Gemini

"...But what about cancer victims?"

Derek Huntsman sat across from John Price in their favorite local watering hole. Sports highlighted the television screens. The mostly female staff scrambled about the floor as a treat for the eyes. Most of the elderly regulars were already so comfortable in their "regular" status and so tipsy that they thought that they had a chance with the young staff. Meanwhile, John Price wanted to pretend to care about the human experience and debate politics with a guy who, at all times, was on duty. Nevertheless, this was the conversation occurring in the middle of a tavern on Spring Friday night. Finally, Huntsman heaved a sigh and threw his arms up in mock surrender. Price saw the show of submission and gave a smile of knowing victory.

"...What about cancer patients, John?" Derek insisted, at least checking his mechanical Datacuff as he lowered his arms again; a man on a mission.

"I'm a humanitarian, Derek!" Price faux-protested. "...I just mean...okay, what if cloning a loved one dying of cancer, but removing the cancer gene, was the only way to preserve a family's time together?"

"Modern cancer medicine has had many breakthroughs lately, Doctor Price; and making time with a clone of a loved one is not the same as preserving time together." Huntsman retorted.

"Fair." Price conceded as nearby tables glared over at the mismatched pair of friends in the middle of a war of words. "But...okay; say you're hunting a clone, corner the clone, and bag the original?"

"I'm not a Human Hunter, John." Derek insisted, tapping his electronic holobadge with all of his credentials as evidence.

"Yeah; but what if...?" Price insisted with a wry smirk. "Mistakes can happen in any profession."

"...I'll remember that the next time you're my surgeon." Huntsman retorted at only half of his original gusto.

His Datacuff had pinpointed something. He knew that it had to at some point.

Suddenly, a shapely blonde was at the tableside.

"Can I get you gents anything else?" asked the leggy, blue-eyed, blonde bar beauty.

Derek took in her shape and youth and immediately took pity on her (DEFINITELY not the first thought that generally entered her male customers' minds). Between her over made-up face, her unnatural speech, even how unnaturally her eyes glistened, down to her clothing, there was nothing innate about this poor working girl anymore. Dr. John Price, huge humanitarian that he was, saw the same girl, bounced his eyes, and put on a tone that he mistook as slyly debonair.

"Yeah; your digi..." he began.

"...I'll take the bill tonight...Syx, was it?" Huntsman asked.

The waitress faux gushed at the older of the two men.

"Good memory!" she cooed, presenting him with her booklet.

The convenient "VI" tattoo on her wrist told anyone with a trained eye, and enough attention to anything in between her bra size or the length of her toned legs, all that they needed to know. "Syx;" as in "Sixth generation clone."

Huntsman's Datacuff bleated and brought up her profile. However, he could ignore it. "Syx; Sixth Generation Clone; Waitress/Bartender. Original: Monica Weston; Spy; Deceased; Brain Cancer." Huntsman read the data, showed it off to John to prove his point, and shut the Datacuff down. This clone was literally programmed to waitress; and that made her a simple doll just doing her job.

"Pretty." Price observed. "They're making clones just fine these days!"

"I'll mention it to Bertha; Back of House Line Cook; Fourth Generation Clone of the same original." Huntsman retorted, punching into the Datacuff and revealing the image of the facsimile in question. Price took in the sight of the brutish, rough face and nearly fell over in his chair.

"Forget this conversation ever happened!" he blurted, drawing the ire of the entire restaurant with his antics and his volume.

"It's forgotten." Huntsman reassured him with a wry smirk as he punched up the data to pay Syx for her troubles. He then hustled his friend out of the tavern.

The pair left the tavern right passed a disheveled, weather-beaten elderly man in a trench coat and cowboy hat. He came in almost every night and marched straight to the bar to be the bartender's problem. He always irked the bartender; but he never really hassled the girls so they treated him as a welcome elderly male regular. However, tonight he was even more distant and disheveled than usual and the bartender finally took a noted concern for him as he crossed over to his stool.

"...Doing alright tonight, Mister...?" David Splain began.

"...I'm fine with just the one tonight." Wex Hunter interjected, paying off his bill, tipping as graciously as usual with the extra few cents, and rising to leave the establishment; exposed sidearm and all...

Derek Huntsman got John Price into his vehicle and saw to it that he left the lot safely. He wished that he could do more for his friend's safety. However, the good doctor's vehicular safety, and alcohol index, were in his capable hands now. Huntsman took an extra moment as Dr. Price's vehicle disappeared from sight and he pivoted to enter his own vehicle like normal.

He saw the barrel of a side-arm instead, the weapon went off in a flash, and he saw and felt nothing.

"...Clones hunting clones; a pathetic endeavor!" Wex spat. "Thank you for your service, Mr. Huntsman; that will be all."

Wex then picked up the Datacuff and reentered the bar to settle up an unsatisfied debt with...

The Datacuff pinged once more; this time, for his benefit.

...Bertha Blackmoore and Nicole "Syx" Sexton.