Disclaimer:

1) Without permission, the intellectual works of any modders here will not be used. If you wouldn't mind me inserting your material into this fiction, just say so, and I'll try to find a good opening for a mention, or even a major role.

2) Though I'll try to update AT LEAST weekly, I can't promise much with my hectic work schedule.

NOTE: Reference is at the bottom of each chapter.

PROLOGUE - Added December 29th, 2008

Private Wave Frequency #0215876891

I guess that's one thing we'll never run out of, the first one thought wryly.
What's that? queried the second.
Space. Room. As far as we know, it's still pretty much infinite.
A small ripple of humor. As far as we know. And anyways, not much you can do with space without materials, mm?
Pah. We can synthesize what we need.
How many times have I reminded you? You can't make something out of nothing.
Slight frustration tinged with embarrassment. We'll see.


The Tradestar - Ambassador Jhanoor's Office Suite

As the ranking ambassador for the most powerful colony on Luna*1, Jhanoor was afforded certain privileges and luxuries that often escaped even the most wealthy spacefarers. One of which was the most advanced synthetic body in the known galaxy.

He sat behind an enormous oak desk, his slender artificial fingers sketching out an elaborate pencil drawing of a wooded valley that he had once seen on Earth. The tip of the pencil moved amazingly fast. As quickly as his brain could process the movement, in fact.

There was a polite knocking at the door. One of his assistants? Jhanoor raised his head and willed his faceplate to an opaque white. He liked his underlings to wonder what he was thinking. "Come in."

To his pleasant surprise, the man that walked through the door was most certainly not an underling. Jhanoor rose and embraced him heartily, careful to limit the pressure his arms applied. "Reynald! How are you, you old fool?"

With a smile, Cornelius Reynald gently disengaged himself from the cold grip. "Wonderfully, my friend. Still stuck on this old 'ambassador' drivel?"
"Still stuck in this old generation one*2?"
"Apologies, but I'm not as fond of cold titanium and plastics as you are." Reynald was a strict supporter of keeping host bodies organic and, as he put it, 'unmuddled'. Luckily, it hadn't put more than a token amount of trouble between them.

They both took a seat, and Jhanoor offered his friend a cigar from the small box he kept by in his drawer. "Don't have much use for them myself." Grinning all the while, Reynald took one. Being in a fully organic body, he still considered them a wonderful indulgence. "So," said Jhanoor. "As much as I appreciate your company, I still must ask what brought you here. We rarely speak much anymore."

"Ahh, Jhanoor, always to the point." Reynald stuffed the tobacco into a breast pocket. "You are correct. I am not here for recreation. Rather the opposite, in fact. This is pure business."
Intrigued, the synthetic man reflexively raised a mental eyebrow. "Go on."
"I have recently come into some very valuable information. Coordinates. As you have been my longest friend, I felt it only reasonable to come to you first."
"Coordinates?"
"Yes. To a location on the planet directly beneath us."
"I see. But what have you found? A vein of gold? An unguarded storehouse?"
"Hah! I'm quite aware that you have the resources to locate such things easily by yourself. No, what has been discovered is much more worthwhile than either."
The ambassador caused a frown to appear on his faceplate. "Well, come then, don't keep me in suspense."

Reynald left his seat and strode leisurely to the window that took up most of the ambassador's western wall. Purely for dramatic effect. Lazily, he gazed back at his friend. Though his demeanor was casual, Jhanoor could see the undercurrent of trembling excitement, barely contained. He nearly recoiled in surprise, but caught himself. "Well?"

"Something big."






*1 - Luna : Earth's only moon. It became necessary to stop referring to it as 'the moon' once colonies reached past Earth's solar system.
*2 - Generation One : Slang for an unenhanced, unmodified body that has been cloned from the host brain's genetic material.

Awesome, this looks like a great fan-fic




First First Post!

A fine piece of literature, this.
I am looking forward to the next chapter.

CHAPTER ONE, PART ONE - December 30th, 2008

The Tradestar - Citizen Commons

The Citizen Commons was considered one of the marvels of modern space station architecture. A massive open room, fully five miles in diameter and almost two hundred feet tall, it was able to comfortably fit the entirety of the civilian population aboard the Tradestar during their daily activities, with a good amount of room left over. In all practical aspects, it was more like a small city than anything else.

The bazaar was one of the many areas contained within the Commons. As it was much too large for the Tradestar security force to concern themselves over, you could get anything there if you had the gold. Anything.

Zerein walked through the bustling marketplace as quickly as she could. As packed as it was at this time of the day, it was hard to move twenty feet without bumping into as many people. She passed vegetable stands, stills, electronics booths, and much more, but always her eyes were locked forward. She had a task on her mind, and she couldn't let anything distract her until it was completed.

Once, an overzealous clothing vendor swept an expensive silk dress at her, bawling out the ever decreasing price at the top of his lungs. He stopped only when the formerly whole piece of clothing drifted to the ground at his feet, torn neatly in half in one angry motion by Zerein.

Such behavior was standard in the Commons.

Long minutes later, Zerein had found what she was looking for. The person who was commonly referred to as "the man of a thousand bodies" stood atop a large substi-wood*1 platform in the center of the bazaar. From there, he bellowed out the prices and descriptions of the ten naked men and women standing motionless behind him. The bodies were supposed to be clones. Empty, mindless, devoid of consciousness or personality. Still, it made her shiver to look at them.

These clones were of the sort used by the moderately well-off to perform everyday duties such as cooking, cleaning, protection, and... other things. Not much was taboo these days.

Zerein waited until "the man of a thousand bodies" (in reality endowed with the mundane name of Jacob) reached one of the last products. A short, scrawny male with dark hair and gray eyes. Inexpensive and unremarkable. She raised her hand and called out her bid. "600 credits*2." She recieved a few surprised glances. Such a high price for a simple worker clone? Jacob met her eyes and gave her a knowing smile.

"Sold!" He cried. "To the stunning lady with the blonde hair!"

In mere moments the male was fitted in a cheap poncho and brought down to her. Credits were credits.

Back at her apartment, Zerein sat the male in a chair and went to her cabinet while he stared at the wall, awaiting orders. She pulled out a large piece of equipment, what looked like a video headset to the ignorant. In fact, it was much more expensive than any entertainment device. It was a high-end Neural Interfacer, most often used to program or wipe clones. She was most definitely not supposed to have one without a permit.

She placed it on the seemingly comatose man's head gently, tightening a few straps here and there and making sure it fit snugly over his eyes. From her pocket she pulled a small, flat card and inserted it into a slot in the Interfacer's visor. She then pressed the button next to it and sat next to him, waiting.

The next few minutes were wholly undramatic. However, as she watched, the body began to twitch. First a finger, then the whole hand. Then the arm. Soon, the whole body was deep into what looked like an epileptic seizure. She didn't move.

Finally, after what she felt was an eternity, the man raised his hands of his own volition. Smooth and controlled. He took off the visor, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

He began to weep quietly.

Zerein, concerned, spoke. "Was it that bad?"
"Yes." His voice was cracked, weak from lack of use.
"I'm glad you're back."

The man's gaze shot to her suddenly. "Zerein, what that man is doing, it's..."
"I know."
"We have to stop him."
"I know."

It took the man only a short while to regain his composure. As he greedily gulped at the jug of water which Zerein had supplied to him, she studied him with a critical eye. Nearly malnourished, overworked, covered with tiny cuts and scrapes. He had been treated poorly. Their year apart hadn't been kind to him. Nearly gasping, he sat back and rubbed his swollen belly. "Thank you."
"It's only water."
"That's not what I was talking about."
She turned her brilliant green eyes from a nearby painting and looked at him again.

"It wasn't only for you."

*1 - Substi-Wood : A mass-grown substance similar in texture to real wood coated in a thin layer of greasy varnish. Cheap and plentiful.
*2 - Credits and Currency : One ounce of standard, unrefined gold usually translates to around 1000 credits.


First decently sized update! Feels a little awkward at points, but I'm tired, so please forgive.

CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO expected by New Year's day.

So, this Jacob is selling humans as clones?
Devious! Why didnt I think of that?