“Remember that they’re not like you nor I, boy,” Uncle Abraham said, his voice dusty as ash. “They’re not human. Elder Samuel says the soul stays with the original body, and that’s the real reason clones are classified Subhuman.”

Sean buttoned his collar and adjusted its two ornamental pips. The uniform had come out of its package smelling of sharp chemicals and acrid plastic, cheap gear suitable to his low status occupation. The front hall mirror showed him pale and nervous, but ready to go on his first assignment. He’d hoped for better than working with clones. Jeb had made steward on a cruiser; Hank was going to be a tug pilot. He hadn’t thought to surpass them, though he’d hoped it. Instead, here he was, ready to embark to Asiu, a planet cold and dark, and ready for transforming by the clone teams he’d be handling.

He ignored Abraham. What had the old man ever given him beside disapproval and grief? Now Sean was taking himself and his shameful activities away, leaving Abraham with nothing to disapprove of. Sean didn’t look at Abraham as he said, “They’re tools, Uncle. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be using them, not socializing with them.”

Abraham grunted deep in his chest. “Just you wait,” he said. “They were invented by the Red Hand, that’s why we’ve never used them here on God’s New Promise. How long is the trip again?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks for solitude and prayer, praise be,” Abraham said.

“I’m going in cold sleep.”

“Cold sleep! Why?”

“Maybe I don’t think I have that much to pray about.”

The elderly man grabbed the younger’s shoulder, pulling him around so they stood face to face. “God sees into your heart, boy. You pray to him to keep you strong. To help you resist your foolish ways.”

"Saint Francis said when we pray to God, we must be seeking nothing," he said.

Abraham said, "He was a Catholic. Here we know what prayer is for. We ask God for everything, and he gives it to us, including strength to resist temptation."

Sean's face burned. He hoped his uncle wouldn't guess at the evidence of those foolish ways in his duffel bag. Abraham had never approved of the hobby of perfumery, calling it weak and decadent. Evidence of civilization's soft taint.

But his uncle simply released him, stepped back, and shook his hand once, a single firm clasp and pump.