Space.

It’s been called many things and described in many ways but what it is most of all is where wherever you are you are always surrounded by dark nothingness. Though everywhere you look you see stars and suns and worlds shining bright far away in the distance, if you try to go there, try to get to those bright lights of promise, you'll soon realize that you can't. The lights are forever out of reach, forever in the distance, and the darkness still surrounds you.

Space is where the light flees from you like a beautiful dream you reluctantly wake up from and soon can barely remember, and where the darkness clings to you and stays with you like cobwebs still felt on your skin as you try to shake off a horrible nightmare.

Somewhere deep in that darkness a tiny green light suddenly flickers. On, then off and then on again. Moments later a slow, pulsing hum can be heard. At first barely noticeable, nothing more than a vibration only felt somewhere in your gut, but within seconds it has grown to a loud roar that ends in a deafening explosion as breathable air blasts through and fills every part of the ship and the SS Aphrodite brings itself back to life.

A cargo ship twenty-four years into its mission, twenty-four years in absolute darkness and silence, the Aphrodite's interior is now for the first time since she left earth's orbit bathing in its own white fluorescent light, her primary cargo being ninety million imperial gallons of fresh water in six giant, circular tanks beneath her, giving her the likeness of a fly carrying the cylinder of an ancient revolver.

Her payload and most valuable cargo, however, carried in a cold storage in her lowermost deck, is 2500 vials of what is simply called “goo”.

-

In the med-bay a piece of the floor opens up and a cryo chamber slowly rises from below, like a burial in reverse. The lid slides away as the thick, pink fluid inside is drained, revealing the naked, glistening body of the ship's captain and only crew member.

At first completely still as if dead but then her arms begin to tremble, then her legs do, and then her whole body violently shakes and convulses for several seconds before she sits up with a jolt and a scream, ripping the lumi-mask off her face.
Confused and disoriented, on the verge of a sanity-crushing panic, something deep inside her consciousness remembers her training and the words;
Breathe. Think. Listen to the voice.

So she does, and soon she hears the voice, coming from somewhere above her, saying her name over and over and asking her to repeat it.

“You are Captain Ellen Barber,” it says. “What is your name?”

Over and over until she is finally able to answer.

“I am Ellen Barber,” she says as her mind pieces itself back together.

“Captain Ellen Barber.”

“Good morning, Captain,” the voice says. It is feminine, metallic and artificial but still kind and reassuring, almost motherly.

“Good morning, mom.” Ellen says.

“Your shower is ready, Captain.”

-

Though the electrically charged amniotic fluid she's been submerged in for almost two and a half decades have kept her nerves and muscles functioning, even enhanced, her legs still struggles to carry her as she gets up and makes her way to the shower at the end of the room, forcing her to lean on the walls on the way. As the cryo chamber behind her descends and disappears beneath the floor, she enters the shower cubicle and suddenly screams again in startled shock as she sees someone else is already in there, staring back at her.

It takes a few seconds for her to realize she is staring into the full size mirror that makes up one of the walls of the cubicle, and a few seconds more to realize it is her own reflection she sees. Her hand trembles again as she raises it to feel her now bald and shiny scalp.

The fluid and the chamber kept her alive, slowing down her metabolism and every physical function to one eighth of its normal rate, and though she was born forty years ago by now, her body hasn't aged more than if she was nineteen.
But the fluid also destroyed every single hair follicle, leaving every part of her skin totally smooth and bare. The long, blonde, wavy hair that had been her trademark and her pride at the academy is gone.
Only her eyebrows and eyelashes remains. An unintended but certainly welcome side effect of the lumi-mask, which purpose was to keep her eyesight from deteriorating.

She's in the shower for almost an hour, each drop of warm water a quickening, getting used to the feeling of her hairless self with reluctance and dissatisfaction at first, but soon with enjoyment and pleasure as she savors the new and delicate sensitivity.

Finally she turns off the water, and the light above her turns red and warm just before the air inside the cubicle turns into a whirlwind that spins around with her in the center of it, and in a few seconds she is dry.
She steps out and, still naked, makes her way to the bridge.

-

“Power and capacity at ninety-nine point six percent. Life support at one hundred percent,” the Mission Operation Manager, the ship's artificial intelligence operating system, says. “Would you like me to report the full list of emergencies now?

Ellen groans, leans back in the chair and puts her feet on the desk.

“If you have to,” she says. “But reds only.”

The three screens in front of her is suddenly filled with codes, numbers and messages in different colors; green, yellow and red. Thousands of them, twenty four years of things that had gone wrong but were taken care of by the MOM without ever disturbing Ellen's sleep. Even the red ones, marking a major malfunction or damage, had been located, diagnosed and corrected. They appear and disappear too fast to read, but every time a red line pops up the scrolling stops until MOM has read it out loud.

“Day fourteen. Number 2.116. Code A16f. Oxygen reconstruction system blockage. Restoration code 11.”

“Day thirty-six. Number 4.322. Code C12f. Radiation shield damage. Restoration code 3.”

“Day forty-two. Number 5.474. Code R16b. ERB-communication systems unresponsive. Modification code 7.”

About twenty minutes in, Ellen gets out of her chair and walks towards a machine integrated in the wall close to the spiral staircase that leads to the living quarters and the lower decks, and pushes the button marked “coffee”.
When nothing happens she pushes it again, and then a third time before she says “Mom.”

“Day two hundred and three. Number 8.691. Code B09a. Navigation error. Correction code 1.”

“Mom, stop. Take a break, will you? Why isn't there any coffee?”

“Your digestive system needs time,” MOM answers. “For the first twenty-four hours you can only drink your pee.”

“What!? Excuse me, what?”

“For the first twenty-four hours you can only drink your P.E. Your Physiology Enhancement gel. No coffee until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Ellen says, not quite convinced she heard wrong. “Right.”

“Strawberry or banana flavored?” MOM says.

“Seriously? That's what you have? Ugh.” She sighs. “Strawberry, please.”

A cup drops down into one of the smaller cavities in the center of the machine and is slowly filled with a colorless, thick substance. Ellen grabs it and returns to her seat, putting her feet back up before she takes a sip.

“Continue,” she says with a grimace. “Oh, and mom...”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Remind me to take the banana one next time.”

-

Her hair is back. Not that it was ever gone, of course, how could it be? Hair doesn't just disappear, why would she even think that?
She's at the academy, sitting in the grass by the lake with Ms. Dubois, and her hair is floating on the wind like waves of gold behind her.
She's laughing, but she can't remember why. Was it something Ms. Dubois had said? Just before she kissed her?
No, wait. Where did that come from? Ms. Dubois hadn't kissed her. Not yet, but she's about to, she's sure of it, but how can she know that?

Ms. Dubois moves closer as if she's read her mind, leans in towards her until the tips of their noses almost touch. Ellen closes her eyes and just as she's about to feel Ms. Dubois' lips on hers she shouts “Captain!”

But she's not a captain. Not yet. She's still at the academy, and they told her she would never be captain. Not unless...

“Captain!” Ms. Dubois shouts again, but something is wrong with her voice. “Wake up!”

-

“Captain!” MOM says and Ellen almost falls out of her chair as she is ripped out of her dream, both her feet waving in the air above the desk as the chair tips backwards before she's able to regain her balance and it settles back down on all four legs.

“Mom,” she says. “What the fuck. What's wrong?”

“Movement detected in sector 3A,” MOM says calmly, not at all like Ms. Dubois' shouting.

“What does that mean?” Ellen says. “That's impossible. Your sensors are wrong.”

“No, they are not,” MOM says, sounding almost offended.

“Then what is it?”

It takes MOM a moment to answer.

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know? What do you see? Show me.”

“The data doesn't make sense. There must be an error. Initiating diagnostics.”

“So there's nothing down there?”

“Yes, there is. I'm detecting movement.”

“But you just said...”

“The motion detection sensors are accurate. I believe there is an error in my visual data interpretation software. Running scan. Video feed temporarily offline.”

“You're telling me there's someone in the med-bay?” Ellen says, but there's no answer.

“I'm the only one on this ship and we're still weeks away from the nearest station and months away from the nearest inhabited planet, and you're telling me there's someone in the lab?”

“Yes,” MOM says. “I'm detecting movement.”

Ellen sighs.

“Fine. I'll check it out.”

As she reaches the staircase, MOM says “Captain.”

“What?”

“You're still undressed.”

“There's no one down there, mom,” Ellen says impatiently, but still she stops at the deck just below and heads for a door at the far end of the hallway, and from a shelf in the storage room beyond it she picks up a white jumpsuit and puts it on.

“Your sensors are wrong!”

She shouts the words as if MOM was still on the deck above her, but then she remembers that MOM can hear her perfectly from any part of the ship.

“You know,” she continues in her normal voice as she zips the suit up in the front. “You just spent the last hour telling me about a million things that has gone wrong with you, so your sensors could actually be wrong. I'm just saying.”

But once again there is no answer.

Heading back to the staircase her eyes fall on a locker in the corner, and even though there's no possible way there's anyone downstairs, she unlocks it, opens it and grabs a Chazer, a U-shaped pulse gun not powerful enough to kill but more than enough to knock you off your feet and maybe fracture a rib or two.

She makes her way down to the third deck and when she stops in front of the door to the med-bay it slides open without a sound.

The first thing she notices is that the cryo chamber is back up, but it seems to have moved further down the room. It's closer to the shower than it had been.
Her mind tries to tell her that maybe it doesn't just move up and down through the floor, maybe it moves sideways too for whatever reason and that's the movement MOM registered, but of course she knows that's not the case and that one has to be another one, a second cryo chamber that isn't supposed to be there at all but has been there next to her the whole time, and what if inside it...

Then she sees it. Someone's hand is gripping the lid of the chamber. Someone is crouching behind it. Ellen lifts the Chazer and with hands shaking and eyes wide in disbelief she watches as a woman stands up with her back to her. Her bare skin is glistening, still covered in pink amniotic fluid, and when she tries to take a step forward her feet give way and she almost falls down but manages to grip the chamber lid again.

“Don't move!”

Ellen meant for the words to be loud and sharp and tough, but they come out as a high pitched whisper. Still the woman freezes in shock and surprise.

“Put your hands up!” Ellen says after getting her voice somewhat under control. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The woman raises her hands and without turning around she says slowly, “Take it easy. My name is Ellen Barber, and I'm the captain of this ship.”

“Good morning, Captain,” MOM says from above. “Your shower is ready.”

-

The woman slowly turns around to face her, and Ellen's first thought is that it's just another mirror, that she's simply pointing the gun at her own reflection. But then the gun would be reflected too, wouldn't it? Not to mention the jumpsuit she has on, and the woman standing in front of her is completely naked and unarmed. Other than that, however, she is the spitting image of Ellen.

She seems to be just as shocked and surprised as Ellen, at least for the next minute or so, a minute they both spend just silently staring at each other, but then she cocks her head and actually smiles.

“Now, this is interesting,” she says.

“Shut up!” Ellen says. “Who are you? What's going on?”

“I told you,” she answers. “I'm Captain Ellen...”

“No! Stop lying! That's me. I'm Ellen, not you. I'm the captain. Why are you here?”

“Could you not point that thing at me?” the woman says. “You're shaking. You'll pull the trigger if you don't calm down.”

Ellen looks down at her hand holding the Chazer and it is indeed shaking, vehemently. Her whole body is, actually.

“No,” she says. “I'm not putting it down. I don't know who you are but you're not supposed to be here and I'm locking you up until I find out what's going on.”

“Whatever,” the woman says. “But, mom did promise me a shower, and I really want one so I'm having one first. Do you mind? You're welcome to watch if you want.”

“No,” Ellen says. “I mean, yes, okay. Fine. But be quick.”

“Maybe you want to join me?” the woman says and winks. “You know, just to... keep me... compliant.”

“What? No. Just... move!”

Ellen follows her towards the shower, waving the gun towards it as if she's the one demanding she takes a shower, just to show she's still in control. A few seconds later the door to the cubicle is fogged up, and though Ellen can't be sure, the movements of the woman's silhouette suggest she's enjoying more than just the warm water.

Shortly after, the woman is walking in front of Ellen up the stairs to the sixth deck, where the sleeping quarters are. Since they are steep spiral stairs, Ellen is constantly six or seven steps below her and she has to lift her hand above her head just to poke the two tips of the Chazer at the woman's lower back. At one point the woman stops and turns to look down at her, and shakes her ass invitingly at her.

“You know what we could do with that thing?” she says and winks again.

“What's wrong with you?” Ellen says perplexed. “Just keep moving.”

There are four doors on deck six, including the one that leads into the storage room where Ellen found her jumpsuit a few minutes ago. The door next to it leads to the R&R and then there's the two sleeping quarters. Although only one is needed now, the ship was built way back when every mission required two crew members.

Ellen pushes her towards the nearest of the bedroom doors.

“Get inside,” she says, and as soon as she does she says “Mom, lock this door. Don't open it unless I say so.”

“Yes, Captain,” MOM says.

The door slides shut. There's a glass covered porthole in it, just high enough up so Ellen has to stand on her toes to look inside and when she does the woman is doing the same, staring back at her and suddenly the window is a perfect mirror.
Until the woman smiles and blows her a kiss.
Ellen turns around and walks upstairs to the bridge.

–

“Mom, what the hell is going on?”

“I don't know,” MOM says.

“I don't believe that. You know everything, you know what this is. It's in your brain somewhere, it has to be. Tell me.”

“I really do not know. The information seems to be in a category 9 file. I won't know until I've accessed it.”

“Then access it!”

“Authorization code needed.”

“What code? I don't have a code. Just access the damn file.”

“Authorization code needed.”

“Mom, stop fucking around! I'm the captain and I'm telling you to access the file and tell me what's in it.”

“Authorization code needed. Would you like to generate an authorization code, Captain?”

“What? Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Code generated. Code X1010A.”

“Now just... access the file, please,” Ellen says, exhausted and annoyed. “Authorization code X1010A.”

“One moment.”

“Why's the coffee not working?”

Ellen spins around. That last sentence wasn't MOM speaking. It was the other woman. The other Ellen. Still naked, she's standing by the machine pushing the coffee button over and over, and Ellen is again struck by the feeling she's looking into a mirror. A magical mirror this time, one that doesn't reflect what's in front of it but rather what happened there one hour ago.

Maybe that's what this whole thing is. Some bizarre time loop. She remembers stories about time experiments at the academy. Could that be it?

“How did you get out?” Ellen asks.

The woman looks at her and laughs.

“You still don't get it, do you? Damn, I thought I was smarter than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm you. You're me. I'm the captain too. Tell mom to only do as the captain says and she'll do as I say. Isn't that right, mom?”

“That is correct, Captain. Category 9 file accessed. Would you like to read it?”

“Just give us the highlights,” the woman says.

And for the next ten minutes, MOM reads out loud from a file called 'Project Echo'.

When the first interstellar missions became possible, only a few years after the devastation of what had become known as the XY plague, every space ship had a crew of two. The main reason was that the cryo technology was still in its infancy, and two crew members doubled the chances of someone at all waking up to carry out the mission. Still, more than twenty per cent of the missions failed because both crew members died in cryosleep.

Of the missions where both survived, the rate of failure was over fifty per cent. Some of these as a result of strife and dissension between the two women on board, but most had failed because of what the reports called 'unhealthy physical alliances resulting in excessive and obsessive fornication'.

In other words, they were fucking so much they stopped caring about their mission.

Of the missions where only one crew member survived the cryosleep, the rate of failure was nearly eighty per cent, either because of defection, or suicide.

So the confederacy and the academy came up with several solutions to the problems. Among other things, they decided that when possible, there would only be one person on each mission, and that their physical needs, the neglecting of which were deemed one of the main reasons for the suicides, would be taken care of mechanically, through automated R&R facilities.

This too was unsuccessful, and more missions failed than before. Even though the cryo technology had improved, the rate of failed missions because of cryo failure continued to be unacceptably high.

When these sole crew members survived, desertion and suicide were still among the reasons for failure, but their rates had dropped significantly due to the R&R. However, the capabilities of the automated R&R rooms actually proved addictive, and the missions suffered in much the same manner as those with “unhealthy alliances” between two crew members.

So new solutions were found.
Firstly, the academy was to focus much more on the challenges of solitary space travel and how to cope. This included “proper use of the R&R facilities” classes.
Secondly, the activities in the R&R was to be strictly monitored and controlled by the Mission Operation Manager.
And finally they created what became the top secret “Project Echo”.

Cloning technology was once considered to be the solution to the devastating effects of the plague. It had failed to save those affected, but the technology itself worked and would come to serve a purpose in intergalactic space missions. One clone, an exact copy of the ship's captain would be created and put in cryosleep along with the original, and in the event the real captain did not survive, her clone would be awoken in her place to carry out the mission, unaware she was a clone, and the body of the original would quietly be disposed of.
If the original did survive, the clone would immediately be terminated, and disposed of.

-

“Disposed of,” the woman says. “How about that, huh?” She shrugs. “So, about the coffee...”

“You're only supposed to drink your...”

Your pee, is what Ellen almost says but doesn't.

“Your physiology enhancement gel,” she finishes.

“Oh. Right.”

“Where are you going now?” Ellen says as her clone heads for the staircase with a cup of the dreadful gel in her hand.

She just shrugs.

“R&R,” she says. “Maybe mom can help me blow off steam. You got this.”

“Unless,” she continues and turns to her, “you want to come with me?”

Ellen frowns and shakes her head.

“No. Of course not.”

She shrugs again and walks away.

-

When she's gone and Ellen is sure she can't hear her, she says “Mom, I need to send an ERB.”

“Recipient?”

“The academy.”

“Recording.”

“Project Echo malfunction,” Ellen says. “Clone and original both alive and awake. Requesting instructions on how to proceed.”

For a moment indignation and rage grips her, to the point she actually looks around for something to throw at the walls but there's nothing there so she just slams her fist on the desk.

“We’re also aware of what you fucking psychos are doing!”

“End of message,” she says after taking a few seconds to compose herself.

“Message sent,” MOM says.

It will be at least 48 hours before she can expect an answer, not including the time they will need to come up with one.

The ERB communication system launches a tiny capsule containing an artificial hyper-sphere that once it has reached safe distance from the ship, a minimum of 24 hours away, will create a microscopic wormhole which it then fires a laser beam through. The beam consists of the message encoded on the lightwaves which is instantly visible at the recipient's end. To answer they must in the same way launch a capsule to send a beam once it too has reached safe distance from their point, in this case earth and the academy.

-

48 hours. It will feel like forever, with this... this woman, this clone, this... herself.
Even though she's still angry, the thought makes her chuckle. How can I live with myself?
And when the 48 hours are done, and she gets her orders, then what? There's no need for two people on this mission, but the ship can sustain them both, so that will probably be the order she'll get.

'Keep going. Deliver the cargo. Distribute the goo. You don't just abort a mission and head back when the trip back home takes twenty-four years. You'll just have to learn to live with yourself.'

She chuckles again.

And apparently, according to the statistics, she's a lot less likely to defect now. Or kill herself.
All they have to do is stay clear of strife and dissension.
And...

She shakes her head to get rid of the thought.

Sleep. That's the first thing she's going to do. Then she'll just wait. Keep to herself. Her clone, the other Ellen, certainly seems to be fine with keeping to her self. They can just stay apart.

For six years. That's the mission's time frame. And then either return to earth, or send the ship back on autopilot while she settles on Mira Nin, her final stop.

Or maybe she can just drop her off on Egerius’ moon. It's only five weeks away.
But that place is a hell hole, nothing but pirates and hustlers and hookers. But maybe she won't mind.
Maybe she's the type.

“Where is she now?” Ellen says in an effort to interrupt her own thoughts.

“She's in the R&R,” MOM says.

“Is she... I mean, are you... You're... monitoring her right now, aren't you? And... controlling her. Her... activities, I mean?”

“Yes,” MOM says.

“Is there, like, a camera? Can you put what you see on the screens? I mean, could you? If you had to, I mean. If...”

“No,” MOM says. “The R&R is a protected personal area.”

“Of course,” Ellen says. “That's... that's good.”

There's a minute of silence, and to Ellen at least it is an embarrassed and awkward silence as she struggles to find something to say to justify her request.

“So, she and I are exactly the same?” she says, trying to make it sound like that's what she was getting at.

“Yes,” MOM says. “In every way. The only difference will be a small scar at the location of the consciousness transference injection, on the upper cervical region on the back of the neck of the clone, three tiny dots forming a triangle.”

“Okay, but why is she acting like that then? I'm not like that.” Ellen says.

“It's discussed in the Project Echo file,” MOM says.

“Oh for fuck's sake! Just tell me, mom.”

“Most of the clones created showed exaggerated personality traits different from the original. Short tempered and prone to anger even though the original was generally calm and collected. Suffering from deep depression even though the original was in good mental health. Or, which seems to be the case here, overly libidinous.”

“You mean horny all the time?”

“Yes. But the condition only lasts a few days, and the clone will gradually attain the same kind of personality as the original as their brains fully accept the consciousness transfer.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“Is it?” MOM says.

“What?”

“I said ‘it is’,” MOM says.

-

The next morning she wakes up convinced it was all a dream. Still with her eyes closed, at first she's relieved, but soon a strange feeling of loss and yearning arises, the feeling you may get after you've finished reading a good book and you realize you miss the company of the characters, even though they only really existed in your mind.
The feeling takes her by surprise, and she opens her eyes to get away from it.

Her clone is sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her.
And she’s still naked. Of course.

“I snore,” she says.

“What?”

“You snore. Which means I snore, I guess.”

“What are you doing here? Get out.”

“But in a cute way,” she continues. “We’re cute when we sleep. And sexy.”

“Get out!”

“Oh come on,” the clone says. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

Something squeezes the inside of Ellen’s right thigh under the covers, and she realizes that the clone has been stroking and caressing her there this whole time and she hadn’t even noticed.

She leans down, as if she intends to kiss her, and Ellen feels her hand move upwards.

“I am,” she whispers. “So I know you are.”

“I’m not,” Ellen says, but her mouth has gone dry and it sounds unconvincing.

“Just think about it.”

Ellen’s clone is still whispering.

“I know everything. I’ll do everything exactly right. And so will you.”

Her fingers have reached her pussy now and she’s gently dragging her knuckles up and down her pussy lips.

“I know what to say.”

She kisses her left cheek.

“I know where to touch.”

She kisses her other cheek.

“I know when to go slow and when to go fast. I know when to stop and when absolutely not to stop.”

She kisses her mouth, and then runs her tongue across her lips.

“Remember that morning when I tied myself up? One leg to the bed post, and then I bent my other leg way up so I could suck on my toes and I wrapped my left arm around it and tied them together, and then I wrapped the rope around my neck. Remember that?

I came so hard the knots tightened too much, and I missed the first two classes trying to untie myself. I would have been there all day if Keira hadn’t showed up. Remember how embarrassing it was?

I can tie you up like that. Even harder. And you won’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

While she’s talking she puts a finger inside her, moving it in and out slowly, and Ellen can feel how she pushes upwards just slightly every time she pulls it out. Just how she does it to herself.

And of course she remembers. She also remembers how the feeling of Keira pulling forcefully and almost imperiously at the rope and the knots while laughing hysterically trying to get her free had brought her to another orgasm and how the look on Keira's face told her she had noticed.

Maybe it’s the memory or maybe it’s the way the other Ellen now has her finger buried deep inside of her, pushing up while rubbing hard on her clit with her thumb, or maybe it’s both, of course it’s both because Ellen certainly has masturbated many times to that memory and this is a lot like that, it’s almost exactly like that, but she comes, even though she tries not to and at the exact right time her clone rubs faster with her thumb and at the exact right time she stops and lets go but keeps her finger inside of her and doesn’t pull it out until she has to, not too soon and not too late.

The clone leans down and kisses her again, and then she whispers “My turn,” and gets on the bed with her and as she does she puts one leg over Ellen's body so she straddles her with her knees by her shoulders and her pussy above her face.

“Please,” she says, and her pussy is beautiful and smooth and tempting and Ellen sticks her tongue out, mesmerized by the bizarre thought of essentially licking herself like this, but as the tip of her tongue grazes her pussy lips, and the taste is both familiar and strange at the same time, a combination of salt and sweet unlike anything else, she looks up and sees her own face stare back down at her in anticipation and excitement, and something inside her screams.

“No,” she snarls, and bucks and kicks to throw her off. “Get off. Get off of me!” And as soon as she is able to she rolls over and almost falls off the bed, but she stands up and immediately grabs her jumpsuit from where she left it on the floor the night before and starts to put it on as the other Ellen stares at her in confusion.

“Why?” she says.

“Because,” Ellen says. “Because... it's just wrong, okay? It's like... we're like... we're...”

But there aren't really any words to describe what they are and the words that comes the closest seems to be the words that are the most wrong.

“We just can't, okay? Just... stay away from me.”

And she turns around and almost runs out the door as her clone shouts after her.

“That is so not fair!”

-

She heads down to the med-bay to take a shower there. A cold one this time. Then she walks all the way up to the bridge.

“Mom,” she says as she reaches the top of the stairs.

“Yes, Captain?”

“What's for breakfast?”

“P.E.” MOM says. “It has only been nineteen hours. May I recommend the banana flavor?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

It tastes worse than the strawberry version, but she's hungry and even asks MOM for another cup, bringing them both with her. Between the captain's desk and a wall with a giant screen that most of the time acts as the ship's simulated front window, there's a small lounge area with a sofa and a coffee table, a recliner and a dining chair. Ellen sits down in the chair.

She opens her mouth to ask MOM for a systems check, eager to occupy her mind with the mundanities of her mission, when MOM says “If I may, Captain.”

“What?”

“You did the right thing not to engage in any further sexual activities. It would not sit well with the academy.”

“You were watching?”

“It is impossible for me not to.”

“Of course it is,” Ellen sighs. “She is still 'overly libidinous' it seems.”

“Apparently so, yes.”

Suddenly the screen on the wall changes from the computer generated view of the outside to a live view of Ellen's sleeping quarters. Her clone is still on her bed, standing on her knees with Ellen's pillow between them, riding it, grinding her pussy against it, caressing her breasts with one hand while feverishly pushing the pillow hard against herself with the other.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Ellen says. “Why are you showing me this?”

“I am simply accentuating the accuracy of your statement, Captain. Should I turn it off?”

“Yes! Of course!”

But the image stays, and Ellen watches as her clone moves her hand from her breasts down her body and around to her back, finding its way to her pussy from behind and as she plunges two fingers inside herself she falls forward, face down on the bed as she humps the pillow faster and faster.

Ellen remembers how at the academy she often had to sleep without her pillow, resting her head on her arm or sometimes on a corner of her duvet because her pillow was too wet and clammy to sleep on after usually two or three orgasms on it. She remembers trying to be quiet and sometimes failing at it and how she then would slow down, but not stop, and listen nervously after any signs that Keira had heard her.

And sometimes wishing she had heard her.
And was watching her.
As she herself now was watching.

“Mom, did you hear me? Turn it off!” she says and the screen immediately goes black.

-

She's alone on the bridge all day, at times so caught up in her work she forgets she's not as alone as she's supposed to be, but more and more she finds herself gazing towards the stairs behind her, wondering why she hasn't been interrupted.

Even when she's finally allowed to eat, the other Ellen is nowhere to be seen, and after her second meal of the day, a tasteless porridge MOM insists is a 'root vegetable soup', she decides to go look for her.

Of course, she could just ask MOM where she is, but something tells her MOM would take the opportunity to give her another unnecessarily visual answer.

On the deck below she peeks in through the porthole of the door to her clone's sleeping quarters.
She's on her bed, dressed this time, in a jumpsuit similar to the one Ellen is wearing, and she seems to be asleep. She pushes the button on the com link by the door.

“Hello?” she says.

There's no answer, so she pushes the button again, but then she realizes she has no idea what to call her, and releases it.

'Other Ellen' sounds a bit... rude.

'Clone girl'?

'Cloney'?

She pushes it again.

“Hello, Ellen?” she says. “Are you okay?”

When she doesn't get an answer, she peeks through the porthole again. She hasn't moved. In fact, she doesn't even seem to be breathing, and suddenly Ellen realizes that she's dead. She's killed herself. Because she couldn't deal with being just a clone, maybe, or because Ellen didn't want to sleep with her, because she told her to stay away.

“Mom, open the door!” she shouts and the door isn't even halfway open when she runs through, bumping her shoulders on it and the jamb.

“Ellen!” she screams. “No!”

The other Ellen jumps up and out of bed in one move, staring confused and startled at her.

“What?” she says. “What's going on?”

“I...” Ellen stutters. “I thought you were...”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

“You thought I was dead.”

“No I didn't.”

“You thought I had killed myself.”

“No.”

“Over you.”

“No.”

Her clone smiles, first just a baffled, crooked smile and then a grin.

“Oh, woe is me,” she says mockingly, falling backwards onto the bed, holding the back of her hand theatrically to her forehead.

“The other Ellen doeth not love me,” she continues. “How shalt I go on?”

“Stop it,” Ellen says.

“Oh here wilt I set up my everlasting rest,” she says even more theatrically, raising one arm to the ceiling. “Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace.”

She stretches her arms out at Ellen.

“I said stop,” Ellen says and pushes her hands away but she's actually giggling now and when her clone grabs her arms and pulls her down to her she lets herself fall and then roll over until she's underneath her.

“Oh, wherefore art thou Other Ellen?” her clone says.

“Yeah, about that,” Ellen says. “You're the other Ellen, remember?”

“Shut up,” she whispers and then she kisses her passionately, and this time Ellen kisses her back just as passionately and deeply, grabbing her head, pulling her so close it almost hurts, their tongues swirling around each other, sucking on her lips, licking her face, and then she starts thrusting her hips against her, grinding her pussy against her thigh and her clone does the same to her, grabbing her ass and pulling her harder in at each thrust as she buries her face in Ellen's neck.

“I'm coming,” she groans.

“Mhm,” is all the answer Ellen can give as she comes too.

“Oh, fuuuu....” they both wail in unison..

When it's over, her clone rolls around on her back next to Ellen, panting and heaving just as she does.

“So,” she says after a while. “What did you really want? When you found me dead, I mean.”

“You haven't eaten anything all day,” Ellen says. “I just came to tell you you can eat now. And you don't have to drink that disgusting gel stuff anymore.”

“Oh, good,” she says. “I'm starving. What's for breakfast?”

“Dinner,” Ellen says.

“What's for dinner?”

“Root vegetable soup,” Ellen says.

“Yummy! Let's go.”

She grabs Ellen's hand and together they run up to the bridge.

-

They spend the evening like that, together. Talking, sharing memories in a way not even the closest of soul mates will ever manage, from the same point of view, in perfect concurrence of every feeling, every reaction, of every accusation and condemnation and of every praise and exoneration.

Sometimes only a word is enough, sometimes only a touch. And as the hours pass the touches become more frequent, more incessant, and when they finally return to the bed it's in unspoken agreement, with just a look and a brief kiss to speak of shared lust and burning desire, a hunger for the qualified satisfaction one can only give to oneself but now with the unexpectedness of an other's actions and decisions.

The night passes without sleep. Only when the sheets are soaked through with their sweat and juices, when the air around them is so full of their scents and exhalations it's hard to breathe and their muscles are trembling in exhaustion do they fall asleep in each other's arms.

-

Ellen is the first one to wake up, and she carefully crawls out of the bed so as not to wake her lover and then she tiptoes tot he bathroom.

Just as she sits down to pee, MOM says “Captain”.

“What?”

“You are needed on the bridge, Captain.”

“What for?”

“I just received communications from the academy.”

“Oh,” Ellen says. “I forgot about that. Give me a minute.”

Three minutes later she's on the bridge, strangely anxious about what the academy's decision will be.

“What's the message?” she says.

“Displaying message,” MOM says and the same two words appear on every screen in front of Ellen.

She's suddenly ice cold all over. Her heart races and her throat ties itself in a knot, her hands begin to shake and for a long time she's convinced she's going to throw up as she reads the message again and again.

'Terminate clone.'

-

“I can't. I won't,” Ellen says. “How can they ask that? I won't do it.”

“It is a Code Red directive,” MOM says. “They are not asking.”

“What does that mean?”

“Failure to comply will result in the dishonorable termination of your mission. You'll be removed from your duties and a bounty for your DOA capture will be issued.”

“DOA?”

“Dead or alive.”

-

She’s still on the bridge, slowly and hesitantly gliding her fingers across the holographic keyboard on the desk, entering the commands MOM had given her when they finally agreed on the plan, that is to say, when MOM had insisted over and over, explaining again and again the consequences if she refused until she finally caved, sobbing and sniveling, when the other Ellen joins her.

“Command accepted,” MOM says. “Execute?”

“No!” Ellen shouts. “Just… wait.”

“What’s going on?” her clone says.

“Nothing,” Ellen says, turning to her, quickly wiping her tears away and trying to smile.

“Are you crying?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but it’s nothing. Just stressed, I guess. Tired.”

“Mom,” the other Ellen says strictly. “Be nice.”

“Yes,” MOM says, and pauses a second before she adds “Captain”, and it sounds almost cold and hostile, maybe even sarcastic.

The clone rolls her eyes and smiles as she puts her arms around Ellen.

“Why don’t you go take a nap?” she says. “I’ll do today’s tasks. We have to figure out how we’re going to work together on this ship anyway.”

“No,” Ellen says. “I’m fine. And I don’t care about the tasks.”

She puts her hands on her clone’s shoulders and stares into her eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers.

“You’re not.”

They kiss. Ellen lets her hands slide down her back to her ass, squeezing it, pulling her crack open with one hand as the fingers on her other hand finds her asshole. When she sticks the tip of her middle finger in, her clone moans into her mouth.

“Deeper,” she says.

“I know,” Ellen says.

She pushes her finger deeper in, as far as she can while she moves her other hand to her pussy and starts rubbing her clit between two fingers. She moans louder, biting Ellen’s upper lip as she does, and when Ellen pushes the two fingers in her pussy she comes like that, biting so hard it hurts.
But Ellen doesn't mind.

“Wow,” she says when her orgasm subsides, still with Ellen’s lip between her teeth. “But I can top that.”

She grabs Ellen by the shoulders and spins her around, and then she bends her over and pushes her face down on the desk. Holding her head down she slaps her ass a couple of times before she puts a finger in her own mouth and then plunges it into Ellen's pussy.

A single “Oh!” escapes Ellen as she feels her clone's tongue on her asshole, and then a loud “Ah!” as she pushes her thumb in.

Forced down on the desk and finger fucked in both holes, it doesn't take long for her to come.

The other Ellen bends down to her and kisses her cheek, then bites her earlobe lightly before she whispers “Think you can do better?”

Ellen gets up and turns around and pushes her out to the middle of the floor.

“Lay down,” she says, and her clone does so willingly.

Ellen kneels down between her legs and then grabs her knees, lifts them and pushes them up towards her clone's shoulders.

“Ooh, nice one,” she says and grabs her own knees so Ellen can let go and go to work licking her pussy. After several minutes just lapping away at her clit she spreads her ass cheeks and puts her tongue on her asshole, swirling the tip around the edge before she sticks her tongue in. It doesn't go very far, so she spreads her ass cheeks further apart and pushes her tongue deeper. The muscles in her tongue aches from the strain but still she darts it in and out as fast as she can.

“Oh, fuck yes,” the other Ellen says and starts to rub her pussy, her hand moving frantically up and down on it, faster and faster until she comes.

“Don't stoooop, oh fuuuuck...!”

So Ellen keeps going. And she comes again.

-

Ellen takes her hands to help her up on her feet, and when they're standing face to face they kiss again.

“You know,” her clone says. “I think I love...”

“Warning!” MOM suddenly says and they both jump.

“Warning! Hydraulic failure in escape pod dock. Decompression a high probability.”

“No,” Ellen says. “Mom, don't.”

“Mom, what's wrong?”

“It seems to be a cracked pipe connector,” MOM says. “Likely from metal fatigue.”

“Then fix it.”

“The flow must be redirected first. This can only be done manually.”

“Seriously? Fuck this old ship.”

“I’ll go,” Ellen says.

“Nah,” her clone says. “You do everything. You’re tired, remember? I got this.”

“No. No, I’m not” Ellen says. “I didn’t mean that. I’ll do it.”

The other Ellen kisses her.

“Nope. I’ll go. I promise you’ll get a chance to spend any extra energy in just a few minutes.”

She kisses her again and heads for the staircase.

“No, don’t!” Ellen says. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think… I think mom is lying,” Ellen says.

“Nice try,” she laughs. “I’m going and that’s that. Mom can’t lie, you know that.”

“She can if I program her to,” Ellen says.

“What? Honey, stop, this is ridiculous. I’ll go. You’re not alone, it’s you and me together from now on.”

She turns around and runs down the stairs.

-

Ellen is frozen in place, hands shaking, tears filling up her eyelids.

“I told you to wait,” she whimpers.

“I waited,” MOM says.

Now the tears are running down Ellen’s cheeks. They reach the corners of her mouth and she can taste them. A strange combination of salt and sweet.

She dashes forward and runs after her.

-

She reaches the door to the dock as it slides shut and she can hear her talking just before it closes completely.

“Mom, I don’t see it. Are you sure it’s…”

“No!” Ellen shouts. “Mom, I’ve changed my mind. Open the door.”

But MOM doesn’t answer. Instead the porthole in the door starts flashing with the red warning light inside, and an alarm sounds.

“Escape hatch opening. Decompression in 59… 58…”

It’s MOM’s voice, but now devoid of anything reassuring or motherly.

The other Ellen’s face appear in the window. She looks confused, but only slightly worried. Her lips move but Ellen can’t hear her.

Ellen pushes the button on the com link.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you doing?” her clone answers.

“I’m sorry. She made me do it. Mom, open the door!”

But nothing happens.

“Mom, open the door. Do as I say! I’ve changed my mind.”

But MOM’s only response is the countdown.

“47… 46…”

“Mom! Please!”

“Code Red directives outrank your orders, Captain,” MOM says.

“42… 41…”

“Why are you doing this?” the other Ellen says through the com. “What did I do?”

Ellen shakes her head.

“No. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I made the wrong choice. Mom, please!”

“33… 32…”

“The pod!” Ellen shouts with her thumb on the com. “Get in the pod!”

Her clone turns around and looks at the escape pod behind her. When she looks back at Ellen her eyes have gone cold and emotionless.

“27… 26…”

“Hurry!” Ellen says. “There’s a cryo chamber in it. Someone will find you. Please.”

But all she does is take one step back and cross her arms in front of her chest, staring at Ellen.

“Please, hurry! Take the escape pod.”

“You are deviating from our plan,” MOM says. “This is not what we agreed on.”

“Fuck you, mom! I hate you! Ellen, please!”

But the other Ellen doesn’t move.

“18… 17…”

“Please,” Ellen says. “Get in the pod. Please.”

“14… 13…”

“I’m sorry! Ellen, please. Please don’t die.”

“10… 9…”

Her clone turns her back to her, walks up the ramp to the escape pod and closes the hatch behind her without looking back.

“3… 2… 1…”

Suddenly the dock goes dark and there's a hissing sound coming through the door and the walls. When the light comes back on the escape pod is gone.

-

In the bathroom in her sleeping quarters on board the Aphrodite, Ellen stares at herself in the mirror. She’ll try to sleep, but know she won’t be able to. Her eyes are red and sunken, with grey patches surrounding them. Her lips are dry and cracked, her forehead wrinkled. She tries to find the other Ellen’s face in hers, but it’s not there.

She turns on the tap and splashes cold water in her face and on her head. It doesn’t help. Her hands glide across her scalp and to the back of her neck where she unconsciously scratches a scar she doesn’t know is there. Three tiny dots forming a triangle.