Redshirts

Neil says. “It’s kind of a myth. And even if it weren’t, the answer would be: As many as God needed to. What’s your question, Sam?”
    “Imagine there’s a woman who is like a fictional character, but she’s real,” Samantha says, and holds up her hand when she sees Neil about to ask a question. “Don’t ask how, I don’t know. Just accept that she’s the way I’ve described her. Now suppose that woman is based on someone in our real world—looks the same, sounds the same, from all outward appearances they could be the same person. The first woman wouldn’t exist without having the second woman as a model. Are they the same person? Are they the same soul?”
    Neil furrows his brow and Samantha is reminded of him at age sixteen and has to suppress a giggle. “The first woman is based on the second woman, but she’s not a clone?” he asks. “I mean, they don’t take genetic material from one to make the other.”
    “I don’t think so, no,” Samantha says.
    “But the first woman is definitely made from the second woman in some ineffable way?” Neil asks.
    “Yes,” Samantha says.
    “I’m not going to ask for details of how that gets managed,” Neil says. “I’m just going to take it on faith.”
    “Thank you,” Samantha says.
    “I can’t speak for the entire Catholic Church on this, but my own take on it would be no, they’re not,” Neil says. “This is a gross oversimplification, but the Church teaches us that those things that have in themselves the potential to become a human being have their own souls. If you were to make a clone of yourself, that clone wouldn’t be you, any more than identical twins are one person. Each has its own thoughts and personal experiences and are more than the sum of their genes. They’re their own person, and have their own individual souls.”
    “You think it would be the same for her?” Samantha asks.
    Neil looks at Samantha oddly but answers her question. “I’d think so. This other person has her own memories and experiences, yes?” Samantha nods. “If she has her own life, she has her own soul. The relationship you describe is somewhere between a child and an identical sibling—based on someone else but only based, not repeating them exactly.”
    “What if they’re separated in time?” Samantha asks. “Would it be reincarnation then?”
    “Not if you’re a Catholic,” Neil says. “Our doctrine doesn’t allow for it. I can’t speak to how other faiths would make the ruling. But the way you’re describing it, it doesn’t seem like reincarnation is strictly necessary anyway. The woman is her own person however you want to define it.”
    “Okay, good,” Samantha says.
    “Remember, this is just me talking,” Neil says. “If you want an official ruling, I’d have to run it past the pope. That might take a while.”
    Samantha smiles. “That’s all right,” she says. “What you’re saying makes sense to me. Thank you, Neil.”
    “You’re welcome,” Neil says. “Do you mind me asking what’s this about?”
    “It’s complicated,” Samantha says.
    “Apparently,” Neil says. “It sounds like you’re researching a science fiction story.”
    “Something like that, yes,” Samantha says.
    *   *   *
    Sweetheart,
    Welcome to Cirqueria! I know Collins has you cranking away on a project so I won’t see you before we go to the surface for the negotiations. I’m part of the Captain’s security detail; he expects things to proceed in boring and uneventful ways. Don’t wait up any longer than Collins makes you. I’ll see you tomorrow.
    Kiss kiss love love,
    M
     
    P.S.: Kiss.
    P.S.S.: Love.
    *   *   *
    Samantha buys herself a printer and a couple hundred dollars’ worth of ink and prints out letters and photographs from the collection that she was given a month previously. The original projector had disappeared mysteriously as promised, collapsing into a crumbling pile that evaporated over the space of an hour. Before that happened, Samantha took her little digital camera and took a picture of every document, and video capture of every movie, that she had been given. The digital files remained on the camera card and on her hard drive; she’s printing documents for a different purpose entirely.
    When she’s done, she’s printed out a ream of paper, each with a letter from or a picture of Margaret Jenkins. It’s not Margaret’s whole life, but it’s a representation of the life that she lived with