I

Had his plan gone undetected, it would have ended the galactic democracy. Soldiers loyal only to their emperor would have fallen upon the inhabited planets like lethal rain, unstoppable. Fortunately, a data analyst (an unsung hero armed with diligence and statistics) detected a pattern of suspicious shipments to a remote area; machinery, foodstuffs, biological materials... A task force went to investigate, and none of the weaponry they brought 'just in case' was, after all, in excess.

The wannabe emperor was executed, even if his scheme was some 15 years from fruition. But they just couldn't kill the whole clone army.

II

Did someone say flippantly ”just nuke them from the orbit”? Clones, created by a madman with an evil plan, trained only for war. No-one would miss them. Perhaps a swift death could even be considered a mercy.

But it would be a genocide of unprecedented proportions: a billion lives. Such a crime would taint the galaxy forever. Clones or no, a billion six-year old kids. A billion pairs of round brown eyes, two billion quick feet, ten billion nimble fingers used to the weight of a plasma rifle rather than toys and games. The whole thing was a terrible tragedy.

III

If you met just one, you could never guess there was something unusual. They were thoroughly tested, of course. Apart from their traumatizing upbringing, nothing was exceptional. Perfectly regular physiology, no mysterious powers, all of them in robust health (go ahead, guess what had happened to the unlucky few with even minor ailments). One normal kid, repeated a billion times.
Decisions had to be made. It was tempting to continue using the infrastucture already in place. There were canteens and gyms and endless rows of beds. Why not let them grow to adulthood in the surroundings they were used to?

IV

But it would be too risky. Though their father-emperor was dead, someone else might attempt to continue what the wannabe emperor had started. In a few years they would be attracting mercenary recruiters like sugarwater lures flies.

Mistreated children inhibited from developing a sense of individuality. A ready-made army conditioned to follow orders. They were vulnerable and a threat at the same time.

They needed to be split up, sent somewhere else – anywhere else than this place which was built to encourage conformity and a feeling of being utterly interchangeable. They needed identities. A sense of self. They needed names.

V

It was a huge ceremony. It had to make a lasting impact on the kids (who hereafter wouldn't be called clones, at lest not officially). And since it was way too late and anyway impossible to keep the billion kids secret from the general galactic public, it was broadcast all over. The food synthesizers had produced a mountain of candy. Combat practice halls were decorated in cheerful colors. Emotional music played.

Volunteers, millions of them, handed out a small bag of sweets and a name for a brown-eyed, excited kid after another. Not two of them got the same name.

VI

The adoption campaign was one of the rare instances where the galactic council overrode local objections. The kids had to be scattered around, to as varied environments as possible. Everyone had to do their part. Of course there was suspicion, concern and outright resistance, despite all the research proving the kids were physically and mentally like any six-year-old would be, if he had been living in a gigantic orphanage and subjected to violent propaganda. And admittedly it was unnerving – the legacy of a power-hungry tyrant, now coming to your planet! Into your home! With strict orders to love and cherish!

VII

Settlers terraforming barely habitable planets were eager to get a batch of guaranteed healthy, medium intelligent children already used to hard work. They did not bother to worry about whether the tyrant had planted some devious command to the kids' brains, perhaps activating decades later. Despite rigorous psychological screening, someone always cracked. It was a fact of life. So vague rumours of possible threats did not stop them from welcoming their share of the kids.

Some more sophisticated communities had to be strongly encouraged to do their duty. Adoption organizers were authorized to shame, evoke pity and use political blackmailing.

VIII

They had grown up knowing they would one day leave the planetoid. That it was not the start of an intergalactic war and that they went forth in comfy, colorful clothes, instead of combat suits, clutching name tags not guns, did not concern the kids. It was an adventure anyway.

A million kids would be herded to a large intersellar transport vessel. Later they would be split to cohorts of ten thousand or so, one for each receiving planet. A few hundred to a large city, maybe a dozen to a smaller community. And never more than two per family.

IX

They were already beginning to differentiate from each other, much to the relief of everyone. These developments were monitored closely. Responses to events were no longer identical. Some were welcomed to their destination with authentic smiles, and they started smiling back. Some were received with thinly veiled hostility, and became withdrawn and secretly bitter. Sometimes the families went to great lenghts to undo the early damage, others were accepted as-is. Quite random occurences shaped not only their minds but also bodies. You could actually tell them apart by now. This one was pudgy and tanned, that one slim and stooped.

X

It was one of the largest coordinated operations in the history of humankind... probably the largest, actually. But after a while, it stopped feeling in any way exceptional. They reached puberty and nothing special happened. Then came the d-day they would have been launched towards unsuspecting planets – the result was a hundred thousand drunken assaults and violent meltdowns, but revenge of the aborted empire from beyond the grave? No. Those expecting doom any minute now were a bit more disappointed every day.

Only a handful started a revolution, attempted a coup or became local tyrants. Less than the statistical average!