She sat down at the keyboard and stared into the screen. Her fingers strayed over the keys. They felt familiar, yet strange. Kerro’s fingers had touched these keys. She saw this instrument suddenly as a container which held raw experiences at a distance. You did not have to go in person. This machine made terrible things acceptable. She took a deep breath and punched the keys: ANCIENT HISTORY RECORDS—YAISUAH/JESUS.

But Ship was not through intruding.

If there is any of it you wish to see in person, Ekel, you have but to ask.

The very thought sent shudders through her body.

This is my body and I’m staying in it.

That, Ekel, is a choice which you may have to share.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

My imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful as man.

—Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Shiprecords

“I LIKE to call this the Flower Room,” Murdoch said, leading Rachel Demarest across the open area to the lock. It was bright there, and she did not like the way the younger clones pulled back from Murdoch. A clone herself, she had heard the stories about this place and wanted to hold back, to delay what was happening. But it was her only chance at the Oakes/Lewis political circle. Murdoch kept a strong grip on her arm just above the elbow and she knew the pain he could cause if she hesitated.

Murdoch stopped at the lock and glanced at his charge.

This one won’t carry any more petitions, he thought.

The slightly blue cast to her skin, her nervous, gangly limbs made her appear cold.

“Perhaps you and I could work something out,” she said, and pressed her hip against him.

Murdoch was tempted . . . but that blue skin!

“I’m sorry, but this is standard for everyone who works here. There are things we need to know—and things that you need to know, too.”

He really was sorry, remembering dimly some of the things which had happened to him during his own Scream Room initiation. There were things which he did not remember, too—a disturbing fact in itself. But orders were orders.

“Is this the place you call the Scream Room?” Her voice was barely a whisper as she stared at the hatch into the lock.

“It’s the Flower Room,” he said. “All of these beautiful young clones . . .” He waved vaguely at the room behind her. “All of them come from here.”

She wanted to glance back. There had been some strangely shaped people hugging the rear of the throngs in the room, some with colors even stranger than her own. Something in Murdoch’s manner prevented her from turning.