A message from Dr Briggs at Tau Station's Cloning center.
"Ser Simpson, I think we should talk. I'd like to help you."
if he says one thing about genotypes, I am going to fly over there and earn a stint in the brig
"I've been reviewing your records, and I see here that you have been hospitalized multiple times for drug overdose, as well as injuries from violent behavior and major workplace accidents, and you've been in and out of jail all over the galaxy for theft, fraud, assault, inciting riots and obstructing justice."
and just how and why is he able to get this information?
"I was also concerned about the company you keep. I noted that you've been surrounding yourself with known unsavory characters, some of them suspected of involvement in organized crime."
You should talk?
"Of course, we were delighted to be of service to you in selecting your clone, and I'd like to think we may be able to find friends to help you with these other matters, but only if you'd be willing to receive-"
Enough of that.
Just who does he think he is?
For some reason, I shuddered, not only because of the image the message portrayed, but something else, that beep. A faded memory . . .
The "drug overdose" incidents, to which he refers, were from an attempt to use stims as designed, but no warnings had been provided about a difference in the levels of potency as a person becomes exhausted enough to need them in the first place, so nice try, doctor.
As for the rest of it, well, perhaps there may be a hint of truth to it all, but I really think he was grasping at something there rather than really trying to help. I think he wants to have more of an opportunity to control someone else's actions and decisions. I have suspected him of this all along.
After some unknown period of time pondering that disturbance, I decided to look at my state of affairs and discovered I would be ready to buy my ship today.
Ser Moritz said I needed a good name for it, and he had a few really interesting suggestions. I looked around at the registries for ideas, and then I talked to my friend, Ser Xierumeng, about his "Party Bus."
At first, I thought about asking what a bus is, but everyone laughs at me when I ask what something is, so I asked why he called it that, and he explained that he had found some old documents describing a wheeled ground vehicle called a bus, which was designed to carry multiple passengers. I really think I blew my "cool" act by asking if it was like a Porsche. but he just smiled and said that busses seemed to have carried dozens of people, rather than two or three.
I told him I wanted my ship's name to be special, and he said a shorter bus should carry fewer people, so it would probably be for more special purposes.
That settled my mind. I had a name. I headed off to Kobenhaven, and at the sound of the notification on my core techs, I bought my ship, which I registered as the "Short Bus." The supervisor smiled and said it was a fitting name and would suit me well. I couldn't have been more pleased.
Now, I can fly away and find a chicken.
Perhaps I should explain. Dr. Carson told me most fish reproduce with eggs, but these fish seldom produced them. I concluded that the fish need a source of eggs so that they can reproduce, and a little research showed that people used to keep chickens at their residences, because chickens produce a lot of eggs. All I need is to find a chicken, and my fish will have plenty of eggs to reproduce with. Problem solved.
I pondered discussing the idea, but if it works, it will make me the biggest supplier of goldfish in the galaxy, and Dr. Carson had said something about using the filtrate from the fish enclosures to grow plants, so I might be able to cultivate coffee beans as well. I think business opportunities like that are often spoiled by excessive disclosure, so I'll keep this one to myself for now..
What this galaxy needs is not more armies, more authorities, more governments, more rules and laws . . . but more thinkers. I, for one, am glad to do my part.
62 - Hopes, dreams, plans and schemes