The Prettiest of All the Illegitimate DNA Relatives of Boone Fabulous

Bea wanted to get an autograph from the Boone Fabulous Clone Twelve after the show. Hoping to hear more of the story, Portia tagged along.
“What do you mean, he’s my great grandfather?”
“Not now.”
“What was he like?”
“Not now.”
“Did he really marry two women with the same name because he was too drunk to remember?”
“Not now,” Bea said.
The Boone Fabulous Clone Twelve was at the front of the stage, greeting the audience, posing for holo pictures, hugging and amiably kissing the very dedicated fans of the original Boone.
“Mr. Twelve?” Bea asked cautiously, as the line shuffled forward to the clone.
“Please, call me Twelve.” Up close it was easy to see that Boone Fabulous Clone Twelve had been a very good looking man in his youth but a life of heavy drinking left him aging less than gracefully.
“Beatrice,” Bea said, extending a hand. Twelve kissed it graciously.
“I must say, I knew the original Boone, and you’re a far better performer.”
Twelve smiled and it seemed to be a genuine smile, not the smarmy stage persona but an honest performer accepting a complement. “You’re too young to have know Boone Fabulous.”
Bea giggled like a teenager, which was a bit disturbing for Portia. “You do go on,” she said. “But I really want my granddaughter to met her DNA relative.”
Twelve turned his bloodshot eyes to Portia. “And I really want to met my DNA relative as well.”
A woman, late middle aged, with washed out blonde hair hanging limply on of either side of her face, approached. Her face a had a thin, pinched look, like she spent most of her time scowling, and her skin was at once milky and pale and ruddy from either excessive drinking or the cold. Given that it was a space station, the smart money was on the excessive drinking.
She placed one hand on Twelve’s shoulder. “You have an early meeting tomorrow. Perhaps we should be going now.”
Twelve shrugged her off. “Nonsense. There’s plenty of time for meetings when I’m dead, but how often do I get the chance to entertain such lovely ladies.”
The washed out woman rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “One hour.”
“Two.”
Bea interrupted the negotiations. “Do I know you? You have a familiar look about yourself.”
The woman tightened the white knuckled grip on her data pad. “One and a half,” she said. “You know how you hate mornings and always tell me to make you leave early. I don’t know what the point of my job is if you won’t listen to me.”
Twelve took Portia’s hand and smiled warmly, not bothering to look at the woman scolding him. “If you didn’t do your job, how would I know what I should feel bad about? Now, young lady, how are you related?”
The washed out woman left, clutching her data pad to her chest.
“Apparently,” Portia said, “I’m the great-granddaughter of the original Boone Fabulous.”
“I have to say, of all the illegitimate children and grand children of the original Boone that I’ve met, you’re the prettiest.”
Boone leaned into a little too close for Portia’s taste. “Do you have any children of your own?”
“Fraid not, darling. I wasn’t equipped that way. Clone DNA shoots blanks. Can’t have us diluting the franchise.”
Twelve put one hand in the small of her back and steered her towards the bar. “Let me buy you something fizzy and sweet.”
Bea settled into the barstool. “I’ll have whatever comes in a tall glass, has an umbrella, and can knock me on my ass.”
“I’ll have the same,” Boone Twelve said.
The bartender nodded. “Two Dread Holidays it is.”
“Anything for you, DNA relative?” Twelve asked.
“No thanks, I’m good,” Portia said.
“You are legal to drink, right?”
“Yes. I’m twenty eight.”
“You don’t look it. Must be all my good genetic material.” Twelve patted her amiably on the head, as if she were a small child.
“So how did you know the original Boone,” Twelve asked Bea.
“I nearly married his son.”
“I didn’t know that,” Portia said.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” Bea said.
“But you did bring it up,” Twelve said.
“True. I owe you a story for the drink. I met Antony in the military. He enlisted voluntarily, which was pretty unusual for a rich man’s son to join up.”
“Still is,” Portia said.
“But he did.” Bea smiled and had a far away look in her eyes. “He was a pilot but frankly, he couldn’t fly. Better gunner. A good gunner. Terribly sweet. We didn’t met until near the end of the War, stationed on the same ship. I don’t want to shock you, but we moved fast back in those days. I saw Antony and knew he was the one. I think it was the atmosphere, always on edge, always waiting for the next strike, knowing you could die. There was no time to waste, you know? I met the man and I just knew.
“Once we had leave at the same time. I couldn’t take him to Philadelphia, I didn’t have any family there. Nothing was there. So we went to his home on the West Coast. And I met his father, Boone.”
Bea took a long drink. “He was horrible, you know? Really horrible. Always smelled like booze, even when he was sober. He had two wives, both named Lydia. I think it was because he was always drunk and couldn’t remember a second name. Lydia Two was young and nervous, mostly because the real Lydia, Antony’s mother, was always hanging around. Both were nice but kind of vacant. Not much for conversation. And Boone did not like me.”
“Why not?” Portia asked. Bea didn’t talk much about her family, the parents who died when she was young, or even her sister and certainly not about Benedict’s father. Unfortunately when Portia wanted family history, she had to go to the old news footage.
“I really don’t know.”
“I understand that the original Boone didn’t get along with a lot of people,” Twelve said. “He often had paranoid delusions. Accused people of stealing his money.”
“With the amount of blow and junk he did? It was amazing he had any money at all, let alone brains, as hard as he tried to liquefy them. And he’d drink anything. And he was always walking around, demanding massages from this masseuse named Boyd but there wasn’t any masseuse.”
“So for unknown reasons Boone did not like you.”
“Strange, huh? Because I’m pretty spiffing. It was before the battle of…Um, you know, but Kate and I were in a lot of the news feeds, I think, part of the propaganda machine. I had a little bit of a reputation, I think.” Alcohol was beginning to pepper Bea’s speech with repetition. In space, the oxygen was thinner and alcohol had more of an impact, turning many a respectable drinker into a cheap drunk.
“So,” Portia said. “How’d it happen?”
“How’d what happen?”
“My father?”
“Oh, after the war. We were going to be married, very old fashioned I know, by Antony held old-fashioned ideas. Very stable, you know. And then Kate wanted to colonize.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Not really, but Antony thought it was a good idea. I was willing to follow that man anywhere.”
Bea took another drink. “I think he wanted to escape his father. Same reason he joined up with the military. But Boone didn’t want Antony to go. They had a big fight.”
Bea smirked.
“What?” Portia asked.
“Antony punched Boone, said he wasn’t going to let Boone run his life, drive away the woman he loved. He hit his father to defend my honor.”
“Kind of barbaric,” Twelve said. “I’m definitely not cut out to be a fighter. I’m all lover. Well, mostly I’m a bastard, but definitely not a fighter.”
“Boone said he was wrong and wanted to spend a ski weekend with Antony to patch things up between them. This was about…Oh, two months before the Hope launched.
“And?”
“And Boone hit a tree.”
Portia knew Boone Fabulous died in a ski accident involving a tree.
Twelve grew pale, the color leaving his cheeks, only a ghastly red on pale flesh. “That’s terrible.”
“Boone was driving a snowmobile. They say Antony died instantly. They say it’s comforting to know your loved one didn’t suffer but it’s not, you know? It horrible to think that someone you love so much can just be snatched away without warning.”
Portia put a comforting arm on Bea’s shoulder. “I just couldn’t go on that ship,” she said. “Of everything that could happen, had happened, I couldn’t face the unknown again. Kate didn’t seem to understand that. I was pregnant. I couldn’t get on Velocity Escape Transport. The forces would deform the fetus. Now we have Space Elevators, but back then it was all launch vehicles.”
“It’s okay,” Portia said.
“And I’m sorry I’m the clone of such a rat bastard,” Twelve said.
Bea smiled weakly. “That was fifty years ago, ancient history. And I wouldn’t trade my son for anything.”
The washed out looking woman with dirty blonde hair was again approached Twelve. She clutched a data pad to her chest. “Boone,” she said, “it is time to go.”
“Ah, Robin,” Twelve said. “Ladies, this is my manager, Robin Slick. Robin, my DNA relatives. Portia here is the great granddaughter of the original Boone.”
Robin squinted her eyes and leaned in closely to inspect Portia. “That’s nice,” she concluded, using a tone that suggested it wasn’t nice.
“I don’t have to remind you that we have a meeting tomorrow, do I?”
Twelve signed. “I suppose not. Playtime is over.”
“Don’t sound so upset,” Robin said. “We all have lots of responsibilities. Why, just this morning I told my daughter, whose band is on tour at the moment…”
“Alright, I’m coming,” Twelve said. He kissed Bea and Portia quickly on the cheek. “Come see me tomorrow,” he told them.
“I don’t like that manager,” Bea said as Twelve and Robin Slick walked away.
“I don’t think Twelve likes her very much, either.”