Duplication Plethora: A Science Fiction Story

In the year 2052 Marcia Griffin made her first trip to New York City, to meet a college friend of hers named Monique who had got a job in the city. Marcia got out of the train station around noon, and walked into a crowded little cafe near Times Square, to get some lunch.

After sitting down to eat at a table with two chairs, she was soon approached by a man about 30 years old, who asked, “Mind if I sit here?” Before she could say anything, the man sat down. The man started to talk, telling Marcia all about himself.

“I work for a financial firm, and make damn good money, if I do say so myself,” said the man. “My friends all say that I'm the most intelligent person they ever met. So I'm sure you'd find it extremely interesting to have dinner with me, and I'd treat you to a real nice meal. How about giving me your hologram number so we can set something up.”

Not interested in this pushy egotist, Marcia said, “No, thanks.” She picked up the rest of her food, and left the cafe. Using her wristband, she summoned a driverless taxi to take her to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The museum was much more computerized than in the old days, when the Greek section would only have old sculptures and vases. Marcia entered a holographic projection room in the Greek section, and saw the walls kind of appear to dissolve. She now was in a holographic projection that gave her a 360 degree view showing just what it looked to be outside the Parthenon in Athens just after it had been built.

The man next to her began to talk, saying, “You know, I have a master's degree in history, and I know all about this history stuff.” Marcia looked to her right. The man looked exactly like the same man she had seen in the cafe. But now his clothes looked different.

“I went to one of the absolute top universities, and got a master's degree in art,” said the man, carelessly changing his story. “Got top-notch grades. What do you say we see the rest of the museum together? I could give you all kinds of fascinating insights.”

“No, thanks,” said Marcia. Another brassy egotist, she thought to herself. She saw some more of the museum, and then left. After walking around in Central Park, she decided to walk to the subway, which she had never been on before.

It was now rush hour, and the subway was very crowded. The commuters were packed together tightly. On the subway Marcia was surprised to see right next to her a man whose face looked just like that of the man she had talked to in the cafe and the man she had talked to in the museum.

“You're giving me that kind of 'I've seen his face before' look,” said the man. “I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you're so lucky to be seeing me again."

Marcia felt the man's hand moving up her skirt, and squeezing her behind. Marcia slapped the man's face.

“Keep your filthy paws to yourself!” Marcia barked. “How dare you take such liberties!”

“What are you talking about?” said the man. “I never even touched you.”

Marcia got off on the next stop, and walked up to the street. She thought to herself: I can't believe the bad luck I'm having with men here in New York City.

Marcia asked herself: how could the same man have appeared in three different places in the city?

Then she remembered something that made her anxious. She remembered an old episode of the television series The Twilight Zone. In the episode a woman was driving her car, and kept seeing the same creepy hitchhiker, no matter where she drove. The woman finally found out that she was dead, and that the hitchhiker was actually Death itself, who had come to pick her up. Marcia thought to herself: maybe something similar has happened to me. Maybe I've died, and this sleazy pick-up artist I keep seeing is really Mr. Death here to pick me up and take me away to the realm of the dead.

When Marcia met her friend Monique, she mentioned her experiences that day, and told what she had thought. She asked Monique: “Do I look kind of pale or transparent, like someone who died?”

“Don't be silly, that wasn't Mr. Death you were seeing,” said Monique. “You merely ran into a few of the Trump clones. They're all over the city, many thousands of them.”

“The Trump clones?” asked Marcia.

“Way back in the days, decades ago, one of the last things that Donald Trump did as president was to sign the Cloning Authorization Act making the cloning of humans legal,” explained Monique. “After Trump died, they examined his will. It specified that most of his money should be used to make 50,000 genetically identical clones of himself, so that there could be Donald Trump clones on television for the next 80 years. No one was very surprised when they found this out.”