I am lying among the refuse of a seaside garbage dump, washed out of a storm drain. A dear friend of mine has died. Heroic sacrifice and all that.

  Much ter I will learn that she has been cloned many times over by the very ones she fought. Somehow they preserved her memories and personality and loaded them into her copies, albeit with slight variations in each instance. Some will remain loyal to their creators, but most will band together, escape, and continue their fight. My first meeting with one of the loyal copies - her standing atop a paramilitary vehicle and wearing her enemy’s corporate colors, ready to apprehend me or worse - will be an event of disbelief and despair. My subsequent rescue by and “reunion” with those who rebelled will be joyous but confusing. They all prefer to keep using her original name, but make the concession of nicknames around others if there’s more than one of her present.

  But that is all much ter and I know none of it yet. For now I am lying debris, bereaved and nearly without hope.

  A courier finds me. He has a package from her for me. He has many packages from her for those she knew in the event of her death. He says no more. I cannot bring myself to open the package just yet, but I can muster the strength to follow him out of this pce.

  The courier does not wait for me though and I lose sight of him. I see him again in the distance handing a narrow package longer than I am tall to a man I once knew. The man’s features - an unfortunate case of genetics - have left him unjustly branded a monster since his youth. That never mattered to her and me. The three of us were good friends once upon a time. But then he finally broke under that terrible societal pressure and began living up to his hitherto entirely undeserved reputation.

  It’s our fault - hers and mine - that he now lives here in a shack amid the flotsam and jetsam, unwelcome even in the junkyard’s shantytown, instead of ruling with an iron fist from some pace or penthouse or manor.

  I always regretted how things turned out. Wished that we could have made a kinder fate for him than this or death.

  I know I should put my head down and keep moving, but I can’t help but stop and watch. It’s a mistake.

  A woman arrives. She’s come from across the sea to find him. To finally find someone else like her. I point her towards him.

  He finally notices me and in his fury he ignores the newcomer altogether. Another tragedy wrought by my inaction. He storms up to me, ranting and raging. How dare I show my face after what I did to him?

  Tears in my eyes, I cry out the only real thought that’s been in my head since I awoke.

  “She’s dead.”

  He says he doesn’t care.

  I ask if that package he just got is from her.

  He says he doesn’t care.

  I plead with him, desperate to know what’s inside.

  He tosses it aside into a nearby scrap heap.

  I say I’m sorry.

  He hits me.

  I run.

  He chases me.

  He catches me in the shantytown.

  He beats me.

  I hit back.

  Our fight goes through the narrow alleyways. It sts a long time and we travel a fair distance. On a good day I could probably win. Today I can barely muster the will to defend myself.

  He throws me to the ground.

  I whimper “I’m sorry,” over and over again with tears streaming down my eyes as I crawl into a hole in the wall filled with exposed wires that would electrocute me if this pce actually had any power.

  He says to come back and find him if I still feel that way tomorrow morning.