Am I Memorex? - Week 3

We break for lunch and afterward move onto my/Regina's life.

Where was I/she born? Dallas.
What was my/her mother's maiden name? Williams.
Do I/she have any siblings? Yes, one older sister.
How old was my/her dog Spot when he died? Seven.
Who was the first person I/she kissed? Jamie White.
What did I/she want to be when I/she grew up? An astronaut.
How did my/her parents die? Car accident.
Was I/she ever married? No.
Did I/she have any kids? Yes.
How did she die? Regina died during heart surgery.

I was made without the defect that killed her.

---

"Well memory integration seems fine. How are your fine motor skills?" he asks me.

"Fine, I think." I raise my hand and make a fist and then extend each finger in turn.

He watches my hand and jots down a note before saying, "Well, I think we can move on to the physical tests then."

The nurse walks in with my clothes. She sets them down and then stands to one side. I hate this part of orientation. I stand and face away from the doctor. If I can't see him I can pretend he isn't there.

Like pulling off a bandaid, I strip off the hospital gown in one motion.

The doctor watches me get dressed. He doesn't want to but he must to watch for any motor skill degradation. It's part of orientation, the process they use to make sure my..Regina's memories and motor skills have been encoded correctly.

I've never failed orientation. At least I don't remember failing. One of my clones probably failed at least once but how could I know. They failed to become me.

It one of those things that you assume must happen but you don't know anyone who has experienced it. Orientation failure is the last boogyman I have.

I finish dressing and turn around, "Okay, I'm ready."

---

A short interlude in a darkened room. Light from a bank of monitors illuminate two men. On the monitors a woman runs on an indoor track.

"How is she preforming?" the first asks.

"Average. Better than expected," the second replies.

"She's the third?"

"Hmm, no. Fourth," the second man states.

"What happened to the third?"

"Accident. I sent you a memo."

"Huh, I never read those. Next time inform me directly."

"Yes sir."

They watch as she runs a short obstacle course. She runs through tires, swings on a rope, climbs a chain link fence. When she reaches the end she is short of breath and stands hands on thighs of a minute. The men marvel at she who less than a day ago had never stood under her own power.

The first man asks, "How long until stage five research begins?"

"Not long. Once we can guarantee subject viability without preforming the procedure we'll be ready to move on."

"How close are you?"

"With the new selection protocols we can screen out 75% of unsuitable subjects," he says with more than a bit of pride.

"Given that only 1% of the population is suitable I would say you still have a long way to go," the first man snaps.

"Our success rate has increased by 40% with the new protocols," the second man answers defensively.

"That's nice but the goal is a 100% success rate cloning anyone. Anything less is useless to our investors."

"I know that," the second man says. "Until we know why she," he gestures wildly at the monitors, "can cope with being a clone we won't be making progress."

"And the new selection protocols help how?"

"The new protocols weed out unstable subjects. The more stable subjects we have like her the closer we get to your 100% success rate."

"What makes her so special?"

"She was able to assimilate the knowledge that she had died and is now a clone very easy," he lies. How she took the news is only part of it. The more important part is that according to the new protocol she is not a suitable subject for cloning.