[She's seated on a couch in the corner of the room, legs crossed and hair pulled up into a bun with a sharpened pencil thrust through it to hold it in place. Her glasses hang from a chain around her neck, leaving her pale gaze unfiltered as she looks at Tup with a cool, evaluative expression.]
CT-5385. [That's a serial number, not a name; it's curious enough to get a spark of interest showing through her cool reserve. The tip of her pen taps against her notebook.]
Gertrude Robinson, Archivist emeritus. [She smiles.] It's not a common position, but then, most old Archivists die.
[And she'd gone to some effort to ensure she would not be one of the Archivists who could not die. She tilts her head, considering him.]
Shall we trade, Tup? Tell me something about yourself in return.
Clone army. [What an interesting thought. Technology continues to feed the old fears, doesn't it? Identity, the reduction of self to mere flesh, the indiscriminate maw of war. A smile flicks over her face, private and razor-sharp, before she looks back over at him.]
That does explain the serial number. I have a few other people here from my world; and you?
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Re: No worries! Sorry about the delay replying...
[He is.]
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Do have a seat. I believe it was 'Tup'?
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I'm CT-5385
[He relaxes some and manages a smile.]
Yeah, call me Tup.
[He sits on the other end of the couch, leaving some space between them.]
It's good to meet you. Tell me something about yourself, then.
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Gertrude Robinson, Archivist emeritus. [She smiles.] It's not a common position, but then, most old Archivists die.
[And she'd gone to some effort to ensure she would not be one of the Archivists who could not die. She tilts her head, considering him.]
Shall we trade, Tup? Tell me something about yourself in return.
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All right. You go first though.
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Very well, I'm a soldier in a clone army. Most people here seem to find where I'm from very remote. I was fighting in a war before I came here.
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That does explain the serial number. I have a few other people here from my world; and you?
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And it's a birth number.
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Five thousand is a smaller number than I would have imagined worth producing, if someone were to go to the trouble of cloning soldiers.