Cloned Lives

by Pamela Sargent

  Humanity would have to alter its most basic preconception, the knowledge that time would catch up to everyone. That knowledge had reduced some to despair, others to expending tremendous amounts of energy on great achievements, and still others to lives of pointless pleasure. It had led many to seek fulfillment and a kind of immortality through their descendants, postponing or rejecting their own development for the sake of future generations.

  For herself, Kira could envision years of meetings, of battles, of communications on the subject, of administrative work to grant this alternative to everybody, of helping to formulate goals. Even if the choice were rejected at first, simply knowing it was there would in time bring people around to accepting it, then moving to implement it in accordance with their goals. The moratorium on research had died, not because people thirsted for new knowledge and techniques, but simply because they lost a few of their fears while at the same time realizing that they could benefit from the new discoveries personally. Human selfishness, she thought again, somewhat cynically, will accomplish what years of well-reasoned philosophical and practical arguments could never do.

  She shook her head. I need some coffee, maybe a drink, she thought aimlessly. She was almost losing sight of her dream in these ruminations. She would have to bring it into focus again, especially now. She must try to communicate it to others, hoping that they might come to see what she saw.

  She saw another humanity on Earth, freed from the determinants of genetic disabilities, of aging bodies, of unbalanced minds, and of death. She saw them freed from the tyranny of time and the roulette of reproduction, able to deliberate, to consider, to enjoy each moment. She saw a people freed from the necessity to change everything around them because they could instead change themselves.

  People might at last walk a peaceful path, themselves whole in body and mind, able to turn from the problems that had always beset human beings to the more important ones of purpose and discovery. They might even learn to treasure the Earth, that poor mother planet they had so abused, because they would themselves have to spend almost infinite amounts of time on her. Some would venture off the Earth and in confronting other life forms confront their own hidden desires.

  She saw a world that might finally achieve the Marxist dream of the withering away of the state, the libertarian dream of freedom for each person, the human dream of lives that would not be wasted, thrown away by a profligate and domineering nature. It would not be a utopia, of that she was sure. There would be new problems, perhaps more threatening than the old. There would be terror for a person in the realization that only his own lack of perseverance could keep him from his goals. Failure, in such a world, might be too great a burden to bear, far worse than now, when there was always something outside oneself to blame. But there would be a new pattern for human existence, enough time, hopefully, for anyone to succeed, a chance for everyone to explore all possible alternatives, unlimited by time.

  I don’t know if I can show all of this to others, Kira thought glumly, but I’ll have to try. She knew that she could not impose her vision on other minds and did not want to do so. But she hoped that people would see the possibilities and alternatives, that they would welcome what would surely be humanity’s greatest adventure.

  She got up to leave the room. She had another meeting with her medical team that afternoon, or what passed for afternoon by consensus of the lunar inhabitants. She shuffled across the floor. She had adjusted somewhat to the lunar environment and no doubt would feel comfortable here in time. But she still felt a dislocation, a longing for some fresh air, the sounds of birds and crickets, the smells of flowers, trees, and people that were absent in the purified, slightly stale air of the underground settlement. She had the feeling that, on the moon, it was taking her longer to do things; no rising and setting sun, no seasonal weather changes marked the passing of the hours and days. Even her body, under less physical stress here, requiring fewer calories, gave her the wrong cues; only the clocks in almost every room told her when to eat or sleep. She should try to take a nap before the meeting. She needed to rest.

  As she opened the sliding door to leave the conference room, more personal concerns moved to her mind’s center stage. She would return to Earth, she would repair Hidey’s aging body, she would restore her husband. It occurred to her that her actions would forever alter their relationship. She had assumed when they married that their relationship would ultimately be cut short by his aging, and he had known it too. They had both been willing to proceed on that assumption. But she did not know what would happen now. Could any relationship survive over another fifty years, or one hundred, or more? How would they be changed?

  She felt a little guilty. Here she was, preparing to aid the man she loved, willing to do that even before beginning the work that would help her share her dream with everyone else. She wondered what she would do if, by chance, she had to choose between the two, assign priorities. She was, perhaps sadly, as selfish as anyone else.

  Jim sat, watching the older man in his bed, trying to understand that he was with his father again, after accepting his death and living with it for twenty years. But this man isn’t Paul. He told himself that once again, and wondered if it was a fact or if he was only telling himself that so that he could at least deal with the situation.

  The man called Paul Swenson was still being fed intravenously; a tube trailed from his left arm. But he seemed fairly alert and chances were the tube would be removed some time that day. A network of electrodes and wires covered his head and body, most of them hidden under the sheets; they were attached to the medical computer, a metal and plastic rectangular box five feet high which stood next to Paul’s left arm. The computer, in addition to monitoring Paul’s bodily functions, had interrupted their conversation once to administer medication, speaking in a monotonous, metallic voice which Jim found irritating.

  The older man looked over and smiled tentatively. Jim in turn tried to continue their conversation. “I became interested in writing,” he went on. “I’ve published two novels and one book of short stories. I’ll have a volume of poetry, HIMALAYAN HYMNS, out this year, which I’m kind of proud of. One publisher is doing it in a paperbound edition for collectors, and there’ll be the normal fiche edition plus a royalty payment if anyone gets it through computer print-out, but you’d be surprised how hard it is sometimes to get royalties from the computer people. Usually you have to get your own printout proving how many people ordered it and send it to them with a threatening note.” Jim began to feel that somehow this aspect of literature would not be of interest to Paul. “Well, you know what I mean,” he concluded lamely. “You probably had to go through the same thing with your own books.”

  The man named Paul looked puzzled for a moment. “I remember something like that,” he said at last. “Yes, I remember something like that. I think I wrote books once.” The man gestured with his hands, as if reaching for something. Then his face seemed to crumble, sagging into a passive agony. “I don’t know. I see some images, a few pictures, but there’s so much I just can’t get hold of.” He turned away.

  Jim sat, his knees locked against the chair. Paul’s still dead. He did not want to be in this room with this man who sought feebly to imitate Paul’s gestures and appropriate his memories. Yet something in the man tugged at him, and Jim sensed the other’s pain.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said, as if understanding that he had failed in some way. “I can recall some things. I see a park, at one end there’s a stone wall, and beneath…” Paul moved his head slightly, as if shaking it. “There’s so much I just can’t get hold of. Tell me more about everything, it helps.”

  “You once got mad at my friends Olive and Joey. Do you remember that?”

  Paul looked blank. “I don’t know. I seem to recall something. I can’t be sure.” He sighed. “Help me. There’s so much I have to find.”

  Goddamn you, Kira, Jim thought angrily. What does he do now? He can’t even remember his own life. He
noticed that Paul was beginning to seem a bit tired.

  Jim stood up. “I’d better let you rest,” he said. “You’ve been pretty busy, talking to all of us. I’ll come back later.” He felt as if he were smothering, trapped in this pale green room with a stranger. “I’ll be back,” he repeated. He forced himself to lean over and kiss the stranger on the brow.

  He found himself in the outside hallway. Kira was walking toward him, bouncing, slightly with each step. He moved toward her and took her by the arm, almost losing his balance. “I don’t think he remembers us,” he said quickly. “He only remembers bits and pieces at most, incidents from our childhood or something.”

  “Jim—” she started to say.

  He pulled her into the nearby lounge and settled onto a green benchlike sofa. She sat down next to him. In one corner, a middle-aged Chinese man was talking to three friends. At one of the small square tables, a dark Indian woman, gold ring glittering in her nose, played cards with a slender African man, both of them clothed in the white pajamas all patients wore.

  “Jim,” Kira said again, “I don’t know what you expected. You know perfectly well that people forget things even during a normal lifetime. Besides, he hasn’t even seen us since we were sixteen, if he had only been away for twenty years, he would naturally have some questions about us and what we were doing.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he replied. “I don’t know who’s in that room, Kira, but it isn’t Paul Swenson. He’s not the same person.”

  “Are you the same person after twenty years? Are you the person he knew before? Think about that. Anyone would be different after so long a time. You’re different too. And add the fact that for all practical purposes, the man in there is only about thirty years older than we are now and he was once almost fifty years older. That makes a difference too.”

  “Come on,” he said harshly. “You’re taking advantage of my ignorance now. Tell me what you think about him, you’re the one who knows about biology and what effects freezing might have on the brain. Combine that with the fact that Paul’s brain was probably deprived of oxygen for a while before the rescue team found him and that he was technically dead.” He almost spat out the last word.

  Kira seemed to shrink slightly. She fussed with her hair for a moment, tucking a few long loose strands back into the twist on the back of her head. “The effects of oxygen deprivation on the brain are not as drastic as we once thought in the past. As for the effect of cryonic interment, we don’t really know. Tracks may have been erased. We don’t know if the memory can be recovered, but we do know that Paul remembers a bit more than he did at first. For God’s sake, Jim.”

  “Maybe you didn’t bring back Paul at all, Kira. Think about that.”

  “And maybe you just don’t want to think that a person could be restored, or resurrected if you want to put it that way. I don’t think you do. I don’t think you can deal with it.” She stared at him until he was forced to look away.

  “Maybe I can’t,” he admitted. “You think you’ve done something wonderful, you and your team. You putter around with the human body, trying to fix things up, thinking you know what’s best for everyone. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know how much more horrible it’ll be now when someone dies, while you’re waiting to start fixing everybody up? Do you have any idea? You could accept death before; it was natural and inevitable. But now every time somebody goes, everyone will know it didn’t have to be that way.

  Those goddamn cryonics people will really make money now. No one’s going to take a chance any more.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He had lost track of what he was trying to say. His thoughts seemed to knot together, until they centered on one figure: Carole, ashes buried in the Michigan earth, her substance and that of their child, lost forever. If he had put her in a tank, if he had been closer to the cryonic facilities in Shanghai or Calcutta, filled with the bodies of those he had once considered deluded optimists…yes, he could have buried her that way, and maybe lived to see her rise again, her brown eyes welcoming his presence, accusing him fiercely, or gazing past him in forgetfulness, but alive, her death a dimly recalled or faintly painful incident. He leaned over in his seat and clutched his knees, feeling tears sting his eyes, unable to stop them and not caring who witnessed his grief.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” he said to his sister. “Don’t even think about the world, that faceless mass you use as a rationalization for your arrogance. Just take a minute and think about what you’ve done to me. I could have brought her back. I didn’t know. I could have brought Carole back.” He hunched over his knees. “Oh God, how can I live with it now.”

  “Jim, stop it, Jim, don’t do this.” He forced himself to sit up. The Indian woman was rising from her table, the African man was staring at him curiously. Kira motioned to them and they went back to their card game. “Do you think this hasn’t happened before? Think of the people who had loved ones die of diabetes before insulin was discovered, or of those who died of cancer, millions, before they could be helped. You can’t bring them back, you probably couldn’t have saved Carole anyway. But it doesn’t have to happen again, that’s the important thing. We can’t do anything about the past. We can only learn from it and go on, all of us.”

  “Fine words, Kira. You don’t have to live with something like this.”

  She clutched at his arm. He winced as he felt her fingers dig into his muscles. “Stop it. I don’t really know what I’ve done for Paul yet, what this may do to him. I have a lot of work ahead, and I may have to stand by and watch Hidey die of something that in a few years I could prevent. I don’t know how long he can last, I don’t know how long his heart will hold out. I don’t know if he can be frozen and then revived after death, it may not work for everyone, depending on circumstances. It would take me at least a year or two to set up things so that I could replace his heart, even knowing what I know now. And I may have to decide that it’s more important to help other people, to present this alternative to them.” She released his arm. “I may even be forced to prevent helping him if another moratorium goes into effect for a while, and that may be the immediate reaction. Those in power may not be so willing to let people have the means for creating their own lives, not even now. It’ll take time to convince them and a lot of pressure from their own citizens. I’ve lived with the fact that Hidey would die before I did for years, I married him knowing that, and now that I know how to prevent it, I may have to go back to that assumption.”

  She sat silently for a few seconds, brushing back some hair from her forehead, then rubbing her hand on her gray trouser leg. “We go on, damn it. We learn and we go on. Hidey would want me to do that, and Carole would probably feel the same way if she knew. She loved you, Jim. I don’t think she’d want you to wallow in regrets now. You have to learn, and then you have to try to make sure that no one else suffers in that way if you can help it. That’s all we can do. Billions of people died for us in the past and all they could hope for was that their descendants would find something better, so don’t let them down.”

  He looked at his sister. She meant every word of it, he knew that. He felt himself nodding.

  “Just think about it at least, Jim. You may be the most important of us now, you can write for people, show them how they might realize their dreams. The rest of us don’t have much experience with that.” She took his hand, gently this time. “I’ll be taking Paul home when he’s able to make the trip, when he’s well enough. He may need you then, I think both of you may need each other. He might need familiar surroundings before he remembers certain things and you might be able to help.”

  “I’ll see.”

  She released his hand. “Just think about it.”

  He found himself nodding again. He had, after all, no place else to go.

  The restaurant was filled with celebrants, whose excessive joviality threatened to drive out the scattered groups of tourists. Five asteroid miners, sitting in one comer, seemed
oblivious to the merrymaking around them. The miners, three rough-looking, pale men and two gruffly attractive, bony women, were most intent on finishing the contents of the bottles standing on their table. Looking at them, Al imagined that they had been looking forward to this evening of relaxation for some time, after months in space. They certainly had money to spend. Their difficult and lonely work, which brought needed materials to refining plants on Mars and the moon, was well rewarded.

  Al spotted Menachem and Ahmed, arms over each other’s shoulders,weaving toward him across the room. The big Israeli waved.

  “Al,” Ahmed yelled. Al motioned to his two friends. Ahmed managed to squeeze past three Russian men near Al; Menachem, after a moment’s uncertainty, simply charged through, apologizing as he did so. The Russians, intent on their own celebrating, did not seem to mind.

  Al greeted the two, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “We made it after all,” Menachem said. “You can’t escape us so easily, Swenson. I’ll bet we all get stationed on the same ship, too, and if we don’t, you’ll get an earful on ship-to-ship communications.”

  “They’ve picked everybody, then,” Al said. “I wasn’t sure if they had.”

  “Everybody except the artistic people and the exobiologists, at least that is what I was told,” Ahmed replied. The three moved closer to a nearby wall and leaned against it. Menachem rummaged around in one of his overall pockets and pulled out a pint of amber liquid.

  “This scotch cost me a fortune,” he said to Al, “but you’re welcome to a swig. You’d better enjoy it while you can, there probably won’t be any where we’re going.”

  Al took a sip, swallowed, then sipped again. He handed the bottle back while scanning the room once again. He was being foolish, hoping that Simone would show up here. It would be too painful for her. He assumed that she was still on Luna, but he was not sure, and he had too much respect for her privacy to find out, even though with her code it would have been easy. She would appear, or contact him, when she was ready. He would just have to wait.