The Climax Of The Adventure Of Zedde Nought

Zedde steadily held his needler aimed at the face of his quarry, the man whom he had believed to be his own progenitor, zillionaire Balen Thrompe. Something was off. Zedde had studied holos of Thrompe's face for weeks, memorized every wrinkle, pore, and minute scar. This face, nearly identical to his own, was visibly younger, less weathered, more lively. It did not take him more than a moment to ascertain that this was not the old man, but another clone, like himself. The clone's mouth was curled in a sneering smirk.

"So then," said the man who was not Balen Thrompe, "you have come home at last. Welcome, son."

"Don't task me with that wiggler waste" replied Zedde coldly. "I know you're not the original."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the fake Thrompe, through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, his fingertips pressing into the wood of the desk in front of him.

"Your skin is too young," replied Zedde. "You stand too erect, your hairline is too healthy and natural looking. He could have had treatments and surgeries, but I would see the adjustments. Even your vocal inflections are ever so slightly different than his would be."

The fake Thrompe arched one eyebrow. "Ah. You notice much more than the average person. A credit to our unique gene pool. Did you come here to assassinate him, our progenitor, for the sake of vengeance? If so, I can assure you that he is long gone. Legally, and in the eyes of all who know me, I am Balen Thrompe."

"Not exactly," Zedde answered the question. "I came to kill him, or whoever it is that destroyed the life I had. I was no threat to anyone, just working and building my own enterprise. Then, someone took it all away, killed my friends, tried to kill me, chased me, hounded me across the world. I just want to put a stop to it so that I can rebuild my life. If that wasn't him causing all this grief, if he's gone, as you say, then I can only surmise that it was you all along."

"Ah, yes, that" fake Thrompe replied, furrowing his brow and flexing his knuckles. "Very unfortunate. A pity, really. You see, no one had any idea you even existed, until you turned up at that hospital, and your face triggered a detection algorithm. I'm amazed that you stayed undetected for so long. At first, I thought you were one of the old man's bastards, which would have been much simpler for us all, but then we examined your blood, tested the DNA, and it looked like you were another me. That would not do. There can only be one me."

Zedde sneered in disgust. "I'm not another you. I don't think we're even the same generation."

Not Thrompe nodded. "Yes, that is now evident. Technically, you're older than I am. One of the first generation of clones. But, physically, you seem to have been alive for a much shorter time. How is that possible?"

Zedde scoffed. "Surely you've discovered my origin, with all the investigation you've done. You must know I was in with a group of artificial womb kids, who you slaughtered."

"Mm, yes," mused Thrompe. "The Mom-pod babies. That experiment was so short lived that there are barely any records beyond the extravagant claims of the Positive Life Church. But, you couldn't have really been one of them. They were all conceived the old fashioned way, before their removal from their slattern mother's uteruses. You're a clone, made in a lab. How did you get from one place to another, as an embryo sealed in an amniotic gel sack?"

Zedde paused, taken aback. "It doesn't make sense for you to ask me that question. You're trying to find out how much I know, which means you're trying to gauge how much you can deceive me. But, I'm the one with the gun, so why bother?"

"Well, I knew you were coming, of course," Thrompe replied, gesticulating with his hands at the level of his shoulders. "I'm not really trying to deceive you. I'm actually trying to learn whether you would be suitable for a project I have in mind. I think you may have what it takes, despite our apparent differences. See, I have immense amounts of time to myself, as one does when he owns half of a planet. However, there are certain administrative duties that aren't permitted to be handled by artificial intelligence programs, requiring my personal attention, and so restrict my enjoyment of my wealth. That's where you would come in. You could be my surrogate, so to speak, although no one must ever know that. You would need extensive training, of course. Six weeks of encephalo-hypnosis sessions would teach you everything you need."

"Wiggler waste!" Zedde exclaimed. "There are no laws preventing AIs from handling mere corporate administrative duties. But there are laws against the creation of intelligent clones. We're meant to be mindless collections of spare parts for the wealthy. Neither you nor I are legally considered people. If they didn't think you were the old man, you wouldn't be here. If I were suspected of being a clone, we would both be wiggler chow."

Thrompe rolled his eyes. "I never said anything about corporate administration. I mean world administration, the duties of the ruling class."

Zedde was confused. "Ruling class? Do you mean the World Council Of Democracy?"

Now Thrompe scoffed. "Oh you are naive! I'm talking about the Confederacy Of Free States, the richest men on the planet, operating from their private island cities, ruling the world. Theilgrad, Musklandia, Zuckerburg, Sacksalot, Levchinland, all of them! The World Council Of Democracy is obsolete. Imagine thinking that the common rabble should have freedom and enjoy a stake in the civilization built by their betters. What drivel! What a colossal error! Soon, they will cease to exist, while those of us who are masters will have proper slaves again, without having to hide it, and you could be a part of that glorious future. Think of it, having whatever you want, whenever you want it. Anything at all, anyone at all, to do with as you will, and no one to tell you no. No one to insist that the people you use have rights."

Zedde was nauseated. "Sounds like a special version of Hell to me. I love my friends, or I did before you had them murdered. I wouldn't want them to live as serfs, or worse."

Thrompe replied in frustration, "So you'll make new friends, of the proper sort, of a much better class. You can all live the best lives, better than anyone ever has in the history of human kind!"

Zedde was not moved. "While others suffer for it? Never! I was happy where I was, working and living quietly, amongst other people living simply. What you offer is an abomination."

Thrompe's face contorted in disgust. "Fagh! So appallingly naive. You can't really be from the same stock as I am. Weakling!"

Thrompe yanked open the drawer of his desk and scooped out an energy blaster. Zedde pressed the trigger button on his needler, launching a full volley of ten curare bearing micro-darts at Thrompe's face. The micro-darts were caught in an electromagnetic field surrounding the desk, and dropped harmlessly to the floor. Thrompe flipped a switch under the desktop, and a smell of ozone filled the room as the EM field generator stopped. He raised the blaster toward Zedde. Zedde dived for the floor at an angle to the side of the desk. Thrompe repositioned, trying to find his target. Zedde rolled and came up behind Thrompe, jabbing the end of his needler into Thrompe's kidneys. He wasted no time with witticisms, simply firing a new volley of micro-darts. Thrompe lurched forward, dropping the blaster and falling face first over the desk. The curare instantly began to take effect, disabling Thrompe's nervous system. He began drooling and his eyes rolled uncontrollably. His breathing slowed and became ragged. Zedde picked up the blaster and examined it.

"This weapon is set at maximum power. Instant disintegration. If you were willing to use this on me, then I'm willing to bet that all that talk of working together was a load of flaprat droppings. So what was the real plan? Taking over the world for yourself? Playing the technocrats against each other until you control everything alone? I was nothing but an accessory for you. Probably would have used me for spare parts if I had gone along with it."

He stood there pondering for a while, weighing his options. At last he came to a set of conclusions regarding his own survival and how he must spend the remainder of his life. He carefully stripped Thrompe of his clothing, arranged his body on the floor, and then inserted the blaster into Thrompe's nether orifice. He squeezed the trigger, holding a cloth over his own mouth and nose. Within seconds, the other clone was reduced to ashes and a bad smell. Zedde took off his own clothes and donned those he had removed from Thrompe. He used his discarded shirt to gather up the ashes and dispose of them in a waste receptacle that was built into the wall. Then, he sat down at the desk and accessed the computer. As he suspected, the facial recognition accepted his visage and gave him access immediately. Zedde set about learning all that he could, to take Thrompe's place, just as that clone had taken the place of their progenitor. His plan was not one of selfish conquest, but the utter destruction of the Confederacy Of Free States, from within.