In the early days of transporter technology, the philosophical implications of pattern transfer and original body dissolution took centre stage. Even for those who did not believe in an indivisible soul, permanence of corporeal form remained a defining tenet of sentient life.

Adoption of the new technology faltered, even the most tech-forward CEOs unwilling to risk their atoms being ripped apart and stitched together in suboptimal fashion.

The Continuance of Sentient Rights laws brought this dissonance to a head, declaring both the transported and the transportee to be separate, indelible sentient lives. It was no longer permissible to dismantle your previous self brick-by-brick, to sweep them under the carpet of history.

A succession of high-profile twin studies led to a wider acceptance; while your teleporter clone may well share many of your attributes, they are not you.

Society was unprepared for the social niceties of adult cloning, but for a decade the practice went unregulated. Dinner parties were scandalised by a single guest turning up multiple times, while one notorious teleportation researcher formed a sizable atelier of their own clones, a frenzy of collaboration which imploded spectacularly.

At last, as the issues reached critical mass, teleportation range increased to interstellar distances.

In the absence of more tangible methods of reaching alien worlds, teleportation snapped into focus. Who cared if you had a clone you’d never meet, doing fine work around another star?

Ansible communication made the transference of patterns possible, but also opened the gateway to communicating with your own selves, living their disparate lives.

Tonight we’re having a remote games night, with me, me, me and me. I can’t be sure I’ll win.