The Clones of Mawcett (9 page)

“What's this for?”

“It's necessary, My Lady,” Znanna said. “We need to hide the fact that you have such terribly short hair. Even the lower classes don't wear their hair this short. It would be cause for great embarrassment in the palace.”

“Oh, I won't be embarrassed.”

“Not your embarrassment, My Lady, the Queen's. She would be greatly embarrassed to have a guest with such short hair.”

“Don't women on your planet ever loose their hair from illness or something?”

“Yes, but they wear a wig. Would you prefer to wear a wig, My Lady? They're rather hot, heavy, and uncomfortable compared to this headdress, but we brought one along.  It's in the shuttle.”

Jenetta sighed silently, knowing that she must acquiesce to the customs of this planet. “No, a hot wig would not be preferable to a light headdress.”

When the three women had finished costuming Jenetta, they repacked the suitcases and organized the room. Standing in front of her, Tkusa said, “We can leave whenever you're ready, My Lady.”

Jenetta turned and walked towards the door, with the three women following in single file, as befit their station and ranks. As the door to the corridor opened, the Marine sentry did a double take.

“Commander?” he said, his eyes wide as he stared at her clothing.

“Yes, and no cracks about what I'm wearing, Dubeski.”

“No ma'am. Uh, can I help you, uh— walk, or anything?”

“No, thank you,” she said with a scowl. “We're leaving for the planet now.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Jenetta walked slowly down the corridor and past the sentry at the end of the corridor, the opacity of the headdress fabric hiding the fact that her hair didn't extend down her back. As she moved, the light cloth wafted behind her, just two centimeters off the deck.  The three handmaidens and the Space Marine, following close behind, were careful not to step on the undulating material. Progress was painfully slow, owing to the restrictive nature of the gown and extremely high heels but they finally made it to a lift that would take them to the flight bay deck. With the headdress, Jenetta needed a full seven-foot of clearance, so she had to duck her head slightly to get into the lift. To say that she drew stares would be the grossest of understatements. She left a wake of staring, open-mouthed crew along her path.

The Nordakian shuttle pilot placed his flattened hand to his chest and bowed his head as Jenetta entered the flight bay. She returned his salute and he extended his hand to help her climb into the shuttle. At two-hundred-fifty centimeters, the shuttle doorway was high enough that she didn't have to duck, but she needed help climbing the steep ramp in the tight gown and towering heels. The three handmaidens had to practically carry her into the shuttle. As she settled into her seat and fastened her seat belt, the three girls fussed with the streaming headdress.  The material was gently lifted around her body and allowed to flow down her front near her left arm.

The uneventful flight down to the surface of Nordakia took thirty minutes, and the small craft settled onto a shuttle pad within the grounds of an expansive palace complex that had served Nordakian monarchs for millennia. Just to get Jenetta up from the shuttle seat and standing erect on the unfamiliar heels took two of the three handmaidens.

As she disembarked, Jenetta was overwhelmed by the incredible beauty and magnificence of the palace. Decorative patios with fountains, aviaries, and small garden areas could be found at every level of the vast, six-story pyramidal shaped structure that completely surrounded a four-hectare central garden. Large Greek-style columns supported numerous elaborate roofs with hanging greenery, while unembellished cantilevered roofs seemed frozen in space and time. Still others were supported by highly crafted architectural masterpieces in the shape of Roman arches. The mixture of architectural styles had been blended perfectly, and overall worked well together. Stone, most often marble because of its durability and rich lustrous surface when polished, has been the choice for government buildings for millennia. Nordakian architects had used it almost to excess when building the palace. It was difficult to identify a surface made of anything else.

The minister that had led the Nordakian delegation to the Prometheus was waiting near the edge of the landing pad to greet Jenetta.

“Welcome, My Lady,” Minister Gkibuke said warmly, as Jenetta reached his position. “You look exceedingly lovely in that gown. I hope your handmaidens were helpful.”

“Thank you, Minister. I can honestly say that I wouldn't look like this without their assistance. I had no idea of the customs on your planet concerning clothing and hair length.”

“Our society is considerably different from what you're probably familiar with. May I be allowed to escort you to your rooms?”

As they began moving towards the palace, Jenetta said, “It even appears to vary considerably from what I observed on your Obotymot colony.”

“The colonists on Obotymot have been away from the home planet long enough to have forgotten some of our oldest traditions. And since most of the colonists came from the lower classes, the traditions they follow are quite different from those held sacred by our upper classes.”

“Vronnesa informed me that the dress codes are written in the holy words of the Almuth.”

“That's true, but the colonists have strayed somewhat from its strict teachings.”

“I'm glad to see that you haven't punished them for that.”

Minister Gkibuke shrugged his shoulders. “They are our people, My Lady. When enough people agree that change is required, it would be less difficult to hold back the ocean's tides then change their minds and hearts. One day, change may occur here as well, but for now we continue to strictly observe the True Word, as it was written.”

As they neared the suite of rooms reserved for Jenetta's stay, the minister explained how Peers must act when confronted by a member of the Royal Family. “Males must stop, stand aside, bow their heads, and hold it down while being passed by a Royal. If the Royal stops to address them, they must drop to one knee unless told to remain standing. Women are simply required to bow their heads and hold it down until the Royal passes, or they are told that they may look up. Their clothing would normally preclude them from showing any other sign of respect, so none is expected.”

“And for other nobility; those not a member of the Royal Family?” Jenetta asked.

“The peer or peeress of lower station must defer by standing aside and acknowledging the higher born by bowing his or her head. Their attendants will always behave as if confronted by a member of the Royal Family. Attendants accompanying the Peer or Peeress of higher station, are not required to do anything more then bow their heads in passing. Representatives of the King who are on official business, as was our delegation aboard your ship, are only required to bow their heads and offer the proper salutation. Commoners must treat all nobility as they would the Royal Family.”

“Do I put my hand to my chest?” Jenetta asked.

"To any member of the immediate Royal Family, yes. To others, it isn't necessary since your station is the higher, but you may do so in acknowledgement if you wish. Few Peers employ such nonobligatory gesticulations. If you choose to do so, your hand should be flat, with fingers held tightly together, as I explained onboard the Prometheus.

“This is your sitting room,” the minister said as they entered the suite reserved for Jenetta. “It is here that you will entertain visitors.” Pointing to the doors on either side of the lavishly decorated room, he said, “These rooms on either side are bedrooms for your handmaidens. Your bedroom is straight ahead. I'll leave you to get settled in now. There will be much to keep you busy in the days ahead. Vronnesa has your schedule. Tutors will arrive tomorrow to begin your education of our culture, history, and the rituals that you will need to know. The language lessons have already been canceled. Dressmakers will arrive in the morning to prepare a suitable wardrobe for your stay on the planet, and health spa time has been scheduled.”

“Thank you, Minister. I see that I'll be well taken care of.”

“You're most welcome, My Lady. It's getting quite late so I'll say goodnight.” The minister put his closed hand against his chest and bowed his head slowly.

Jenetta touched her open hand against her chest. “Goodnight, Minister.”

As soon as he had gone, Jenetta walked to her bedroom doorway and peered in. A room as large as the entire downstairs area of her parent's home greeted her. The enormous bed was almost lost in the room, as was a sitting area with two sofas and several chairs, and a work area with a large desk and computer screen. Exploring further, Jenetta discovered that the door on the left side of the room led to an magnificent bathroom containing a sunken tub large enough for two, while the bedroom's opposite wall contained floor to ceiling windows, concealed by three rows of drapes ranging from sheer to totally opaque.

Jenetta's three handmaidens stood quietly by as Jenetta roamed her quarters. When it appeared that she was satisfied, Vronnesa asked, “Would you like us to help you prepare for bed now, My Lady?”

“Just help me remove this headdress and I can do the rest.”

That was all they needed to hear. The three girls were instantly on Jenetta like snow on Everest. As Vronnesa and Tkusa worked to unfasten the headdress, Znanna began removing Jenetta's gown. All the while, the girls talked incessantly about the palace and Jenetta's schedule in the days ahead. Each time Jenetta tried to help with her own undressing, her hands were pushed gently, but firmly, away. In a few minutes she was down to her underwear, and she breathed easily again as Tkusa pressed the button on the controller that relaxed the corset. As the garment became sufficiently loose, Znanna removed it. Down to bare skin, an ultra sheer nightgown that left nothing to the imagination was pulled over her head. She hoped that either the night wouldn't be too cool, or that the bedclothes were sufficiently warm.

The handmaidens withdrew once Jenetta was ready for bed, and she was thankfully permitted to perform her toilet without assistance. It was just pure chance that the start of the Nordakian sleep period at the Palace today corresponded to the Galactic System Time used on all ships and bases, but Jenetta didn't feel the least bit tired because it was at this time each day that she reported to the bridge for her watch. She guessed that Lieutenant Kerrey would fill in during her absence, unless the Captain reassigned a more senior officer from the first watch. Since Kerrey was an experienced watch commander and the ship would only be maintaining orbit for the next month, it didn't make much sense to completely disrupt schedules, but that was at the discretion of the Captain.

The_Clones_of_Mawcett

Chapter Five

~ October 12th, 2269 ~

Keewatin, the dig's chief labor supervisor, burst into the mess shelter and stared with frightened eyes at the scientists as they ate breakfast. The wild look on his face was enough to silence the room and make every head turn his way.

“It's true,” he said breathlessly, “you're still up here. But you can't be up here.”

Doctor Peterson looked at the man as if he'd gone mad. “Where do you think I'd be, man? It's breakfast time.”

“Not just you, Doctor; all of you. I just saw all of you down below in the chamber. I went down to record the activity on the gauges and— you were all there.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“You're here— but you're also down there.”

The eleven scientists just sat and stared at the man, totally unable to comprehend his meaning.

“Don't you understand?” Keewatin screamed, almost hysterically. “You're still down there. I mean, eleven people that look exactly like all of you are still down there.”

“Eleven people that look exactly like us?” Doctor Ramilo asked excitedly as he jumped to his feet up. The assistants all rose to their feet as well.

“Yes, Doctor. And…”

“And what?” Doctor Peterson demanded.

“And— they're all— naked.”

“Naked?” Doctor Huften asked, her eyes growing even wider.

Keewatin nodded dumbly.

If the first revelation hadn't been enough to get them moving, this latest revelation was. Keewatin was barely able to get out of the doorway before Doctor Vlashsku's long legs propelled him through the opening. The rest of the scientists were close behind. If it had been anyone else, they would probably have dismissed the man as being drunk, but Keewatin was the most dependable worker in the camp.

Even in the rush to get to the chamber, the protocols of seniority were observed, and the assistants wisely allowed the four archeologists to lead the way. Of the eleven scientists, only Edmund Hill, one of the youngest assistants, failed to navigate the grid of stakes and string. Unfortunately, Maria Tomallo and Lisa Cheney were running immediately behind him. When he tripped on a stake and fell, they stumbled over his prostrate body. All three wound up at the bottom of a meter-deep trench after sliding off the soft dirt that was piled up next to the hole. No damage was done, except perhaps to their pride. As they struggled to untangle themselves, their appearance made it seem as if they had just completed a long day of digging. Hurrying after the others, they cursed the strings and stakes that Doctor Peterson insisted upon.

Doctor Vlashsku, flashing like a neon sign in downtown Tokyo, was the first to enter the circular chamber. He was brought up short upon seeing eleven naked people standing there— including one that looked exactly like himself. They all turned to face him, and it was a tossup as to who was more shocked. As the others rushed in behind Doctor Vlashsku, considerable shock registered on their faces as well.

It was a Doctor Peterson, standing proudly in all his glory, and nothing else, that stepped to the fore and demanded, “What's the meaning of this? Just who are all you people?”

Under other circumstances, the sight of eleven naked scientists demanding such information from the clothed group might have been amusing. The clothed scientists moved slowly towards the naked group, as the naked group reciprocated. Meeting roughly near the center of the room, each stared intently at his apparent doppelganger, instinctively realizing that he or she wasn't facing a ghostly apparition. Naturally, the most clamorous duo were the Doctor Petersons, as each scientist argued with their twin over who was the original.

The naked group was finally forced to concede that, if in fact the equipment had produced exact replicas, it was far more likely that they were the duplicates. They had compared scars, moles, and even freckles, in their attempt to find something to refute the argument that they were identical, but not a single discrepancy could be found. Even their personalities were identical, as the two Doctor Petersons were constantly proving to the entire assemblage.

Eventually, the nudity of the new group had to be addressed, that point having been largely ignored in the shock of coming face to face with their exact doubles. The Lynn Steen original was sent to get something to cover the new people, but as she reached the tunnel entrance, she found it completely blocked by the camp's labor force. She yelled out what she needed and several laborers near the back turned and ran to get blankets.

Fifteen minutes later, a slack-jawed work force opened a path through their midst for the scientists and their blanket-clad duplicates. Each duplicate was taken to the shelter of their original and given clothes, before being taken to the mess tent and fed. The entire labor force stood outside, anxiously waiting to hear any snippet of news from a kitchen staff straining to hear the conversations.

“What's the last thing you remember before finding yourself naked in the underground chamber?” Doctor Peterson asked his duplicate.

“I remember standing in the center of the chamber, examining the strange symbols etched into the floor. Then I was suddenly there without clothes.”

Doctor Peterson looked at the other duplicates, who nodded in agreement.

“That was four months ago,” Doctor Peterson said. “We were apparently paralyzed by some sort of light beam, and rendered unconscious. We awoke several hours later, and were fine by the next day.”

“Four months?” The second Doctor Peterson said incredulously. “It seems like minutes ago.”

“That occurred in June; it's now October. For the past four months we've been monitoring the equipment in the chamber, never knowing its purpose, or what was happening in the locked areas of the complex. We certainly had no idea that it was fabricating duplicates of us behind those locked cabinet doors.”

“To us, you're the duplicates.”

“Yes, it's easy to understand how it might seem that way, but then you would have memories of the past four months and we would not.”

The second Doctor Peterson nodded. “Yes, I suppose that's true. What do we do now?”

“We call Space Command,” both Doctor Huftens said simultaneously, surprising even themselves by their unrehearsed harmony. They looked at each other in surprise.

“As Barbara and I have been asking for all along,” Doctor Vlashsku said. “There can no longer be any doubt that we need their assistance.”

“What can they do?” Doctor Ramilo asked. “They can't put the genie back into the bottle; our duplicates have already been created. For that matter, what will they do with our duplicates? Cloning has been illegal for two centuries.”

“Stop talking about us as if we're not here,” the second Doctor Ramilo said.

“Sorry,” the original Doctor Ramilo said. “It's difficult to think of you as real people since you just stepped out of the equipment minutes ago.”

“We have a far greater problem than just this set of duplicates,” Doctor Huften said. “No offense intended,” she added quickly, looking at her duplicate.

“What problem, Barbara?” the Doctor Peterson duplicate asked.

“Perhaps no one else noticed, but the gauges in the chamber are still registering activity. I suspect that the equipment is already working on a second group of duplicates.”

“I noticed the activity,” the second Doctor Huften said, “but I didn't realize its significance at the time.”

“That's understandable,” the original Doctor Huften said, “since you weren't aware of our monitoring efforts and the apparent connection with your creation.”

“We don't know that the activity means more duplicates are being created,” the first Doctor Ramilo asserted, “it could just be the equipment performing an orderly shutdown, or, maintenance operations.”

“So you're saying that it will take the appearance of another eleven duplicates before you'll finally agree to call in Space Command?” Dr. Vlashsku asked.

Doctor Ramilo looked to Doctor Peterson, who said, “No, but I want proof that the equipment is actually making more clones before I call Space Command. At least we know now that nothing more sinister is going on in the complex. As Anthony suggests, the equipment might just be cleaning itself after such a complex task. It will probably shut down once it's completed its maintenance cycle. We'll monitor it closely and observe what it does.”

* * *

Jenetta tossed and turned in the enormous and unfamiliar bed throughout the long night, despite the fact that she hadn't gotten more than a couple of hours sleep the morning before. With the diurnal cycle on Nordakia being almost twenty-eight Earth hours, and the sleep period being nine hours, Jenetta figured that she'd be falling asleep just about the time she was supposed to be getting up.

As she predicted, she finally drifted off to sleep just before dawn, the hour when she would have been preparing for bed aboard the Prometheus. When the three handmaidens arrived to wake her, Jenetta had gotten less than an hour's sleep, giving her just three hours sleep in the past fifty-seven hours. She resisted, politely, but they managed to get her up and into a prepared bath. The warm and pleasantly fragrant water made her sleepy again and they encountered only light resistance as they bathed her.

Once dried and powdered, the three girls propelled her back into the bedroom and dressed her, using another set of the sexy underwear from the suitcases on the ship. The gown she'd worn yesterday was the only garment that met the strict dress codes of the palace, so she was dressed in that again. Naturally, it required the corset be used, but Jenetta was so weary that she just suffered in silence. A light breakfast was delivered to the suite, but for once Jenetta wanted sleep more than food so she kept falling asleep at the table. Vronnesa fed her, with the assistance of Tkusa. After breakfast, the three girls had to practically hold Jenetta up as she teetered on her thirteen-centimeter heels while the palace dressmakers measured her for her new wardrobe. She was at last allowed to relax when her three handmaidens took her to the palace spa. Falling asleep on the table as she received a massage, she didn't wake up during her entire beauty treatment.

It was lunchtime when the three girls tried to wake Jenetta again. Having enjoyed almost five hours of uninterrupted sleep in the spa, Jenetta responded to their efforts. She yawned and stretched before looking around.

“Where am I?” she mumbled sleepily, as the three handmaidens stared at her strangely. Realizing that she had spoken in Amer, she repeated the sentence in Dakis.

“In the palace beauty spa, My Lady,” Vronnesa said. “We've been here all morning. You should get up now; it's time for lunch. One of the tutors will be arriving shortly.”

“Okay. Uh, how did we get here, by the way?”

“We walked, My Lady. Don't you remember?”

“Um, oh yeah. I remember now. I was half asleep. Somebody was helping me.”

“That was Znanna and me, My Lady,” Vronnesa said.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the thickly padded table, Jenetta sat up and idly attempted to run her fingers through her hair, but stopped immediately as her hand met resistance. A look of shock came over her face as she realized that her hair had apparently grown longer while she slept, and not just by millimeters. She pulled on the long tresses of hair that extended from her head, and almost two meters of luxurious golden mane swung over her shoulder.

“What's this?” she said, feeling her scalp to see how the wig was attached. It wasn't a wig.

“It's your new hair, My Lady, as befits your station. Is it not beautiful?”

“New hair? But how?”

“The hair is produced by a process that first determines the shape, color, and texture of your own hair, then spins a matching strand which is seamlessly bonded to one of your own. We were afraid that the machine might not be able to match your beautiful color and texture, but Znanna was able to set the machine properly. The process took many hours, but now that it's done, the spun hair appears as original. We usually just use the process to repair broken strands, but in this case we were able to make a complete extension. You said that you didn't wish to wear a wig, so this was really the only solution. People would talk if a Lady of the Royal House always wore a headdress in public.”