The second shift insert specialist told me, or in fact that previous me, had a few words with me after I finished my first duty cycle.
“The first shift is the worst,” The rather roundish green Vobulorian Syoka told me in her squeaky voice. “The rest would be just the same.”
What a load of Ahagoth manure that turned out to be. Not only had things gone from bad to worse, but I had to hang in the same space for cycles longer than I’d originally intended. Or was that the original I that had done the intending? Anyway, what the ultimately long delay meant I wouldn’t make the departure for rift space. At least not for a good long measure
Of course the new I did have some different ideas about what to do with my unexpected existence. Maybe being a filterer of supersymetrical smudges wasn’t the career that I really want to continue. Besides, as it turned out, I had plenty of time to think about my future paths as the legal issues of my predecessor were going to stubbornly sticking to me about as persistently as quantum glue.
Yeah, they talk about having to deal with the sins of the fathers, when you’re a clone, and in fact a duplicant, you have to deal with what you yourself, sort of did. At least that’s what certain laws that deal with physical copies of beings have on their books in some quadrants of the galaxy. Or at least as I’ve made up to keep the edge of the ironic satire up anyways. I’ll call it authorial privilege and leave it at that. Other writers have done much worse with far less.
That, however, was when all the legal problems that came up as the galactic legal profession got into gear. Apparently some of the people who lost their margins on the slowdown were looking for someone to point fingers at, and as my original was the confirmed conduit for the Dark Cluster Aliens, they decided to finger me as their scapegoat. Hell, as if my damned original had caused me enough problems by forcing existence on me. I’d thought I’d had enough of consentient messing up to last me a lifetime, but this was bound to be worse. So I took the easiest, and least expensive legal advice I I could, and referred his actions as alien induced psychosis. Of course this claim meant that I would be put under inspection and observation at a facility designed for just my kind of intermittently vulnerable psychotic consentients.
I didn’t know what the odds were, but against hungry lawyers, and me being cheated out of my predecessor’s paymark, it seemed to be the only affordable way to proceed.
But, on the bright side, at least Phil has an out. Because of course, because any sentient is capable of suffering from mental instability or other forms of impairment, which with the addition of technology can add all sorts of legal hurdles and options for numerous different kinds of groups to exploit.
As I’ve said several times before, satire, fun eh? Maybe there’s not to much different between us author’s and those dark cluster entities…