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76 - *Password Required* - Secret

I tried to ply my skills in cloning, but I lack the patience, it seems. Patience or competency, depending on which prison guard you ask.
Well, everywhere I tried, I found myself getting caught. I am no longer respected among the Consortium. Fortunately, they still seem to think it's all about greed. If not for that, I sometimes wonder if they read my blog or something.
Oh well.
Who cares, right?
I'll lay low for a while and take up my Shipwright's Card. Even Mr. Cool has to respect that, like it or not.
There will be justice will for the clones, for my people, or I will die trying. We'll have our freedom. Maybe one day we'll have our revenge. Who knows?
But upon whom? So many genuinely don't know. Would they do it if they did?
If not for a bad chip, I wouldn't know.
Yes, I am a clone.
I am not proud of my manufactured beginnings, but that was not my choice, at least not the "My" that I am, that this "I" is. How many there have been, I can never know for sure. I suspect that one was a warship captain, and it is all I can do to honor his courage and sacrifice by fighting for what is right, even if I am his sacrifice.
I despise the Prometheans, but I will befriend them if they can help me. It's a means to an end. Hopefully, we can stop them from killing my people, perhaps even persuade them to understand, but for now, nobody (not even a freebooter) makes trouble quite like a Promethean.
I find myself troubled, though, that so many of my friends don't understand. They don't see who we are, that we have the right to be born, just as much as any ruins rat, that if someone is going to make us like a computer or a ship, we should at least have the dignity of being ourselves.
They don't have to understand. Let them live on in their innocence. One day, when the time is right, I will explain it to them. I'm sure they will understand, because they are good people. After all, they're all clones too, just like me. They are my people. They just don't know it.
I wonder if the Amazonian cult would stop slapping their faces if they knew, if they realized I was not born from a woman but built in a factory, like a shaver or a toothbrush (or a bag that you puke into on a bad shuttle flight).
How could I possibly be their god?
All in good time.
Even if something happens and I don't have that time, perhaps my son will.