up into Herm’s green eyes, stepped close, and breathed into his face. “What would you do?”

“Punish us, I guess,” Herm said, hardly mumbling as he gazed at the floor.

Gallen nearly laughed. Felph’s “children,” though adults in form, were acting like five-year-olds. Felph took the role of aggrieved parent.

“Punish you. Hmmm … a good idea! A fine idea,” Felph agreed. “And tell me, Arachne. You’re the smart one here. How would you go about that? Shall I have you stand in corners? Should I take away privileges?”

Arachne did not move. Instead, she kept her face down and pretended not to hear. She shook slightly.

“Hera, then? How would you punish them?”

“I would do what you plan to do now,” Hera answered with a smirk. Her blues eyes flashed beneath her auburn hair. She stood up straight, squared her shoulders.

“Which is?”

“You’ll kill our clones and erase our memory crystals.”

Felph folded his hands in front of his belly, tried to hold back his surprise at her answer. “You would do that, really?”

“Of course,” Hera said. “You have no choice in the matter. You can’t continue to spoil us.”

At that moment, her words seemed to galvanize Felph into motion. Gallen sensed that what had, until a moment before, been only a threat, now became the chosen course of action. “Of course, of course. You’re so right, my precious.”

He turned back to the others. “Do you understand why I must do this? Why you’ve forced me to do this? You wanted freedom-all very well and good. I’ve given it to you. But from whom little is required, little is expected. In the past I’ve allowed you to make mistakes without facing their consequences. I’ve coddled you.”

Felph stood for a second, eyes flashing, then rushed to Zeus’s side and screamed. “And this is how you repay me, you insolent shit! This is how! I gave you life!” Zeus raised his hands, as if to block a blow if Felph tried to strike. “I give you food on the table and clothes on your back! I … I-Damn you! Damn you all!” Felph turned and rushed to a gray tube, pulled the handle, and slid the tube out from the wall, opening it as if it were a giant drawer. Zeus’s clone lay naked on a white bed. It looked as if it were sleeping, eyes closed sweetly. Its hair was long, and unlike Zeus, who was clean-shaven, the clone had a wispy beard that needed trimming. Otherwise, the clone looked perfect, without blemish.

Lord Felph reached into a pocket of his drab robe, fumbled, and pulled out a gun. He put it to the clone’s ear and pulled the trigger. A loud pop sounded. Blood spattered the room. The clone’s head wobbled, then Felph pushed, rolled it over so it fell from its bed to the floor. The clone lay bleeding from a horrible wound that split its skull.

Felph reached up to the next shelf, pulled it open, drew out a second clone: another copy of Zeus.

Felph stuck the gun in its mouth, pulled the trigger three times, then dragged the ruined thing to the floor so it landed atop the first. Gallen stood, stunned. As a Lord Protector, he wondered if he should save the clones, but his mantle told him the clones were mere flesh. They had no memories, no experience or personality. Indeed, they’d been grown in flesh vats and moved directly into cold storage. Electrodes kept their muscles toned. They were no more conscious than growths of skin or fingernails. They were Felph’s property.

That is what his mantle told him, but Gallen knew better. The clones that Felph murdered might not have consciousness, but if Felph were to wake them, to simply feed and care for them, they would become normal people.

They were babies, fresh from the womb. Sleeping, merely sleeping.

Gallen didn’t know how to handle this. He could stop Felph, but his conscience whispered no: it is better this way. Felph was right. No one should have the right to immortality. Life should not be squandered or abused.

Lord Felph pulled open a third drawer, another copy of Zeus, but younger Zeus as he might look at twelve, instead of twenty-five. A boy with gorgeous dark eyes, the first growths of hair darkening his chest.

Gallen became aware of Maggie clutching his shoulder with both hands. Her teeth chattered, and she had such a look of horror in her face, Gallen could hardly bear it.

“Stop him, Gallen! Stop this!” Maggie pleaded.

Too late. At that moment, Felph shoved his gun into the clone’s chest and pulled the trigger five times, snapping off shots so fast it was remarkable.

Unlike the others, this clone reacted to the attack. It raised its hands into the air, and it gasped, its muscles convulsing-by reflex rather than design. It coughed blood, and Felph stopped, looked at the thing in horror. Then shoved the gun back into his pocket and grabbed an arm, pulling the clone to the floor, so three bodies lay naked, one atop the other.

Two of the clones twitched and jerked. Felph, his face and trim white beard now spattered with droplets of blood, stood panting over his kills. His face had drained white, as if in shock at what he’d done.

“Enough!” Gallen said. “You don’t have to do it like that.”

Felph’s eyes blazed with anger at Gallen’s command, but he said, “Of course, you’re right.”

He turned to Zeus. “One life, that’s all you have left. With freedom comes responsibility. I give you one life, and if you do not spend it wisely, the loss will be yours more than it is mine.”

Felph looked up to the great roof above him, at the Al with its neural webbing. Silver-blue conducting cords twisted among the brownish masses of neurons, and the great central processor of the Al crouched in the middle. “Mem, erase all data on Zeus-all his memories, all his aspirations. Then lock all such data out of your system in the future. I want his memories gone.”

The Al’s soft voice whispered through the room, neither male nor female. “Done.”

Zeus frowned up at the dome above him.

Felph continued, “Now wipe the memories for the rest of my children, and terminate their clones.”

“Done,” the voice came again, and it seemed to reverberate through Gallen’s mind, the voice of doom.