Humans were picking seed pots of the plant in the field. “Who are they?” I asked.
“They are human clones,” Clive said calmly. “Born to be servants.”
“Clones? How do they…?” I was appalled.
“Make clones?” He looked at me askew. “We use human DNA, of course.”
“Where did you get the human DNA? From the droopy-eared Makumbans?”
“Idiot. We get it from real humans,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Did people come here to work from Earth?” I said even though I guessed that they got the human DNA from the victims of the wrecked Voyager B-7.
“Pilot, let’s go!” Clive ordered.
In the rumpom, the flying vehicle, I continued vexing him with questions. “Why do they waste human potentials? I mean they can be doctors, scientists, artists and so on, huh?”
“They are tall and stronger than Makumbans so they are used as soldiers, farmers and security guards,” he said as if it were justified.
(excerpted from THE SPACE HERMITS)