But they were too closely identical. Aside from their abbreviated lifespans, which the aliens had built into them, they shared all of Calhoun’s failings and foibles. Calhoun supposed that this absolute identity would make them kindred, and in a way, he had guessed right. But the kinship was perverse.
Instead of empathizing with him, each of them—as greedy, ruthless and ambitious as their prime—had expected to compete with the others for what Calhoun had left behind on Earth.
Calhoun assumed that they would instantly vote to acquit him. That way all would be returned to Earth.
They reasoned that by voting him guilty each would have one less competitor for the spoils. As prisoners of the Calhoun psyche they could choose no other course.
He never knew, of course, whether or not the aliens had ever transported the copies to Earth. He assumed that if they had, the copies had died of old age within days of arrival, as their preprogrammed lives ran out.
He would liked to have watched this happen, to enjoy their shock at the realization that they too had been beguiled and betrayed. Though quite literally they were he, and he was they, he felt no sympathy for them. There is no honor among thieves, nor any love either.