Page 120 of Border Control
Samara may have won this round, but I’ll win the next. “I have exonerating evidence that's very compelling. Here's a copy, so we can work from the same source of truth.”
Samara takes the disc and boots it up, but doesn't look at the screen. She couldn’t care less.
I stay ramrod straight in my chair. “This was never about evidence, was it? You've all decided he's guilty.”
“Not all,” Shara says, tapping her desk. “These data might convince some.”
I fix Samara in the eye. What's this really about?
Choosing my words carefully, I say, “I read up on your legal system. It’s tough to learn an entire planet’s way of doing things, but I made a good college try at it. One thing I noticed is that the laws surrounding clones seem to have developed rapidly, and only in recent years. Almost as if… there was an urgent need for them.”
Samara’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze hardening. “That’s because there was an urgent need. We developed the clones because we needed workers. They were meant to be mindless, cheaper than robots but more versatile, needing less resources. Automatons, if you will. Safe, controllable, without any capacity for independent thought.” Her voice sharpens, edged with bitterness. “When I ordered their creation, that’s what I expected.”
I blink. “You ordered their creation?”
“Yes. But my sister,” she gestures toward Shara with a flicker of irritation, “decided to… do her own thing.”
I glance over at Shara and take in the resemblance I hadn’t noticed before—the similar set of their jaws, the unmistakable strength in their gazes. Shara’s warmth and easy smiles had masked it, but now that I see them side by side, the connection’s obvious. They both have that same core of steely resolve, though Shara hides it beneath her calm exterior, while Samara wears it openly.
“It wasn’t intentional, Samara,” Shara says, her tone gentle but resigned. As if she's said this many times before. “The clones… well, they were developing physically, exactly as planned. But somewhere along the line, sentience started to emerge. By the time I noticed it, by the time it became clear what was happening, it was too late. I already had hundreds of thousands of… sentient males on my hands.”
Her words sink in. This has to be the reason for that flicker of sadness aging her face. Shara doesn’t want to harm the clones. They’re more than just creations to her. They’re her legacy, her only chance at family.
Her only children.
Shara catches my look, pain creasing her face. “They’re beyond workers, Laura. They were supposed to be, yes, but they’re not, and we can't ignore that.”
Samara’s mouth twists, her gaze shifting between the two of us. “This wasn’t what I agreed to. I needed an army we control, not a… a brood of men wandering around with minds of their own.”
Shara’s expression softens. “And yet, here they are. We can’t unmake them, Samara. We can’t take back what’s already been done.”
Samara’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. I can see the conflict in her, the war between her desire for control and the reality Shara forces her to confront.
I take another sip of my drink, the weight of the room’s tension settling around us like a shroud. “So… these laws you created are a reaction to this change, because the clones developed beyond what you expected?”
“Yes,” Samara says, her voice clipped. “We had to adapt quickly to the circumstances and develop control measures, regulations to keep them in check.”
I nod slowly. They didn’t expect this, any of it. The clones weren’t supposed to be more than tools, but they're here and they have thoughts and feelings and choices. And Samara can't accept it. Men ruined the planet, and she thinks it'll happen again. Meanwhile Shara… Shara is grieving, in her own way. Grieving for what they could have been, what they might mean to her if only the circumstances were different.
Shara glances at me. “They’re my responsibility, Laura. Whether or not they were created with intent, they’re still mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. They deserve that much, at least.”
Samara snorts, folding her arms. “Protect them? They’re not children, Shara. They’re fully-grown males with abilities. Rage-induced strength, the ability to manufacture drugs inside their own bodies, mathematical genius minds. It’s only a matter of time before they revolt. They’re dangerous, especially in the numbers we have. And we need to remember that.”
But Shara shakes her head, her gaze steady. “Perhaps. But they’re also part of our culture now, Samara. Whether you like it or not.”
Here's my opening. “And societies need rules to follow. They have to be clear–”
“They are,” Samara interjects.
“And written down and tested,” I finish. “That's how a functioning legal system gets improved. We need to carefully define what's meant by each term.”
Samara’s lips purse. “That will take too long. The current system is effective.”
“But it's too harsh,” Shara protests. At least she's finally putting her cards on the table.
“What does it matter, when there's thousands of them?” Samara mutters.
“Would you think that way about your own?” Shara shoots back.
