He gave me a gentle slug in the shoulder. “Thanks.”
We waited in companionable silence until the doc arrived.
He bustled in, his smile lines drawn up into a sour purse and waited expectantly. I left Dan on the patio while I took a seat on the bed.
“I’m cracking up or something,” I said. “I’ve been acting erratically, sometimes violently. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I’d rehearsed the speech, but it still wasn’t easy to choke out.
“We both know what’s wrong, Julius,” the doc said, impatiently. “You need to be refreshed from your backup, get set up with a fresh clone and retire this one. We’ve had this talk.”
“I can’t do it,” I said, not meeting his eye. “I just can’t—isn’t there another way?”
The doc shook his head. “Julius, I’ve got limited resources to allocate. There’s a perfectly good cure for what’s ailing you, and if you won’t take it, there’s not much I can do for you.”
“But what about meds?”
“Your problem isn’t a chemical imbalance, it’s a mental defect. Your brain is broken, son. All that meds will do is mask the symptoms, while you get worse. I can’t tell you what you want to hear, unfortunately. Now, If you’re ready to take the cure, I can retire this clone immediately and get you restored into a new one in 48 hours.”
“Isn’t there another way? Please? You have to help me—I can’t lose all this.” I couldn’t admit my real reasons for being so attached to this singularly miserable chapter in my life, not even to myself.