17
I walked into Doctor Harold Schrader's office the next morning and found him across the room, bent over a screen.
“Ah, you're here finally. I'm glad you got my com.”
After the speech on the legislature steps last night, I'd made the trip out to the Andalusia Clone Factory to see Doctor Schrader.
When I told him what had happened at the way station and at Tortosa University, he'd sat up abruptly in his chair and said, “That's wonderful!”
Once he'd recovered from his excitement, I'd explained what I wanted.
“So, you think it's something in your hands that reverses the imprint?” Schrader had asked. When I described in detail what the process had looked like, he'd agreed. And then we'd spent the next hour experimenting on freshly imprinted clones. I'd been quite careful to remain ment
