; ; I run Station R-1042. There are 23 miners and me, all ; males. Once upon a time, I was a miner, until a fool mishandled ; a plasma torch. The insurance company won't let me do pressure ; suit work any more. I worked out a deal with the mining company: ; they gave me a cash settlement and a no-suit job, and I save them ; the cost of a medical retirement and paying for additional ; "rehabilitation". Up here, I don't need legs, and no one cares ; if I look ugly or not. I do all the administrative work, see the ; miners get fed, maintain equipment which can be serviced inside, ; like pressure suits, and I even serve as the station medic. ; That's not as hard as it sounds, because an artificial ; intelligence program does all the brainwork; I just set the ; broken bones. Bad cases, of course, are sedated and sent down ; home. Oh, yes, I also run the company store.
; ; Actually, there are two company stores. There's the ; legitimate one, which carries "sundries" for the miners, things ; like depilatory cream and after-shave. (Some brands are banned, ; because the air-conditioning can't handle them) Then there's the ; "black market store", which I run on the side. It obtains hard ; to get items, the ones not in the Hudson Bay Trading Co. catalog, ; like the life-size inflatable plastic doll one of the guys ; ordered. I long ago figured out how to smuggle items like that ; into the station, something only I, as administrator, could pull ; off successfully. I do pretty well, financially.
; ; Some of the miners are Gay, and as long as they are ; discrete, that's fine. A few are single, and if I don't cater to ; their needs, as best I can, with "distractions" and ; entertainment, XXX videos and such, things get pretty tense ; around here. Fights break out, things like that. Some of the ; guys have families, down home, and work here to support them. ; The union contract calls for a free one-hour video link every two ; hundred working hours, for those who are legally married. The ; several minute delay (depending on the Earth's orbital position) ; makes it hard to carry on a two-way conversation, but at least ; they can see the wife and kids. We have to watch out for the ; married guys, especially right after their call home. Sometimes ; they go berserk. Since I'm not married, I don't even get to look ; at a woman.
; ; All this is leading up to the subject of this story. One of ; my not so legitimate contacts makes me an offer. Through certain ; contacts in a mortuary, the people he represented had obtained ; tissue samples from "Sirena", the famous porno star. A select ; few could order a clone of Sirena. Cloning a complete human, ; brain and all, is "universally" illegal, of course, but after the ; Libertarian revolt in Belise, it can be done. The tricky part is ; getting her out of Belise. Interpol gets on your case.
; ; Anyway, in a moment of weakness, I put in an order. I'm ; probably the only person on R-1042 with the capital for such a ; purchase and the know-how to get her here. I figure the company ; need never find out there are 25 of us, not 24, on R-1042, and, ; like so many other guys, I really miss female companionship. For ; an ugly guy like me to have a wife like Sirena, hey, it seems ; like the chance of a lifetime. The problem is, I'd been reading ; too much science fiction. I should have known better.
; ; A little more than a year after I made my deposit, they tell ; me she's ready, full grown, a perfect clone of the original. It ; takes all my ingenuity to get her here, but finally a special ; pressure-tight container arrives, in among the spare parts and ; food and stuff the company sends up from time to time. The ; container masses a thousand kilos, but that's no problem in ; microgravity, and, as administrator, I know just the place to ; hide it.
; ; Now comes the difficult part. Sirena was shipped in her ; "womb", an artificial life support canister in which she floats ; in a sort of synthetic amniotic fluid. I peer in through the ; viewport and see her there. She's fully adult, beautiful, but ; still has her umbilical cord. Her hair, which has never been ; cut, practically fills the extra volume of the container. I ; hadn't realized the original wasn't a real blonde. Hey, I should ; complain? I have the only woman this side of Space Colony Sagan.
; ; It takes about thirty hours of hard work to make her ; operational, so to speak. Meanwhile, some of the guys are ; complaining about the food (so what else is new?), and a suit ; regulator doesn't get fixed (there are plenty of spares), but I ; manage to bring my mail-order bride to life, so to speak. A lot ; of the process is automatic, of course, but some things require ; hands-on work, like inserting the airway to clear her lungs and ; tying off her belly button. I didn't do a great job on my first ; "delivery"; she has a real "outie". Still, things go pretty ; well. Her vital signs, blood pressure and all, are good. Then ; it's just a case of waiting for the sedative to wear off.
; ; I thought I was all prepared. I had smuggled in clothes, ; Frederick's of Hollywood, mostly, and hair stuff, and cosmetics, ; all that, ahead of time. I even thought to buy contraceptives.
; ; So what does my beautiful bride do, the first time she sees ; me? She cries and wiggles. Now, here's where I realize the ; error of my ways. You expect, if you read that sort of ; "speculative fiction", that a clone of Sirena is going to act ; like Sirena, right? She'll have a sexy voice, a sultry glance, ; and an unlimited libido. Well, those SF authors never thought it ; through, and, of course, they never saw a real clone.
; ; What I bought was a 51 kilo woman with the mind of a newborn ; babe. In some respects, it's less mind, because neural pathways ; that are formed soon after birth in a normal human never form in ; a clone and can't, once she's adult. For instance, her eyes are ; perfectly normal, anatomically, but she can't see, not the way ; you and I do. She has no depth perception, no ability to ; distinguish foreground and background. She can see light, but ; she's effectively blind, because she never had the opportunity to ; lie in her crib, playing with a mobile, or to be carried around ; by a loving mother. Her brain just never learned to see.
; ; It's the same thing with speech. She has a voice box. She ; even has a husky voice. But she hasn't learned to speak, doesn't ; seem to have the mental capacity to associate sounds with ; objects, never mind abstract ideas.
; ; I suppose she has the built-in neural wiring to learn to ; walk, but how can she learn to walk in microgravity?
; ; I go back and read the "fine print" of my purchase contract. ; Yes, they had delivered everything they said they would, a ; healthy female with the body of a porno star in her prime. Well, ; not quite; she has no muscle tone, no strength, but even that ; caveat is buried in there, in the details of the contract -- ; "Customer is advised that an exercise regimen will be required ; before full strength is developed." Well, there's no way I could ; get my money back. Even if they agreed to take her back, there ; is no way to ship a living, breathing, food-dependent woman back ; down home without exposing the whole illegal operation.
; ; OK, I'm stuck with a real moral dilemma. I have on my hands ; a sexy-looking woman, with the mind of a day-old baby. In every ; legal and moral respect, she is a human being. To cut my losses ; and push her out an air lock would be murder. I would think of ; it as murder, and so would the law. On the other hand, how am I ; to keep her? She isn't even, for God's sake, toilet trained, and ; I certainly hadn't thought to buy lots of adult-size diapers.
; ; For a couple hundred hours, during which I get very little ; sleep and almost have a mutiny on my hands, I play father to my ; baby. I clean up her bodily excretions. I feed her with an ; improvised syringe. I move her limbs, trying to teach her to ; resist, so as to develop some muscle, but it seems not to have ; much effect. The only thing that helps at all is my cosmetic ; efforts. I cut her hair and perm it. Asleep, if she hasn't ; messed herself, she looks great.
; ; Finally, a delegation comes to file a formal union ; grievance, claiming I'm not delivering services they had come to ; expect. I agree. "Sykes," I say, "I have been working on the ; greatest thing ever to come to R-1042. For the sake of worker ; morale, I'm not even going to charge you for it."
; ; "This had better be good," says Sykes, the spokesman, who is ; supporting a wife and kids down home.
; ; "Sykes," I say, "what do you miss most, being away from your ; family?"
; ; "Well," he says, "I miss my wife, of course, but the worst ; part is the kids. I've got a little girl -- she's five now -- ; and I missed everything, her first steps, her first words, you ; know, her childhood. My oldest daughter, she's dating now, and I ; remember her as a ten-year old! An hour's video can't make up ; for that."
; ; "Sykes, you miss being a father."
; ; "Yeah."
; ; "The other guys the same?"
; ; "Yeah. Even the Gay guys, some of them wish they were ; parents, mothers maybe -- I don't know."
; ; "OK, I'm making the union a present, a live human baby to ; take care of, to love and to cuddle, a baby that needs you. She ; can't walk yet. She can't talk yet. She has to be fed. She's ; all yours, so all twenty-three of you guys can have the pleasure ; of being a father, during your off time, of course. How does ; that sound?"
; ; They all agree that it sounds too good to be true, but they ; like the idea, if I can deliver. So I do. I literally hand my ; "bride" to 23 sex-starved miners.
; ; Several Earth years have passed since then. Morale has ; never been higher. Production is up. Fights and disturbances ; and accidents are down. The company loves me.
; ; Even though some miners have rotated down home and been ; replaced, every one of them regards himself as Sirena's parent. ; With coaching around the clock -- there are never less than three ; or four fussing over her every need -- Sirena has learned how to ; get around, how to feed herself, how to properly dispose of her ; excrement, and even how to talk. If you snap your fingers, ; she'll say, in her sexy voice, "I need lovin', Stud," and ; everyone laughs. She serves the miners their food; we're the ; only asteroid with table service in the chow hall, and our ; waitress is stunningly beautiful, table grade, centerfold ; material.
; ; You might think everything is hunky-dory. Well, I still ; lose sleep worrying about Sirena. She's never had a mother. ; She's never had children to play with, never learned about ; selfishness and deception and the other sins of humankind. Her ; luscious body is fully functional, but, with 23 fathers to guard ; her chastity, she doesn't know what it is to be a woman. She ; couldn't survive down home, wouldn't last a minute on the street. ; I suppose she'll have to live out her natural life span here on ; R-1042, and she'll die a virgin.
; ;