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Clone Transport
18 November 2008 16:48Clone Transport.
We called them Vegetable Trucks. Some people called them Meat Wagons. It was just like hauling medical supplies.
The bodies in the back were kept in a nutrient-rich fluid that looked like green dish soap. Each container was a long, transparent coffin to make them easier to package and stack. Their vitals were on readouts on the side of each box and the whole cargo space was kept at a specific temperature.
The factories started the creation process on new batches every day. They aged at the normal human rate in the pools. Orders were received for a certain age, blood type, genotype, marrow code, and body shape. Like ordering wine, I guess, or single malt scotch.
People used them for organ backups, science experiments, medical teaching aids, collision impact studies, weaponry efficiency tests, sex toys, and body doubles in movies for extreme stunts.
The laws in place made it impossible to give them anything more than a brainstem to keep their vitals going. They had the same rights as a steak.
One could place an order for something as specific as a 28.5-year-old, 1.5-meter-tall, female blue-eyed redhead on a poor diet with lung cancer and healed fractures in both legs. You could send a body and face scan of a target model if you wanted it to look exactly like someone in real life.
Some age groups were more expensive than others according to the rules of supply and demand. The ones in the prime of life were the most expensive and anything extra could get very pricy indeed.
There were always rumours, of course. Rumours of clones given cognitive abilities and being used as slave labour, prostitutes and soldiers. Those rumours were hard to really believe, though, considering the endless numbers of real humans that were always there to fill those roles.
What wasn’t a rumour was delivery truck drivers occasionally busting open the crate of an attractive model and having sex with it or killing it for fun. There were psych tests for applicants and stringent security measures but at least two or three times a year, a driver was caught handling the merchandise.
Personally, I can’t imagine it. I’ve been hauling clones for six years now. It’s good money and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.
Sometimes, though, on the open road with the moon shining down and nothing around of me for miles, I can’t decide if I’m alone or if I have sixty humans in the back keeping me company. That can get a little creepy.
Like right now.
I feel like a ferryman taking souls across an unseen border into a different world.
tags
We called them Vegetable Trucks. Some people called them Meat Wagons. It was just like hauling medical supplies.
The bodies in the back were kept in a nutrient-rich fluid that looked like green dish soap. Each container was a long, transparent coffin to make them easier to package and stack. Their vitals were on readouts on the side of each box and the whole cargo space was kept at a specific temperature.
The factories started the creation process on new batches every day. They aged at the normal human rate in the pools. Orders were received for a certain age, blood type, genotype, marrow code, and body shape. Like ordering wine, I guess, or single malt scotch.
People used them for organ backups, science experiments, medical teaching aids, collision impact studies, weaponry efficiency tests, sex toys, and body doubles in movies for extreme stunts.
The laws in place made it impossible to give them anything more than a brainstem to keep their vitals going. They had the same rights as a steak.
One could place an order for something as specific as a 28.5-year-old, 1.5-meter-tall, female blue-eyed redhead on a poor diet with lung cancer and healed fractures in both legs. You could send a body and face scan of a target model if you wanted it to look exactly like someone in real life.
Some age groups were more expensive than others according to the rules of supply and demand. The ones in the prime of life were the most expensive and anything extra could get very pricy indeed.
There were always rumours, of course. Rumours of clones given cognitive abilities and being used as slave labour, prostitutes and soldiers. Those rumours were hard to really believe, though, considering the endless numbers of real humans that were always there to fill those roles.
What wasn’t a rumour was delivery truck drivers occasionally busting open the crate of an attractive model and having sex with it or killing it for fun. There were psych tests for applicants and stringent security measures but at least two or three times a year, a driver was caught handling the merchandise.
Personally, I can’t imagine it. I’ve been hauling clones for six years now. It’s good money and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.
Sometimes, though, on the open road with the moon shining down and nothing around of me for miles, I can’t decide if I’m alone or if I have sixty humans in the back keeping me company. That can get a little creepy.
Like right now.
I feel like a ferryman taking souls across an unseen border into a different world.
tags