“It"s a neuraplant-induced coma,” Dr. Boris Todurov said, looking amongst his readouts and then at the four somber faces staring at him.
Fred wondered what they looked like, the four of them now in plain allsuits, only Feo"s age really distinguishing him from the rest. Four conscious mutaclones with a fifth unconscious one in a conditioning cocoon.
“What can you do?” Sarina asked, looking down at the inert form on the gravgurney.
Fred knew she hadn"t slept well for the last five days, waking at night nearly every hour to check Anya"s condition in spite of the constant watch the others had kept. The five days it"d taken them to follow the Scutum Arm back toward the galactic core had been exhausting for them all, their quarters cramped, their nerves frayed, and privacy non-existent.
The
