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“TIM, STOP!” Dick shouted. “You can’t clone Conner!” He rushed into the cave/temple/cavern full of aesthetically arranged high tech things that probably wouldn’t explode. Probably.
Tim looked up from a console where numbers and squiggly icons were streaming across a monitor. “Well, not NOW, I can’t.That would be rude,” Tim said. “Family planning must be a mutual agreement.”
“What?” Dick asked.
Tim tilted his head. “I’m not sure, but I think Conner wants a big family, you know, because his progenitors treated him like crap? I’m pretty sure he wants to raise some kids who know they’re loved, and respected, and don’t have to kiss-ass just to get a name. Since we’re both boys, cross cloning is the way I was thinking we’d go.”
“Um, yes, I guess it would be.” Dick said. His hands fell to his sides, making him look really out of place in his second-hand Batman costume. “Conner is dead,” he said gently.
“That’s what they want us to think,” Tim said as he returned his attention to the console. “People don’t DIE, they just go off on secret missions. Or have amnesia and wind up working as a barista in the next town over. Or get kidnapped by their long-lost evil identical twin who seeks to claim the family fortune.” On another monitor a series of telenovelas and other soap operas were playing in a sort of checkerboard view.
“So… you’re not cloning Conner.”
“I already said that. When he comes back, if he likes the idea, I’ll combine our genetics randomly- that’s not really CLONING, you know? Two parents? Just because we have to fudge things a bit to make them work doesn’t mean they’d be carbon copies. Even CLONING doesn’t work that way. ‘Copy Cat’, the first successful cloned cat, was a brown tabby, but her genetic donor was a calico. X-inactivation and epigenetic re-programming which occurs before implantation can cause differences in gene expression.” Tim looked at Dick.
Dick blinked. “Um, yes. So a Connor clone could…what… have like, more freckles?”
“That’s what you take from it?” Tim shook his head. “I am DOING SCIENCE here.”
“Yeah, but if you’re not cloning Conner, ” Dick pointed to the nearest big clear tube where a definitely human shaped body was floating in something the color of lime Jello. It was wearing a black Speedo and a clear plastic face mask hooked up to a tube that is probably providing air. Hard to tell, air is invisible. “What’s that, then?”
“Mini-me,” Tim replied. “I gave myself permission to clone myself. He’s coming along nicely.”
Mini-me turned to face them and waved.
“He’s at least six feet tall.”
“Mini-me had a better childhood,” Tim said. “He’s already agreed to help out with the vigilante stuff. I might even have time to return to school. I’m hoping the next one will be interested in taking over as CEO at Wayne Enterprises. MMM… god, maybe I could even get like six hours of sleep a night. That would be bliss.”
“I can see the benefits.” Dick sighed. “Still, this is… mad scientist territory.”
Tim reached under the console and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Dick. Read the contracts.”
“What?” Dick took the papers and started leafing through them.
“Pre-natal agreement. Sign this, and you give permission to be cloned. In return you promise to financially and emotionally support the clone or clones to at least 18 years post decanting even if they choose not to work as vigilantes, giving you a break from Batmanning, or do whatever the heck it is you’re doing with Damian, attempting to reduce his lethality. A noble goal, I wish you well, I’m just not going to risk my neck with it. Since this cloning process also educates the clone with the memories and general personality of the original, chances are pretty good they’ll agree to do what you would do.”
Dick’s mouth dropped open for a minute. Then he sat down on the nearest unused computer chair and began reading.
“Do you have a pen?”