"Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"... I think you left your card on my windscreen last week."

"Brian! I was beginning to think you wouldn't call."

"Well, I have."

"Yes, and thank you for not using a company line. I apologise for not transmitting an image. It's better if you don't know who I am. What's that noise?"

"Nothing – just some kids on bikes. What do you want?"

"Are you sure no one can hear you?"

"Yes. Now tell me."

"Let me ask you a question. How's your sales quota been since the company pulled the Doppelganger packages?"

"What?"

"I hear it's never been better."

"So ...?"

"Ever feel like someone's trying to keep you sweet?"

"Why don't you get to the point?"

"The Doppelgangers, Brian. Why do you think Bran's Cauldron pulled the clones? And don't give me the official company spiel, either. I've been over those image rights contracts myself, and there's nothing wrong with them. They're watertight ... Brian ...? Brian, are you still there?"

"Yes ... yes, I'm here. I don't know. Tell me."

"There's a delicate situation brewing, but then, I think you already have your own suspicions, right ...? What I'm about to tell you is for your benefit only. What you do with it afterwards is up to you. Now, are you sure you're alone? I can still hear noises."

"There's a tractor in a field ... there's ... no one. I'm alone, okay?"

"Okay. In my position I get to put my finger into just about every pie that comes through the legal department. There is a problem with the Doppelganger packages, but the image rights dispute is the company's way of covering up a much bigger problem. There's trouble with certain DNA donors, those who had, well, a less than agreeable end to life. Ring any bells so far?"

"I ... I'm not sure I follow."

"The clones from these donors have inherited some genetic meme. Consciously they aren't aware of it, but deep down they know they died before their time. Somewhere around puberty, the clones slip into a routine that ultimately emulates how the biological original died.

"They're killing themselves, Brian, and it's started to happen all over the world."

"No. If that were the case, the company would issue a warning. They'd put out some kind of alert, not cover the problem up."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But they don't have to. You see, technically, clones are nothing more than a product. Jesus, even cattle have more rights."

"That's not true! They're normal people with human rights."

"Morally, yes. Legally, very much no. If you've ever seen a clone's National Insurance card, you'll know what I mean: Registered Clone Male; Registered Clone Female ... never once has a clone been regarded as a normal person, Brian. Trust me, if Bran's Cauldron has its way, they won't be liable for much more than store credit."

"I don't believe you."

"Yes, you do. I can hear it in your voice. And I don't blame you for being scared."

"So, what? The company has to be doing something about it?"

"Oh, they're doing something all right. Bran's Cauldron has compiled a very thick dossier on every client who purchased a potentially faulty Doppelganger package. They intend to address every case quietly and individually. If a client believes they're in a unique situation – while receiving a nice fat cheque – then the company avoids media-hyped lawsuits, and can carry on with their good name intact."

"Then ... then the company has itself covered. I don't see why you're telling me."

"Because, Brian ... because if a client got wind of the bigger picture, and issued a formal complaint – made a real public song and dance out of the situation – the company would have no choice but to admit their liability. It would let others know they're not alone, and, to be honest, Bran's Cauldron would be fucked.

"But it's an academic point unless the right person has the balls to lodge a complaint with as much noise as they can make ... Are you okay, Brian? You're breathing fast."

"I don't understand ... what am I to you?"

"Just a fellow grave robber ... I guess I feel sorry for you, for all you salesmen. I bet none of you could believe your luck when the company offered you and your wives a free package of choice. The most desirable product on earth, yours for nothing! It must've been hard selecting the perfect Star Child from all those options."

"I ... I ..."

"It's all right, Brian. I understand it's good policy for salesmen to use the product they're endorsing. But do you ever wonder how different life would be if you'd said no?"

"What? I don't know ... please ..."

"It could be worse, you know. Put yourself in the shoes of a company boss. How would you feel if you noticed that in amongst all the clients connected with suicidal clones, one name belonged to a work colleague – a salesman, say? What would you do? If it was me, I think I'd sweeten him up by slipping him all the easy leads, the dead-cert clients. Maybe transform him from Average Joe to Top Dog Salesman in just a couple of months."

"Fuck you!"

"Sorry, Brian, I forgot to ask. Which package did you and your wife go for? Brian ...? Brian, are you there?"

.