Free Out Through the Attic by Quincy J. Allen Page B

2,” Prime accused, but there was no malice in his voice. He tried not to smile as he pushed spectacles back from the tip of his rosy, bulbous nose to rest more usefully on its bridge. He examined some logistical data on a holopad held in the pudgy fingers of his other hand. Based on the numbers, he was convinced that they would need one more clone to make this year’s deliveries to two more of Earth’s latest colony worlds.
    “I most certainly am not ,” 2 said defensively.
    Humanity’s obsession with reaching the stars had borne fruit and given rise a population explosion across the stars. Prime was able to keep up with need, albeit barely, in no small part due to the advent of clones. His maintenance and support personnel had clone tanks of their own to fashion new workers and administrators as needed to keep up with humanity’s expansion.
    Prime pressed his fingers into a sequence of displayed commands suspended in the holopad field to request maintenance on the next tank to be filled. Keeping his eyes on the current logistical data—data that didn’t take into account the additional clone—he addressed 2 with a fatherly tone. “I know that deep down you always wanted to be a rabble-rouser.” Prime was certain this wasn’t the case, but it was fun to yank 2’s chain. “You take this job way too seriously, you know. We’re supposed to be jolly .”
    Prime added the new clone to the data, ran through all the numbers again, and saw that with the advent of an additional carrier they would meet quota. They’d never missed a delivery in the fifteen-hundred years he’d run the operation, and they never would, not on his watch anyway.
    “But sir …” 2 started, his rosy cheeks going crimson more with frustration than traditional cheeriness. “I just don’t …” He turned his back on Prime and stared out through one of the clear shielding panels that separated them from the cold vacuum of space. The main-sequence star that held them in its grasp burned a bluish hole in the black of space.
    SW3 , Prime’s one and only space station, maintained a 1200 AU orbit around Dhruva Tara , also known as Polaris and more formally referred to as UMi A. The station lay cradled in a static, oppositional orbit from UMi B—Polaris’ sister star. Even with the best image enhancing satellites, neither Earth nor any of its colonies would ever be able to detect the station in the bright halo of Ursae Minoris.
    “Stuff it, 2,” Prime scolded as he made a discrete summons in his HUD. “Keep this up and I’ll force you to go on a vacation !” Prime punctuated the jovial threat with a hearty, staccato laugh. “How about one of those Vegas worlds with nothing to do but gamble, drink, steal fire trucks, and fend off hookers? Frankly, you could learn a thing or two from 17. He knows the job and the populace of each of his charges. They love him as a result of his behavior and appearance, not in spite of it.”
    Prime and 2 turned their collective gaze towards the chamber door that cycled open like a great iris. Having received Prime’s summons through the station-net, three small humanoids wearing green environment suits entered the replication chamber and started working on the second of the three clone-tanks. They started preparing it for the imminent creation of 23’s protogenome, whistling quietly as they worked. One of the three technicians opened the tank and began cleaning the inside with a sterilizer, while another followed with a clear synthetic protein that would serve as the placenta for 23. The other humanoids ran through a complex series of diagnostics on a panel at the side of the room, insuring that once impregnated, the clone-chamber would be a suitable womb for the new addition to the family.
    “There’s no need to discipline me, Prime. I’m only trying to express my concerns. He just doesn’t seem to maintain the spirit of the season.”
    “And you do?” Prime guffawed. “You sound like a mother hen