An Excerpt from The Tomorrow Paradox (Book Two in The Adventures of Mackenzie Mortimer):
The architecture of the Simulacrum Institute could not have
been more different from that of the Mortimer Enterprises building. The
corporate offices of the Mortimer’s family business were housed in a thoroughly
modern edifice built of steel, plate glass, and solar panels, with interior
lighting partially derived from natural light, and oxygen from internal
vegetation. In contrast, the Simulacrum Institute’s structure had been built in
the previous century, of brick and concrete, with little regard for aesthetics
or design. It had been a disused asylum when the institute purchased it in 2040
and while significant funds had been spent on renovation, little had been
devoted to modernization.
The walls were painted a drab gray, Brandy noticed. There
was no artwork or music. She was used to buildings with paintings on their
walls, or statues in their lobbies, and music piped through the air. There was
none of that to be found in the Simulacrum Institute. This was not a place to
exult in life, but merely to exist. For its residents, this was a way station
between nonexistence and the cessation of existence.
“If you’ll sign here, Matron, we’ll be on our way.” The
policewoman handed her electronic tablet to a heavyset, middle-aged woman, who
signed on the screen and returned it. She rejoined the other officers who had
escorted Brandy inside the institute and they passed through the cast iron
gates leading to the outside world.
“Wait,” Brandy called out. “You can’t leave me here.”
Matron chuckled. “Welcome back, Gemma. You’ve been a naughty
clone. If it were up to me, you’d be spending the rest of the week receiving
electroshock treatments, but fortunately for you, you’re one of our most
valuable inmates. Your original’s family pays a hefty premium for your upkeep,
with the provision that you remain unharmed and unmarred. A pity. A proper
caning on your backside would rein in any rebellious tendencies, but a lashing
would leave noticeable red welts, so I’ll have to find other methods to punish
you.”
“My name’s not Gemma. I’m—”
“My word, you’ve become even more rebellious in the brief
time you’ve been gone. Now you want to reject your clone name and choose your
own! But I have an adequate punishment in mind. I know how much you enjoy
spending hours on end on the neural net. I’ve arranged for a constant flow of
ambient noise to be broadcast into your room. You’ll find the sound will make
it impossible for you to concentrate sufficiently to access the neural net.
Perhaps you can use the solitude to reflect on your inappropriate behavior,
Gemma.”
Time is running out… fortunately, Mackenzie Mortimer has a few more minutes than anyone else!
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