As usual, I was unarmed. Not that it would have made much difference if I was carrying — I'm not a great shot. Lousy, in fact. Lousy at hand-to-hand stuff, too. Haven't found what I'm really good at yet, but know it's not shooting and punching.

We stepped off the edge into the downchute and drifted dutifully to the center lane as the draft sank us toward the lobby. We were passing the 15th floor when two roguey types, big and burly in loose-fitting jumpsuits, caught up to us by pulling themselves down to our level using the hand rungs. Noticed a slight bulge in the left armpit area of each jump. The pair could have been brothers except that the fellow on the right had a big red nose and the one directly to my left was missing the little finger on his right hand. Takes a certain kind of person to refuse a transplant or a prosthesis for a missing piece. Not the kind of person I’d want to argue with.

Didn't like this at all. Touched the clone's arm and spoke in as conversational a tone as I could manage.

"Let's get off at the fifth and see if your mother's in."

She gave me a startled look but before she could reply, a meaty four-fingered hand clasped my left shoulder and a gravelly voice said in my ear: "Your next stop's Ground Level."

"Filamentous," I said. "Never did like your mother, anyway."

"What's wrong with you?" the clone said.

"Nothing. Just do what these nice men tell you."

She glanced right and left and suddenly looked frightened rather than curious. Which confirmed my suspicion that she knew a lot more than she was telling.

Duped by a clone! Set up, maybe. Bad enough to have to work for one, but to be fooled by one. What a jog I was.

As we swung out of the chute at mall level and gravity took hold again, I took her arm like she was Realpeople. Couldn't see how anyone knowing she was a clone would help me.