Lucky 8

By Rae D. Magdon

Sasha Young, leader of the Lucky 7, has unfinished business. Her eighth clone is ready for activation, but this time, she won’t be passing on her memories. Caring for a newly autonomous being that shares her DNA is challenging enough, but the situation gets complicated when Ford Andrews, a prominent CEO, hires the Lucky 7 for one last job. His payment? Information about how Sasha’s parents really died. Elena Nevares is in over her head. What began as a short trip to awaken Sasha’s clone has turned into one dangerous situation after another. All the while, her brothers and grandmother are waiting in Barbados, without her protection. With foes old and new trying to take down her crew, can she justify putting her family in danger for them, and for a future she isn’t sure she believes in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desert Palm Press
• Release date: Mar 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954213104

Rae D. Magdon

Rae D. Magdon is a writer and author specializing in sapphic romance and speculative fiction. When she felt the current selection of stories about queer women were too white, too strictly gendered, and far too few in number, she decided to start writing her own. From 2012 to 2016, she has written and published ten novels with Desert Palm Press, won a Rainbow Award in the 2016 Science Fiction category, and was runner up in 2015 for the Golden Crown Literary Award in the Fantasy category. She wholeheartedly believes that all queer women deserve their own adventures, and especially their own happy endings.

Book preview

part one

Chapter 01

FRIDAY, 08-28-65 22:08:52 ST. LOUIS-KANSAS CITY

I STARE AT THE blinding billboards of SLKC, familiarity weighing heavily on my shoulders. The products featured in the ad rings surrounding the skylanes have changed over the past decade, but the lights look the same. Bright neon beams bounce off each other, merging into a muddy brown shadow. The Gateway Arch stands in the distance, a silver half-oval illuminated by constant ad cycles.

Below our shuttle, the nighttime crowd trickles along climate controlled walkways, following their tributaries like the sluggish waters of the Missouri. There are more walkways since my last visit, with new ones under construction. When I was growing up, they were a luxury. They’re a necessity these days, thanks to rising temperatures and superstorms.

The Eagle soars high above the ground, but I don’t need to hear the city to remember how it sounds. Beneath the roar of air traffic and the rumble of the transit tunnels is the persistent hum of the power grid. When older sections of the grid overload, everything pauses, eerily reminiscent of a stuttering heartbeat. Of course, that never happens at the poles, where we are now. The east and west business districts have backup generators for their backup generators.

You good, Sasha? A warm hand covers mine on the shared armrest. Elena glances at me from the seat to my left, her brown eyes worried. Usually, just looking at her makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time, but even that heart shaped face and those soft, full lips aren’t enough to make me forget why I’m upset. Or maybe nervous is a better description. We’re here to awaken a piece of my past that I would much rather keep dormant.

I’m fine, I tell Elena. She’s nosy, but even she must sense this isn’t the time to pry.

We’ve got bad memories buried here, me and Sasha, says Cherry, our wrench. Rami and Doc, our cloak and our medic, have occupied the forward facing pilot seats, leaving Cherry and me directly across from each other in the back. Unfortunately, that makes ignoring her all the more difficult.

Rock, our grunt, is buckled in beside Cherry. He tilts his head, but as usual, the big guy doesn’t say anything. Meanwhile, Cherry continues staring at me, her heavily made-up green eyes full of expectation beneath her bright red bangs.

I press my lips together, refusing to take the bait.

Elena speaks up, though, because of course she does. This is where you and Sasha met. Right, Cherry?

"Claro, chaparrita. After Sasha made her break from AukPrep. I’d already, uh, left KC-Tek a few months earlier."

I stifle a groan. I have no interest in rehashing that particular period of my life, but ordering Cherry to shut up will only stoke Elena’s curiosity. She’s seen flashes of the memories stored in my brainbox, but according to her, they’re disparate fragments, more emotion than story. That’s probably a good thing. The details even make me uncomfortable sometimes, and I’m the one who lived them.

Elena arches an eyebrow at Cherry. ¿Qué pedo?

Cherry shrugs. Why did I leave KC-Tek? There might’ve been a teensy explosion when I dropped out. Wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Sasha’s exit from boarding school, though.

Drop it. I glare at Cherry and remove my hand from beneath Elena’s. That was over seventeen years ago.

Annoyance flickers in Elena’s eyes, but behind that is a kicked puppy look she can’t quite hide. Damn her for being cute. I reclaim her hand, squeezing to show I’m not pissed at her, just on edge.

Rami, what’s our ETA? I ask, hoping to change the subject.

Rami peers around the edge of their seat to meet my eyes. They’re dressed fairly femme today, with a hairless face and crisp, purple cat’s eye liner. Their sleek black hair is pulled into a perfect French braid. Impatient, are we? It’ll be at least another five minutes, my lovelies.

They bring the Eagle out of the skylanes, merging into a ground level lane that runs alongside the walkways. Pedestrians scurry along like too many hamsters squished into a single tube, not bothering to glance up at passing traffic.

Which entrance are we using, Boss Lady? Rami asks.

So far, there are no signs that Axys Generations is following us, but it’s in my nature to be cautious. Of all our boltholes around the globe, the ones in SLKC and Siberia are the ones we can least afford to reveal to the corps. Siberia is where our crewmate Val, the only fully realized artificial intelligence in existence, keeps her primary servers. SLKC houses Val’s backup servers, as well as the person we’ve come to pick up.

South entrance, I tell Rami. Traffic’s thinner there.

Rami changes course without further comment.

I don’t get why you’re so freaked out, Doc says, craning her neck to look back at me from the copilot’s chair. It's just another mission, right? Her blue eyes are worried behind her VIS-R, and I can tell she isn’t ribbing me because she’s thirteen, and that’s what teenagers do. She’s fishing for information. Trying to figure out whether I’m being cautious, or if I’m actually afraid.

I am afraid, but not of AxysGen. They aren’t the first triple diamond corporation to try and kill me, and I’m still alive (in a sense). I’m afraid for more existential reasons. Afraid the person we’re meeting won’t be happy to see me. Afraid I won’t be happy to see her either, even though coming here was my decision. I’ve been itching to do this since the worst of the heat from AxysGen died down. It’s probably still too soon, but I’ve been gnawing on it like a dog with a bone. Both missing sleep and dreaming about it.

Doc watches me, probably waiting for some kind of reassurance. SLKC wasn’t always good to me, I offer, an admittedly pitiful response. Just got some skeletons buried here, is all. Elena always says dragging words out of me is like pulling teeth, which is a pretty accurate description of my conversational skills.

Back at it again with the cryptic shit, huh? Doc flops back in her chair. Don’t worry. I’ll break you eventually.

Sure you will, kid.

The steady drum of rain fades as we pull through the mouth of a tunnel beneath the Gateway Arch. Traffic slows to a standstill. More ad projections flicker above us, casting a shifting pattern of light onto the checkpoint leading down to the tunnels. Walkways and skyways converge on the same spot, adding to the clog.

Except for corps executives, everyone uses the tunnels, cogs and undesirables alike. The top level is for private vehicles. Second level is a series of overcrowded trains nicknamed ‘the web’ because they resemble a sprawling spider web. Beneath the web is the power grid, but the public isn’t allowed.

Of course, ‘not allowed’ doesn’t mean uninhabited. Plenty of jobless people seek shelter in the grid’s tunnels because they’re climate controlled. Most corps provide their cogs shitty, one-room cubes to live in, but those are still better than the streets, as I know from personal experience. People without jobs usually don’t have homes, forcing them to survive wherever and however they can.

As Rami brings the Eagle to an idle, Rock makes a concerned noise. He never speaks, but I can read his face, which looks a lot like his sister, Doc’s. He’s an eight-foot-tall cyborg and she’s a skinny-ass teenager, but they have the same dirty blonde hair and sharp features. Rock knows I don’t want to be here, so neither does he.

I’m fine, I tell him, trying to convince myself too.

Request for entry submitted, Val says through the Eagle’s speakers. She’s fully sentient, one of a kind, and the main reason Axys Generations has it in for us, although breaking into multiple secure facilities and blowing up their CEO’s house probably didn’t help. If any other corps knew our crew included the very first FRAI, they’d be gunning for us too. We barely managed to stop my ex-girlfriend, Megan, from unleashing a much more malevolent version with Val as the template.

Thanks, I say. You read my mind.

My programming was partially modeled on your personality, Sasha. Currently, I can predict your desires with 96.3 percent accuracy.

Elena laughs. You and I gotta talk more, girl.

Your friendly overture is noted. My algorithms also tell me that during the past three months, your negative comments about fully realized artificial intelligences have decreased 62.7 percent. Your negative comments about me as an individual have decreased 96.5 percent. Your positive comments about me have increased—

Yeah, Elena grumbles. Somos camarades.

We all go silent as our shuttle arrives at the gateway checkpoint, a circle of shining light waiting to approve our passage. The Eagle has a fake vehicle history tied to false credentials for this trip, but any checkpoint or scanner is an opportunity to get flagged. I hold my breath until the circle flashes from red to green.

We may proceed, Val says.

Rami pulls forward, weaving to the right side of the tunnel where various exits branch off. Signstrips scroll around us, a distracting blend of directions and more advertisements. Paragon Solutions VIS-Rs. The latest Chevy-Ford Cougar, with all the bells and whistles. Sea Queen Yachts. I roll my eyes at that one. The coasts have encroached on the Midwest, but we’re not that close to the ocean. I rub my face, but the neon lights still burn under my eyelids.

ETA two minutes, Rami says. I open my eyes in time to see them activate the Eagle’s cloak and fly straight through an unassuming billboard for NutraBrand flavor paste. Rami and Megan cooked up the camouflage together a few years back.

Megan. My stomach sinks. Memories of my ex crop up far more often than I’d like. She betrayed us to AxysGen and forced us to kill her and Dragon, the new FRAI she created when Val proved too willful. Even three months on, I still haven’t worked through all my feelings of anger, guilt, and loss. In fact, I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. Megan might have betrayed our crew, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be the one to kill her.

Darkness closes in as we descend into the tunnels. The sounds of traffic fade and the power grid’s hum swells around us. Above, the ceiling rattles and shakes. We’re directly beneath the web, flying along a maintenance shaft. Soon, Rami brings the Eagle to a stop. The floor opens, and we touch down in our SLKC hideout’s garage.

My hand twitches beneath Elena’s and she grasps it tighter, offering silent reassurance. I squeeze back, then let go to unfasten my safety harness.

Val’s avatar appears in the middle of the Eagle. She’s dressed for business, wearing her preferred purple blouse and pencil skirt, her dark skin slightly translucent. All external and internal defense grids are active. No unidentified organics detected.

I nod. That’s something, at least.

The SLKC garage isn’t as cold as the Hole in Siberia, but it isn’t warm either. A shiver runs down my spine as I hop out the Eagle’s rear doors, the soles of my boots hitting concrete. I’m glad we soundproofed the base. Otherwise, the goddamn hum would drive me crazy.

What now? Doc asks, exiting through the passenger’s side door. You wanna wake her up right away, or…

I shoot Doc a warning look, and she averts her eyes.

Shit, just asking.

It’s a fair question. Part of me wants to get it over with. Needs to, before the anxiety of unfinished business eats me alive. But I’m also terrified. I’ve spent the last seventeen years running major ops from London to Taiwan, outsmarting the most dangerous corps crews and freelance mercs in the world. Died six times doing it. But in no way, shape, or form am I prepared for this.

Heavy footsteps approach as a broad chest in a faded green shirt takes up my entire field of vision. When I look up at Rock’s face, I notice a wrinkle of concern on his blocky brow.

I’m okay, I tell him, but my voice isn’t convincing.

Rock opens his arms, and I step into them, resting my cheek against his shoulder. Despite his powerful muscles, he gives the gentlest hugs. We embrace for what, under other circumstances, might be an embarrassingly long time. Eventually, Rock lets me go and pats my head with his enormous hand. Only he can get away with doing that.

The others are waiting for the elevator on the other side of the garage, pretending they aren’t watching. When we join them, I notice Elena failing to hide a grin. Get over yourself, I grumble, but she smirks until the elevator arrives.

Hey, I’m not judging you. It’s cute. Even wolves need hugs.

I roll my eyes. Can’t we give the nickname a rest for one fucking day? ‘The Wolf’ is actually a pretty cool nickname in my opinion, but I’d never admit it aloud. Bitching about it like the grumpy asshole I usually am is one of the ways I bond with my crew.

Fine, Elena says. But you’ll have to extract separate promises from Cherry and Doc, and they’ll be harder to convince. They love pushing your buttons.

Cherry winks. "Trust me, I’d push a lot more of Jefa’s buttons if I could. But I’m married, and Rami’s the jealous type."

Doc pulls a disgusted face while Rock offers Cherry a fist bump. Rami shakes their head in affectionate exasperation. Honestly, I have no idea how they deal with being married to a sex-obsessed pyromaniac, but I’m not one to talk, considering my past relationships.

I breathe a little easier in the relative safety of the bunker. It has a clean, sterile smell thanks to the air filters, but the old, ratty furniture throughout the living room and kitchen gives the space an aura of casual reassurance. Cherry flops on the couch, taking up all three cushions. Rami heads for the fridge, and Rock joins them, a silent shadow over twice their size.

Gotta pee, Doc blurts out, rushing for the bathroom with an incredible lack of subtlety.

Think they wanna give you privacy or something? Elena mutters to me.

I glance at Cherry in time to catch her eyes darting away from mine. She and the rest of my team know me. If I ask them to come to the med bay with me, they’ll be there in a heartbeat, but I don’t want an audience for this. Managing my own emotions will be hard enough without worrying about theirs.

Val? Come with me.

Val’s avatar reappears beside me via one of the room’s many mounted projectors. Of course, Sasha.

The knot in my chest loosens. Maybe this won’t be so bad? I have to admit, part of me is curious. At the very least, I’ll get answers to the questions floating through my head. What will she be like, aside from the obvious? Will she learn to like, or maybe even love me? What if she wants nothing to do with me? I’ve run through countless scenarios, but I won’t know until I take the plunge.

Before I leave the kitchen, Elena touches my arm. I hesitate, watching her lick her lips, obviously struggling to find the right words. Eventually, she says, "I’m glad you’re you, Jefecita. Even if you’re a pain in my ass. You know that, yeah?"

My smile is small but genuine. I know.

Elena lets me go, and I head for the hallway with Val by my side.

The walk to the med bay is too short. Only five doors—bunk, bathroom, stockroom, armory, backup servers—and we’re there. My finger slips as I punch in the access code. The door beeps a rejection, and I grit my teeth.

This process may be difficult, Val says in a soothing voice. If you need more time to mentally prepare, everyone will understand.

I look away, jaw working. I had three months in Barbados.

You are recovering from multiple physical and mental traumas. Compared to the average human lifespan, three months is a short time.

My lifespans so far haven’t exactly been average.

I punch in the code correctly this time. The doors hiss open. When I step inside, my eyes lock on the med bay’s most prominent feature, an eight-foot tube full of blue liquid. Suspended within the tube is a body: tall, broad-shouldered, with smooth, unscarred brown skin. Her tight black curls cling to her head, and her eyes are closed.

Sasha?

Val’s voice makes me realize I’m staring intently at the woman’s face. She looks peaceful, like she’s sleeping, despite the electrodes pasted onto her body. She looks different than I expected.

You are accustomed to seeing your own face in reverse. A mirror’s reflection flips the image.

No, I mean… I don’t know what I mean. There’s a lump in my throat I can’t swallow, and it feels almost like jealousy. The person in the tube can sleep without nightmares. She doesn’t have a single bad memory in her head. Her entire existence is full of potential.

I take a page from Rami's book, going against my instincts and trying to put a positive spin on the situation. All that potential is exciting, in a way. My stomach flutters as I realize I’m about to witness the ‘birth’ of a brand new person. A person created with my DNA. A person who, if I have anything to say about it, will have a way better life than I did. A life with me and the family I built, if that’s what she chooses.

I turn away from my eighth clone and give Val a nod.

Wake her up.

Chapter 02

FRIDAY, 08-28-65 22:56:08

A HIGH-PITCHED WHIR comes from inside the tube. Bubbles stream through the viscous blue liquid, causing the electrode wires to sway. Despite the disturbance, the clone stays still. Only her eyes move, darting behind their closed lids.

I turn to Val. What’s happening? I have vague recollections of my own awakening, but I’ve never observed the process before. Cloning is rare these days since the ultra-rich prefer to grow replacement organs a la carte. Only a few complete clones are grown as body doubles or corporate heirs.

I am awakening her autonomic nervous system and downloading several educational programs, Val informs me. In the interest of full disclosure, some of these programs were originally created by Axys Generations, and others by Megan.

I frown. When it comes to creating sentient beings who aren’t terrifying forces of destruction, Megan only has a fifty percent success rate, Val herself being the success. Megan’s other attempt, Dragon, almost killed us.

You sure that’s a good idea?

I have implemented numerous quality and safety modifications. Additionally, I have written several programs myself, designed to teach muscle coordination and speech, a basic overview of humanity’s history, and the ability to empathize with other sentient beings.

You can teach her empathy?

Since you strenuously objected to the installation of your own personal memories, as was the process in the past, I have created unique formative experiences for this purpose. Val offers the clone a look that’s almost tender. One of these involves a birthday party.

Jealousy eats at my stomach. How come she gets to start off with good memories about birthday cake and toys? My resentment feels almost childish, but there’s nothing to do except bury those issues. This clone is my responsibility. I won’t undo Val’s hard work by fucking the clone up with my baggage on the first day of her life.

Inside the tube, the clone kicks her right foot.

Testing muscle response via primary motor cortex stimulation, Val announces.

The clone moves her legs, followed by her arms and shoulders, as much as the person-sized tube will allow. Suddenly, her eyes snap open. I take an involuntary step back. The clone’s irises are almost as black as her pupils, and even though they’re identical to mine, something about them sends a chill straight through me.

Air hisses into the tube and fluid drains from the bottom. The clone’s brown skin gleams, tinted blue by the glowing lights around her. Once her mouth is free, she takes her first breath. As her chest jerks outward, I flash back to the pain of my own awakenings. The forced expansion of my lungs burned like hell every time.

I don’t realize I’m touching the tube’s plexiglass until I feel its smooth surface beneath my palm. The gesture is instinctive. I want to be closer to this person who looks so much like me. To meet her. Jealousy aside, she was created with my DNA. That makes her family, in a weird way. Not the most important kind of family, the kind forged in the crucible of life, but family nonetheless. I don’t like the idea of her experiencing pain.

The clone watches me with wide eyes. The fluid has drained to her chest, and she drags her hand through it. With some effort, she presses her palm against the glass, directly over mine.

Can she hear me? I wonder aloud. It took a while for my hearing to kick in during my awakenings.

No, Val says. The enclosure is soundproof.

I step closer and exhale against the glass. My breath makes a cloud of condensation, which I draw on with my fingertip: a circle, two eyes, and a mouth. A smiley face. The clone’s lips spread in a matching smile. She wiggles her right hand. I wave back. It’s like seeing a little kid wave at you on the street. Returning the gesture is just something you do.

The fluid finishes draining. More air whooshes through the tube, blowing across the clone’s wet body, and the glass walls sink into the floor. The clone tries to step forward, but the tube hasn’t finished lowering. Her shin bumps the edge of the glass and she falls.

I rush to catch her. She trips into my arms, clutching my shirt with damp hands until I help her straighten. Careful.

Ahnoo.

I glance at Val. Uh…?

Give her a chance to practice. At the moment, her understanding of speech is only theoretical.

The clone’s face screws up in concentration, and her lips move awkwardly. Tank…eeou…

Welcome. I release her and open one of the supply cabinets, withdrawing a towel. Here.

The clone reaches for the towel but misses by several inches. She pulls another face, then tries again, catching the towel and drying her head. As she wipes the remnants of fluid from her limbs, her movements become noticeably more confident. Apparently, a little practice goes a long way.

My smile becomes more genuine. It’s kind of cute, like watching a toddler learn to walk, even if said ‘toddler’ is six feet tall and fully developed.

Once she’s slightly less sticky, the clone tries to return the used towel, thrusting it toward me.

Why don’t you keep that ‘til we get to the showers? You taught her how to do that, right Val?

She should be capable of maintaining personal hygiene without assistance. However—

A loud, metallic crash fills the medbay, causing my adrenaline mods to kick in. I take a deep breath and relax when I see that the clone has only knocked over one of the IV poles next to Doc’s exam table. She steps back, holding her hands up with a sheepish grin. Sorry! she says, dropping the towel onto the floor.

However, Val continues, with a hint of dryness, there will be a learning curve.

I straighten the IV pole and retrieve the towel. Wait, Val, did you give her a name?

Currently, she is nameless.

Fuck. That’s a problem. While I do feel a sense of obligation and protectiveness toward this new person, naming her will make me feel like her parent. That’s a scary thought, although not entirely inaccurate. I woke my clone intending for her to be her own person. I’ll guide her until she can start making decisions for herself, but this ends the cycle of downloading myself into a new body every time I die. Megan encouraged that cycle for her own selfish reasons, and it’s one I refuse to continue. Even with a new body waiting for me, dying is traumatic, let alone dying six separate times while remembering every detail.

I help the clone wrap the towel around her body again. She needs a name, and she can’t have mine.

Hi, Sasha, the clone says, forming the words slowly.

You know who I am already?

She knows the names of the Lucky Seven, Val says. In addition to a few basic facts about your personal histories.

How basic? It’s bad enough that Elena got to see a montage of my entire messy life via my brainbox. I don’t need this clone knowing everything there is to know about me, too. She’s already got my DNA. I don’t want her to have my memories.

Birthplaces, technical specialties, combat abilities. A few trivial facts such as favorite foods.

That doesn’t sound so bad. Certainly not the invasion of privacy I was initially worried about. Okay. I focus on the clone. You can pick your name later. First, you should shower. You’re kind of gross.

The med bay doors whoosh open. Doc enters, her body language all business. For someone so young and short, she projects an undeniably commanding presence as she strides to the exam table. Hold it. She can shower after I run my tests.

I arch an eyebrow. How long have you been waiting outside?

Long enough for you to have your moment of angst or whatever. Doc lowers her VIS-R from atop her messy blonde hair to her nose, scanning the clone with intense interest. What’s up, Sasha Eight? How you feeling?

The clone tilts her head, studying Doc with unabashed curiosity. Cold. Wet. Fast heart. Sasha Eight?

I glare at Doc. Don’t call her that.

Then what should I call her?

Whatever you want, except Sasha. She can pick a name later.

Doc shrugs. Fine. You, Not-Sasha, get on the exam table.

Seriously? I grumble. That still has ‘Sasha’ in it.

You want me to stop, give me an alternative. Now, you. Table.

The clone looks confused, but when Doc points, she hops onto the exam table. Much to my relief, she doesn’t end up falling and hurting herself. Once she’s situated, Doc bustles about, scanning the clone with her VIS-R, checking vitals, and muttering.

Organic parts are functioning. Let’s check the mods. Not-Sasha, activate your eye mods.

The clone blinks. Her eyes glow yellow.

Adrenaline boosters.

The clone’s breathing speeds up. Although I don’t see any other visible reactions, I know what that mod feels like. Her lungs are opening, her muscles are tingling, and her heart has started pounding twice as fast.

Doc removes a handlebar-shaped grip from a drawer underneath the table and gives it to the clone. Squeeze as hard as you can. The clone squeezes. The grip beeps loudly. Strength mods are working.

The clone looks to me as if searching for a reaction. Approval maybe? I smile. Good job.

The clone returns the smile brilliantly, and I have to look away. I’m feeling more like a parent by the moment, and a very emotionally unprepared one. I’ve always thought of myself as something like a parent to Doc what with the age difference, but raising my own clone feels different. Weird. Maybe I should think of the clone more like a younger sibling. That type of relationship has less of an inherent power dynamic.

One last thing. Doc pulls out a tray of surgical instruments from the side of the exam table. Sit up straight and hold still. I’m gonna implant your jack. She pops the cap off a tube of anesthetic cream and smears it behind the clone’s left ear, then picks up a black instrument that looks like a slim staple gun. This’ll only take a second and it won’t hurt. I numbed you.

Okay, the clone whispers. She stares at me with wide eyes, and I realize she’s scared. I wonder if Val gave her some painful formative memories after all. It would have been cruel to deprive her of all physical and emotional pain before dropping her into the world which is full of both.

I take the clone’s hand in mine. Go ahead, Doc.

Doc pulls the trigger on the jack installer. There’s a hissing pop, and when Doc withdraws, a small port gleams behind the clone’s left ear. There. Told you it wouldn’t hurt.

The clone heaves a sigh of relief but doesn’t let go of my hand. That confirms it in my mind. Val definitely gave her a small taste of pain, or she wouldn’t have been afraid of the jack implant, or relieved afterward.

Did you give her Dendryte Bronze? I ask Doc.

Silver, actually, Doc says. Which reminds me, we need to upgrade your jack.

Ugh. Last thing I need is my clone being more cutting-edge than me. Jacks are important to the job, although not everyone uses them. Those who don’t want or can’t afford a direct connection to their brain rely on VIS-Rs instead, but in our line of work, every millisecond matters.

I know, I know. Elena hasn’t shut up about it since you upgraded her to Platinum. One nag on this crew is enough. I disentangle my hand from the clone’s grip. If Doc’s done, let’s clean you up and get you some clothes.

She can use the emergency shower. Doc jabs her thumb over her shoulder toward a basic shower stall tucked in the corner of the med bay.

That would be prudent, Val says. The clear walls will allow you to observe her.

Doc wrinkles her nose. Why do we need to observe her? You downloaded the coordination training programs, right? 

The clone hops down from the exam table…clumsily. She stumbles, her towel coming loose again.

I snort. That’s theory. This is practice.

You okay? Doc asks the clone, stepping over to steady her by the elbow.

The clone nods and smiles. Yeah.

My stomach gives a guilty churn. I should’ve been the one to steady her. I’m usually better than this. What happened to those protective family instincts? She’ll be okay, right, Val?

Yes. You were given the opportunity to process significantly more cognitive material before your own activation, Val says. The prior Sashas’ memories stored on your brainbox translated directly into lived experience. This new clone is still learning, albeit at an enhanced rate. Currently, her rate of absorption and retention is equivalent to that of a two-year-old, although her cognitive abilities have already surpassed that age range.

The clone regains her footing, removing her elbow

Reviews for Lucky 8

[emily · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oh god that ending means we might get more??sure hope so. I love these world and these characters.