Tears Of A Clone
By
CSquared



Chapter 3:
“I just don’t understand how you can justify treating living beings in this way!” exploded the old man, his companion quite taken aback by the outburst. “Sit down, Van.” said the man behind the extravagant desk. “It’s not like you haven’t done it yourself, you know.” Van-el seethed in quiet anger, his mind working overtime to formulate a response. Suddenly it hit him. “Not since a brash and reckless youth!” he exclaimed. “For over a century I have left those clones in peace!” Bar-ak had to admit that was true. Van’s last need from his clones had been a new liver - almost one hundred and thirty years previously. It was a pity that those he sympathised with were not as placid as he. Anti-cloning rallies had become violent in the past months, and the protesters had grown in number. The powers that be were scared of a full scale revolution, and were on the brink of declaring martial law. Bar sighed. “I won’t dispute that, my old friend.” he said. “But even you must know that there’s nothing we can do. The clones are here to stay, and we both know it. The protesters are still the minority. Most people are not going to give up on their easy, carefree lives.” Van slammed the book he was holding down on the desk. Flakes of the ancient, fragile paper broke away. Bar-ak was jolted by the action. It was so out of character for the old man. He was one of the few people that still used paper, rather than the cheaper, more efficient electronic sources. “No.” he said, sadly. “But soon enough their ‘easy, carefree lives’ are going to be taken away from them.” he walked to the open window, and stepped across the three hundred or so foot drop into his dutifully and silently hovering jet. Bar leaned across, keeping his feet firmly on the ground inside his office. He knew all of the safety features built into the walls, but he wasn’t sure of them working. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Van.” he said, as the old man buckled himself into his anti-acceleration seat. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” Van looked over his shoulder at his friend. “It’s too late for that, Bar. Goodbye.” The gullwing door swung shut, and closed with a satisfying clunk. Bar-ak closed his window to protect himself from the red-hot winds produced with the jet’s departure, and watched it vanish over the horizon, a bright point of light against the darkening twilight of the sky.
