Fiction: A Chip Off The Old Block

Issac first thought about the possibility early last November, watching a bunch of MIT geeks combine two duplicators together in order to copy their Thanksgiving turkey. If you can combine two duplicators to copy a turkey, how many would you need to copy a human? To copy yourself? Another you, to deal with all the rubbish stuff, like putting out the rubbish, leaving the real, true you free to focus on the things that truly matter, the stories to read and play and dream..

The procedure on their website seemed simple enough: it didn't touch the actual duplicating circuits, which merely needed connecting in parallel. The main engineering problem would be making the boxes fit together to be big enough to hold him, and enlarging the particle intake. A more pressing concern was cost. In order for the Issacs to fit into the copyboxes, twelve duplicators would be needed. Twelve very expensive boxes. One was affordable, but twelve? Where would he find the money?

The answer came to Issac in a very disturbing dream. Rice on a chess board, towering above him. Pyramid schemes, elevating those at the apex to the heights of wealth. Bacteria, duplicating themselves and spreading across the screen. Rabbits, multiplying like, well, rabbits. But where's the rice coming from? The pyramid scheme collapses when there's no more schlubs at the bottom to con. Bacteria will expand only so long as there's nutrient. And one rabbit on its own won't do much, but two...

As soon as he could the next day, he rushed to the computer and ordered two duplicators. The installer had never set up two machines in the same building before; what's so important that you can't carry it upstairs and copy there? On the other hand, it's his money to waste so why worry? One in the kitchen, one in the basement, a copied cuppa and then off to the next appointment.

The next few months were gruelling for Issac. Dismantle the second duplicator, study the pieces, determine how many are needed, and run them through the kitchen machine. Painstaking, tedious work, with a few mistakes and singed fingers, whilst the basement machine grew in size. And then, trying to figure out little improvements, like a delayed-start timer, and handles to the inside of the boxes.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was finished. All that remained was the testing. Issac crammed the copybox full of a week's shopping, found the copy button looking quite insignificant attached to this behemoth, and pressed. Five minutes later, it pinged. Issac opened the second copy box and saw another week's shopping. It worked!

He couldn't wait a second longer. All the shopping wass shoved into the kitchen; the only things to remain were a bottle of sparkling wine and two glasses. Issac set his watch for five minutes, input a ten second delay on the machine's timer, and pressed the start button again. One Issac hopped into the copybox, lay still, and waited.

Light! Light everywhere. Light suffusing his entire being. His instincts overrode his mind as he put his hands over his eyes, only to realise that it wouldn't help; somehow, the light was coming from inside his own eyeballs. No chance of looking at the watch. Just try to focus on breathing, pray you're not blind forever, and wait for the machine to finish...

After six eternities, the light faded with a muffled ping. Issac threw the lid off the box and clambered out. His eyes could barely focus, and the world was dark, blurry shapes slowly congealing into recognisable structures. It was fifteen minutes until he focused on the two glasses on the table and realised. The other box hadn't opened.

Issac slowly walked around to the second copybox, took a deep breath, took off the lid and looked down on... Issac. There he was, same hair, same moles, same t-shirt and jogging trousers, same stains. And very, very still. No pulse. Issac went over to the table, opened the wine, poured two glasses and thought about what to do with his identical corpse.