“I can’t abide being called Marjorie or Margie. And Maggie …” She shuddered with distaste.
I had to laugh. “All right. Marguerite, then. I’m Van.”
We talked, mainly about politics. No further mention of my father. Marguerite was an ardent, dedicated Green, devoted to the ideals of stopping the Earth’s warming by drastically changing society. Solar energy instead of fossil or nuclear fuels. Taxation to redistribute wealth and shrink the gap between rich and poor. Stronger international controls on trade and information commerce.
I tried to make her see that nuclear power would help to wean the world off fossil fuels much better than solar energy possibly could.
“Especially with helium-three for fusion generators,” I told her, with growing enthusiasm. “We could triple the world’s installed electrical power capacity and cut greenhouse emissions by seventy percent or more.”
She frowned slightly. “Your father has a monopoly on helium-three, doesn’t he?”
“His corporation owns a large chunk of the helium-mining operations on the Moon. I wouldn’t say he has a monopoly. Besides—”
“And he controls the lunar raw materials that are needed to build solar power satellites, doesn’t he?”
“He doesn’t control them. There’s also Masterson Corporation. And Astro Manufacturing.”
Marguerite shook her head. “Mr. Humphries, your father is one of our most implacable enemies.”
“Yes, I know. And my name is Van.”
She nodded and we continued talking. I forgot about my enzyme shot, forgot about Marguerite’s hard-driving mother and Rodriguez and the rest of the crew. I even forgot about Gwyneth, living in my apartment in Barcelona. I was enjoying talking with Marguerite. As we chatted on I commented on how strikingly she resembled her mother.
“Why not?” she asked, very seriously. “I’m a duplicate.”
“A clone?”
With a brief dip of her chin, Marguerite said, “Mother’s always said she’s never met a man she’d trust to father a child with her. So she cloned herself and had the embryo implanted in herself. Eight and a half months later I was born.”
I shouldn’t have felt as staggered as I did. Duplicates were nothing new; people had been cloning themselves here and there for years. The procedure was outlawed in many nations and moralists railed against the supposed inhumanity of it. But here was a perfectly lovely, lively young woman who happened to be a clone of her mother.
“When did all that happen?” I asked.
Her eyes widened for a flash of a second and I felt suddenly embarrassed.
But Marguerite just laughed. “I haven’t needed any rejuvenation treatments yet.”
“I mean … I suppose I was really wondering about your mother’s age. My father’s past a hundred, and …”
I cursed myself for a fool even while my mouth blabbered on. I could easily look up their ages in the mission’s dossiers.
Marguerite let it pass and our conversation drifted on, relaxed and friendly. Until we began to talk about the mission.
“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Marguerite asked, “that no human expedition was sent to Venus until your brother went?”
“The unmanned probes scoped out the planet pretty well. There’s been no need for human missions.”
“Really?” Her brows hiked up. “I thought you were a planetary scientist. Aren’t you curious about this planet?”
“Of course I am. I’ll be running a series of seismic probes for Professor Greenbaum, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“He has a theory about the planet’s surface overturning,” I explained. “He thinks the surface will get so hot it’ll begin to melt.”
“Fascinating,” Marguerite murmured.
I waved a hand in the air. “It’s not a very attractive planet.”
“Attractive?” she snapped. “Are we talking about exploring a world or starting a resort hotel?”
“I mean, it’s a hellhole. Hot enough to melt aluminum and all that.”
“But that’s
I had to laugh. “All right. Marguerite, then. I’m Van.”
We talked, mainly about politics. No further mention of my father. Marguerite was an ardent, dedicated Green, devoted to the ideals of stopping the Earth’s warming by drastically changing society. Solar energy instead of fossil or nuclear fuels. Taxation to redistribute wealth and shrink the gap between rich and poor. Stronger international controls on trade and information commerce.
I tried to make her see that nuclear power would help to wean the world off fossil fuels much better than solar energy possibly could.
“Especially with helium-three for fusion generators,” I told her, with growing enthusiasm. “We could triple the world’s installed electrical power capacity and cut greenhouse emissions by seventy percent or more.”
She frowned slightly. “Your father has a monopoly on helium-three, doesn’t he?”
“His corporation owns a large chunk of the helium-mining operations on the Moon. I wouldn’t say he has a monopoly. Besides—”
“And he controls the lunar raw materials that are needed to build solar power satellites, doesn’t he?”
“He doesn’t control them. There’s also Masterson Corporation. And Astro Manufacturing.”
Marguerite shook her head. “Mr. Humphries, your father is one of our most implacable enemies.”
“Yes, I know. And my name is Van.”
She nodded and we continued talking. I forgot about my enzyme shot, forgot about Marguerite’s hard-driving mother and Rodriguez and the rest of the crew. I even forgot about Gwyneth, living in my apartment in Barcelona. I was enjoying talking with Marguerite. As we chatted on I commented on how strikingly she resembled her mother.
“Why not?” she asked, very seriously. “I’m a duplicate.”
“A clone?”
With a brief dip of her chin, Marguerite said, “Mother’s always said she’s never met a man she’d trust to father a child with her. So she cloned herself and had the embryo implanted in herself. Eight and a half months later I was born.”
I shouldn’t have felt as staggered as I did. Duplicates were nothing new; people had been cloning themselves here and there for years. The procedure was outlawed in many nations and moralists railed against the supposed inhumanity of it. But here was a perfectly lovely, lively young woman who happened to be a clone of her mother.
“When did all that happen?” I asked.
Her eyes widened for a flash of a second and I felt suddenly embarrassed.
But Marguerite just laughed. “I haven’t needed any rejuvenation treatments yet.”
“I mean … I suppose I was really wondering about your mother’s age. My father’s past a hundred, and …”
I cursed myself for a fool even while my mouth blabbered on. I could easily look up their ages in the mission’s dossiers.
Marguerite let it pass and our conversation drifted on, relaxed and friendly. Until we began to talk about the mission.
“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Marguerite asked, “that no human expedition was sent to Venus until your brother went?”
“The unmanned probes scoped out the planet pretty well. There’s been no need for human missions.”
“Really?” Her brows hiked up. “I thought you were a planetary scientist. Aren’t you curious about this planet?”
“Of course I am. I’ll be running a series of seismic probes for Professor Greenbaum, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“He has a theory about the planet’s surface overturning,” I explained. “He thinks the surface will get so hot it’ll begin to melt.”
“Fascinating,” Marguerite murmured.
I waved a hand in the air. “It’s not a very attractive planet.”
“Attractive?” she snapped. “Are we talking about exploring a world or starting a resort hotel?”
“I mean, it’s a hellhole. Hot enough to melt aluminum and all that.”
“But that’s