Dry Heat

        A Tour of the Exemplum

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            by Nicole Collingwood

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            We took off for the Exemplum Station early in the morning. Thirty other tourists piled into the shuttle, bodies twitching nervously as we buckled ourselves in. They began counting down over the loudspeaker.

            “Just like the old days,” my little brother, Georgie said, taking my hand.

            I smiled and nodded at him, remembering the fuzzy videos they showed us at school of when man first stepped on the moon and of people floating around in zero gravity.

            Our parents are in front of us, each one immersed in their tablets. Mother tapped out a lengthy message to her software editor, and father tapped away rotten fruit at his virtual farmer stand. Georgie pressed his face into the empty crack between their seats, trying to get them to laugh, but neither looked up from their work.

            It took twenty minutes to get to the Exemplum. I saw it out the tiny porthole window first, and tapped Georgie’s shoulder to show him. His eyes widened at the gargantuan rotating station. Its red paint gleamed as if they had cleaned it just for our arrival. The shuttle shook and jerked forward when we docked. People immediately began unbuckling their belts, all chattering about what they expected to see on board.

            “Do you think they’ll look like real people?” Georgie asked me and I unbuckled his seatbelt for him.

            “I would assume they do, but I’ve never seen one,” I replied.

            Our parents were already standing. My mother was getting her tablets cameras settings right, “Soren, Georgie, don’t forget,” she began, “We have to share this on the Sphere.” She snapped a candid photo of us before turning and walking with my father off the ship. I took Georgie’s hand and we followed.

            A tall woman in a fiery red spacesuit was awaiting us in the docking center. Her auburn hair was cut at her shoulders and did not move when she turned her head. She had sharp features, and a stern brown. She smiled at everyone, looking unjustifiably proud.        

            “Welcome to the Exemplum, I’m Commander Enfield,” she said, her voice deeper than I expected, “Today you will be taken on a tour of the cloning station, I must ask that you all keep your hands to yourself, and do not fall behind.”

            We began our tour walking through an exhibit that explained the process of the clones’ births. Animated videos projected on the wall showed their cycle of life, from replicated egg cell to their premature deaths. The clones themselves were kept in clear walled rooms where their behavior could be monitored.

            “Occasionally, their DNA becomes too overworked, resulting in a defective clone,” Commander Enfield explained as we walked by their tanks. “They are promptly put into an artificial sleep, and disposed of.”

            The group continued on. I lingered at the window, spotting a girl my age on the other side. She sat with her legs curled in towards herself, eyes droopily slung down towards the floor. There were no distinguishable differences between her body and my own. I heard rumors at school that their skin looked plastic and hung loose on their bodies, but this girl could have been my twin, same stringy brown hair and fishbowl eyes. I got closer to the glass, pressing my hand against it, wondering if she could see me.

            “I used to look at them like that too,” Commander Enfield said from the passageway into the next room.

            “Like what?” I asked.

            “Like they’re people.”

            I took a deep breath, something shifting uncomfortably inside me, “Aren’t they?”

            Commander Enfield walked to me, looking into the glass at the girl. Her eyes were so full of sorrow, something the commander did not seem to see.

            “They may be physically human; however, God did not create them through divine will as he did with us. They are not truly meant to be; therefore, they are not truly human.”

            I looked back at the girl, knowing that whatever sorrow lay in her eyes laid with emptiness. She was only a vessel, nothing more.

            “I suppose you’re right,” I said.

            She smiled, “I said don’t fall behind, remember?”

            I nodded and quickly returned to the tour group, a sickness brewing in my stomach. We continued on, eventually ending in the disposal room where they incinerated the defective clones. Commander Enfield showed us the small tube where the bodies were sealed into and destroyed. The image of the girl would not leave my mind.

            Commander Enfield began ushering us back through the corridors. Mom hurried over, and snapped our photo, “Wasn’t that exciting?” she asked.

            We all piled back onto the shuttle. My parents sat down, my mother began uploading the photos she had taken onto the Sphere, tagging us in every picture. She swiped through them, showing Georgie and I her favorites through the crack between their seats. One showed Georgie and I looking into the glass, the girl who looked like me on the other side, her hair over one blank eye. The shuttle jerked as it separated from the station, and my mom took her tablet back, trying to show my dad some photos as he tap-planted seeds into pixelated plots on his screen.

            The shuttle began moving back towards earth. I looked out, thinking of the girl one last time, and watched the station move further and further away.

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