The routine of examining the parameters of each clone on the screen went smoothly. Every clone seemed to be in line with what was expected, though he had noticed an uptick in the number of clones that appeared to be intended for mind uploads. He dismissed it as an unfortunate artifact of a society that was constantly looking for some cheap thrill, even if it was in someone else’s body. Perhaps, however, something had happened, and a lot of people needed those bodies. Dr. Chrono was less inclined to believe that there was a real need for these bodies. He had been around long enough to know that his work was for only the most wasteful people, especially recently.
He had heard of the Meths, those super-rich elites that lived in floating cities that would be out of a fantasy novel if they didn’t bear a clearly scientific aesthetic. The Meths loved brain uploads as much as they loved hopping bodies. While there was nothing to substantiate this rumor, he had heard that it was impossible for a Meth city to go a full week without someone killing themselves just to get a new body. It was ridiculous and wasteful, but that was to be expected from the wealthy and powerful.
Dr. Chrono had managed to make it several rows back with zero errors and only half his concentration; a person of his intellectual stature had to be careful with mental multitasking, with or without the special neural implants that made “parallel processing” easier. He would, of course, proudly state that he had no such implants and did not need them, and since his accuracy was top-notch, no one argued with him. However, now he encountered something that completely snagged his wandering mind. It was another one of those clones that appeared to be a drone body for an uploaded mind, and yet the expected intelligence parameters were remarkably high. Sighing, he filled out a report on the apparent anomaly and moved on.
Or at least, he would have, if he didn’t encounter several clones in a row with this exact problem. That was befuddling. It made sense that clones with matching intended fates would be grouped together, but the increased parameters were definitely strange to see multiple times in a row. By the time he’d reached the end of the bunch, he included the line what is even going on here in his report. He was going to have to bring this up at the next department head meeting, because multiple inconsistencies in a row meant that someone, somewhere, was being sloppy.
Coincidentally, the next meeting was soon. So soon, in fact, that Dr. Chrono let out a low hiss of a curse when he looked at the computer clock and realized he was going to be late if he didn’t start moving right at that moment. Making sure to secure his workstation, he hastily grabbed the papers he was going to need for the meeting and made his way to the meeting room with an impressive speed (for a middle-aged man with no augments to boost his physical prowess).
Dr. Chrono was the last person in the room, and the meeting began not long after he sat down and arranged his papers. The first portion was what he would consider very boring; lots of babble about PR and advertising and sales and “progress.” Those sectors had nothing to do with him, except for maybe the “progress” part, but his idea of progress and the meeting leader’s seemed to be very different. Everything was about shine, glitz, and PR now. It didn’t matter if your core was rotten if you looked like a model citizen. He knew that was true on many levels in this society.
Finally, there was a lull in the babble, and Dr. Chrono’s raised hand was the only signal he gave that he was going to speak. “I have a question for the more scientific departments, that is, the ones who get their hands dirty around here.” Some murmurs went throughout the room, and he knew there were a few people rolling their eyes (not that they could really say that his statement was wrong). “I recently encountered a series of clones that, despite appearing to be drone bodies, had higher than average projected intelligence parameters. One of these every once in a while makes sense, but several of these in sequence is sloppy, not to mention a bit suspicious. Is anyone aware of what might be the root of the problem? Computer error, which we should be beyond by now, or human error, which is much harder to erase?”
More mumbling went through the room as people hastily discussed the finding (and probably denying responsibility, Dr. Chrono suspected). Eventually, however, a younger male scientist towards the foot of the table spoke up. Blonde, wavy hair, glasses, probably popular with the ladies, if that was even his “starter body” (Dr. Chrono doubted that). “I’m sorry, Dr. Chrono,” he said, and Dr. Chrono was ready to find a book to pitch at that stupidly handsome face before the younger man continued. “I guess you found your birthday present.”
“Come again?” Dr. Chrono leaned back in his chair, taken aback. “Explain yourself. Now.”
“Some of us decided to pitch in and set aside some clones that you could sleeve into- excuse me, upload yourself into- in case you ever got tired of your old body. We wanted to make sure they could support your intelligence, so some tweaks to the standard drone formula were made,” the young scientist explained, seeming unruffled by the metaphorical steam that was starting to figuratively shoot out of Dr. Chrono’s ears.
If Dr. Chrono’s mental tea kettle was whistling before, it just about exploded now. Banging the table, he stood up and started yelling at that young scientist. “First off, ‘sleeve’ is a slang term and not appropriate for a serious discussion of clones or brain uploading. Second off, I understand that you all seem to want to push me in this direction, but I can’t believe you would be so presumptuous so as to just set aside several clones that could be suited for a better purpose. Yes, sure, as one of the intellectual elite, maybe I deserve the opportunity. But do I need it? How about not right now? Perhaps I was being presumptuous myself, thinking that you people wouldn’t waste precious time and money like this.”
Various people spoke up, attempting to defend the scientist or the decision, but Dr. Chrono made a silencing gesture. “Enough is enough. I’ll be in my office. I won’t tolerate any more inane drivel, so don’t bother interrupting me.”
With that, he stormed out of the meeting room, hoping to get some silence and isolation from the vain idiots that passed for his colleagues.
