And a few years before Ulen Hibiki would end up standing like a lump of coal, staring at his newborn son - there was another father who was having, well...
Problems. Of the father and son sort, that is.
"You made a clone. Illegally."
"Yes, Father."
"And you botched it."
"...The bloody scientists did, Father! I didn't - "
The large ultra-luxury car shook his front part, annoyedly.
"Al. Da. Flaga. You had a genetic copy - a clone - made, illegally as all hell, and then you just didn't notice that the scientists in question that you paid a hell of a lot of money to make your to-be Perfect Heir were just itching for any excuse, any at all, to try out their brand-new fast-maturing tech that turned out to be so buggy that it wasn't funny. Is. That. Correct."
His son growled. "Yesss..."
"And now they can't stop him from maturing at more then twice the normal rate. And there's no guarantee what so ever that they'd figure out how to stop it before he dies of old age at the ripe age of - what, 25?" The old Car whispered. "You moron."
Al Da Flaga only hissed in reply. Oh Father, Father, let me count the ways...
"You bloody moron, to think that any son of mine could be that gullible - why bother making a clone in the first place, if you couldn't even get a proper genetic sample from when you were young, with nice long life-indicaters - oh, you..." The old Car panted.
"Why the hell couldn't you just have had a - a Coordinator child or something made, if you were going to go the blackmarket route anyway! You pay all that money and risk being jailed or worse and - and end up with a defective product? For shame, Al!"
Let me count the ways in which I hate thee...
"And now you have - it - in your house. Were you live. With your wife, at least part of the year, anyway - or have you forgotten that little complication? Or that - son of yours? What in the world is wrong with you?"
The old Car hissed. Al felt very much like hissing back.
"Why the hell couldn't you get rid of it, once it became clear it was defective? ...You don't really think they'd ever get the runaway maturing and aging stabilized enough for it to be a proper heir to you, do you? And now you have it in the house, and - servants talk. You know they do."
Oh, yes, he did know. Al snarled at his father, then, showing metal at last.
"His name is Rau, Father."
"You..." His Father looked poleaxed. "You named it. You're crazy."
Oh, don't worry Father, I know just where I got that from -
Al Da Flaga reeved his engines, then. "He's mine, not yours. Even though he has half your genes. - Well, you knew that already - "
"What? Wait, wait, you can't mean to - have you forgotten that you happened to be married, perhaps?"
Oh, he remembered that, as if anybody would ever let him forget -
"You don't really think - you know her family, Al!"
Oh, yes, he did, didn't he just?
And then, that voice, yes.
"...Alllll! Husbaaand, wheeere aaaare youuuuuuu...."
A deep foghorn of a voice, floating across the dunes...
" - There." His Father bared his metal, as well, smirking. "You really think you could explain to that female just what that young Car who looks just like you is all about?"
Al Da Flaga looked at his Father, then, really and truly. For the first time in what seemed like ages.
He was growing old.
"...Aaaallll...Cloneleeet..."
Aaaah.
So that was what Father looked like all gap-jawed. Good to know.
And Al Da Flaga smiled at his Father, at long last from the heart, and revved up his engines.
"This conversation is over."
The 'clonelet' in question caught up with him halfway home.
"...She's...calling."
"I'm not deaf, Rau." Stupid, on the other hand...
"And my name isn't 'clonelet'."
"Yes son."
"...I'm your son?"
Al looked at the luxury sports sedan shape in the moonlight, so like himself, and sighed.
"Well, as far as I can tell, genetically you're my 'younger identical twin brother', but what it boils down to in practical terms is that you have a choice of being my son or his."
Al waved a wheel in his Father's general direction.
"Awwk..."
So he had been eavesdropping. Well, not that Al was surprised... It was Rau, after all.
And Rau...knew things already. About his projected lifespan and such, anyhow...
Rau wheeled away, accelerating with a sudden sprint. Al raced after him.
Alissa Tia Flaga was waiting for both of them, bulky shape unmoving in the sands.
"Husband. Clonelet. You're late."
"...My name is not 'clonelet'."
"Hmph. Your name may be 'Rau' or 'Al Junior' or whatever, but you are a young clone, which makes you a clonelet."
Al watched his clone - son - grumble that 'clonelet' wasn't even a proper word, and sighed.
"And now to bed, young Car - really, Al. You shouldn't have gone driving with him this late."
Well, going driving with Rau had not really been his idea, tonight, but...
Al watched his wife shoo Rau off, and sighed. Well, in some ways, he was gratified that once she had reconsidered stomping him to bits - him as in Al himself, of course, not Rau - , his wife had actually seemed to like his clone, oddly enough, but -
"And no setting fires to things, Rau!"
"Yes, yes..."
Alissa was looking at him, bulky, big, square and every inch a SUV descended from a long line of military vehicles.
"He's such a firebug."
Well, yes, Al did know that. ...Not that he'd really expected such things to be genetic, but...
"...You should try something like trailing a firecan after you, you know. He'd love it, I'm sure."
Eeeee. Al recoiled in very real horror. He was a luxury sports sedan from a illustrious family of ultra-luxury cars here, even if his father nor the rest of his family for that matter ever thought he was luxurious enough or classy enough or - Real luxury cars do not burn rubber, Al Da Flaga! For shame! - and...
And...
Al Da Flaga laughed, then.
He ended up trailing a firecan after all for Rau's birthday, around and around, and who cared if he ended looking like a yahoo from the boondocks, anyhow.
And yes, Rau did love it. It figured.
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(Posted Wed, 27 Dec 2006 18:02)
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