Glad You're Born

PROLOGUE “Be glad you're born, and not grown in the lab.” The cane whistled through air and smashed the clone across the shoulder. The blue clone whimpered as he fell to a knee, his mouth a grim, closed line. I whimpered with him, my game on the veranda forgotten. The cane drew back. I began to cry and put my arm out as if to block the blow, as the cane came down again. Thud! and the clone grunted at the pain. My wet-nurse put her arm around my waist to stop me from running to him. My hands out, I pushed against her with all my strength to keep the cane from striking again. Thud! and the clone gasped aloud. I gasped with him and found myself in the air. My wet-nurse was taking me into the house. I climbed halfway over her shoulder as the cane descended again. Thud! and the clone cried out at the pain. She caught me before I fell and cradled me, trying to soothe me. She got me through the door and into the house as I squirmed to escape her grasp. Thud, but duller this time, the clone's yelp muted. She took me farther into the house, calling for my mother and trying to comfort me. Thud, but now remote, the wail like that of a distant, wounded animal. Mother took me from the wet-nurse clone and folded me into her arms, murmuring over and over that generations-old admonition: “Be glad you're born, and not grown in the lab.”