A Startling Star Story
The prisoner stood manacled in the main room of the Hall of Justice.
The serene marble surroundings were in contrast to the ragged, torn
appearance of the chained rabbit, who stood trim, erect, and and with his gold and silver fur just that bit matted. He
wore a faded black uniform indicating field grade rank, but patches of
darker material stood out where emblems and badges had been cut away.
Heavily armed guards stood on each side of the accused, and the room was
crowded with witnesses and reporters, an anomaly for this type of
proceeding. A curiosity of this trial is that the guilt of the
defendant has been established beyond any doubt. This is not a legal thriller, there are no brilliant
defense attorneys or last second plot twists here. There is no one
speaking for the accused at all, even if one could be found to take the
case his crime is known to the entire world, this is a military court
martial, and the defendant has waived all rights to counsel anyway.
Then...oh, Hell. Dammit! I can't write to save my life. I think the
idea is great, but this could not be any duller. Here is what I had in
mind-
At this time teleportation is possible, kinda, but only one way and at huge expense. This prisoner is a major in the Emergency Corps, and his job requires him to die, over and over. Of course he doesn't experience the death, just his carbon copy. The E-Corps is one of deliberate sacrifice for the greater good. The members, when needed, are scanned into the Transmitter, and the blueprint is sent to the Receiver. If the situation calls for it, the E-Corps will be there. In the case that I am talking about here, a colonial transport carrying a city of wealthy elites has come out of no space and is falling into a star. The ordinary pilots have never dealt with this, most situations of this sort are never reported, for obvious reasons. But the rabbit in the dock, we'll call him Major Bunny, is a fabulous and very experienced pilot. The hyperlink distress call is answered by the arrival of the major aboard the almost certainly doomed ship. Major Bunny's copy, you understand, actual teleportation is impossible. Copies only live for a few hours, no amount of research has been able to solve the neural decay problem. The major takes the chimpanzee pilots in hand and explains what has to be done. Oh, and all of this is being taped and sent home, sorta like the bomb disposal people talking on a recorder so that future personnel know what happens if one turns nut X in direction Y. You with me? All right, let's see if we can stay on the ball out there.
In this case Major Bunny has decided that the only hope for the almost certainly doomed transport is to attempt a cometary, that is, using the swiftly approaching star's gravity to slingshot it's way around the star and back into no space. He has done this before although he does not know it. But - a hitch develops.
It turns out that a case of the CarniVirus has been discovered among the passengers. This horror has a 100 percent infection rate. There is no way, none, that the major is going to let 10 million starving werewolves loose on a struggling colony. His last transmission indicates that he set and locked the controls so as to plunge the space ark into the star, and the ending of the tape captures his death at the hands of the increasingly hysterical ship's pilots.
Well!
Major Bunny now stands before the tribunal, accused of the mass murder of influential people with friends. After all, his copy is him, and therefore he is responsible for this colossal slaughter.
The major stands tall as the judges return from their chambers. A hush has settled across the mile long courtroom. The Chief Justice rises and prepares to deliver the verdict.
And now, dear reader, I have to ask you -
At this time teleportation is possible, kinda, but only one way and at huge expense. This prisoner is a major in the Emergency Corps, and his job requires him to die, over and over. Of course he doesn't experience the death, just his carbon copy. The E-Corps is one of deliberate sacrifice for the greater good. The members, when needed, are scanned into the Transmitter, and the blueprint is sent to the Receiver. If the situation calls for it, the E-Corps will be there. In the case that I am talking about here, a colonial transport carrying a city of wealthy elites has come out of no space and is falling into a star. The ordinary pilots have never dealt with this, most situations of this sort are never reported, for obvious reasons. But the rabbit in the dock, we'll call him Major Bunny, is a fabulous and very experienced pilot. The hyperlink distress call is answered by the arrival of the major aboard the almost certainly doomed ship. Major Bunny's copy, you understand, actual teleportation is impossible. Copies only live for a few hours, no amount of research has been able to solve the neural decay problem. The major takes the chimpanzee pilots in hand and explains what has to be done. Oh, and all of this is being taped and sent home, sorta like the bomb disposal people talking on a recorder so that future personnel know what happens if one turns nut X in direction Y. You with me? All right, let's see if we can stay on the ball out there.
In this case Major Bunny has decided that the only hope for the almost certainly doomed transport is to attempt a cometary, that is, using the swiftly approaching star's gravity to slingshot it's way around the star and back into no space. He has done this before although he does not know it. But - a hitch develops.
It turns out that a case of the CarniVirus has been discovered among the passengers. This horror has a 100 percent infection rate. There is no way, none, that the major is going to let 10 million starving werewolves loose on a struggling colony. His last transmission indicates that he set and locked the controls so as to plunge the space ark into the star, and the ending of the tape captures his death at the hands of the increasingly hysterical ship's pilots.
Well!
Major Bunny now stands before the tribunal, accused of the mass murder of influential people with friends. After all, his copy is him, and therefore he is responsible for this colossal slaughter.
The major stands tall as the judges return from their chambers. A hush has settled across the mile long courtroom. The Chief Justice rises and prepares to deliver the verdict.
And now, dear reader, I have to ask you -
The Bunny or the Tiger?
What would you have done?
Philip Kindred Dick and Magnificat. Stories written by guys with the initials PKD tend to the paranoid.
*(The short-lived copy concept of Major Bunny was plagiarized from 'Night Of The Puudly' by Clifford Simak published in
Galaxy, March 1951. Originally titled, 'Good Night, Mr. James', it's
protagonist is a duplicate of a collector of alien creatures whose
illegal, extremely vicious, about to reproduce, telepathic puudly has escaped. To say
the least this thing needs to be killed, and fast. The collector has
himself cloned in order to increase his chances of hunting down the
highly dangerous creature before it reproduces. Informed by the puudly that he is a copy, the duplicate kills the collector and takes his place. At the end of the story he discovers he only has hours to live due
to an additive designed to prevent just such a situation).
I only steal from the best.
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