Rogue clone (9 page)

“And now I’m free to go?” I asked. I did not expect them to let me loose in the Dry Docks. We reached a table at the end of the hall. My bag sat on the table. One of the guards handed me the bag.

“Everything is in there,” the colonel said, “including your gun.” He sounded apologetic. I decided to play smart and act like I expected this. Taking the bag, I zipped it open and sifted through my gear as if suspicious something might be missing. I knew everything would be there, and it was. The colonel watched me. “This is all a misunderstanding,” he said. “My men mistook the bulletin for orders to arrest you. Once we reported the arrest to fleet command, Admiral Huang’s office contacted us.”

“That so?” I asked, acknowledging the colonel with just a glance as I zipped my bag shut. I wanted to come across as officious.

“Nobody told us that you were on a high-security mission for Admiral Klyber. I’m sorry about this. You’re here running security for the Joint Chiefs meeting, aren’t you? I hope we didn’t screw it up.”

“When did Klyber’s party arrive?” I asked.

The colonel’s dark eyes and tight frown created a grave expression. “They’ve been here for several hours.”

“Then we’ll know the extent of the damage pretty soon, won’t we?” I said. The colonel nodded. “Admiral Huang called my office . . . the admiral himself,” the colonel said, now sounding desperate.

“Really? What did old Che have to say?” I asked.

The colonel took a deep breath, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Admiral Huang says that he missed you.” He paused to see how I would react to the message, then added, “He says he’s surprised to hear you’re alive and that he can’t wait to catch up with you.”

In preparation for the Joint Chiefs arrival, Golan adopted Earth time, and more precisely, Eastern Standard Time. I had arrived at 1400 hours, spent five hours in the brig, and emerged as the summit kicked off with a banquet.

If I rushed, I could get to my room and change before the banquet started. Nothing had happened so far; and if I had to guess, a dining hall filled with security men and armed officers would not be the place for an ambush. As I thought about it, it occurred to me that perhaps Klyber was just paranoid. Sure, Che Huang was a prick, but he was also an officer. Officers didn’t murder each other. Officers ruined each other’s careers and sometimes sent rivals on suicide missions, but they did not kill each other. Rather than house me in the barracks with his men, the colonel booked me a room in the civilian dormitories—not far from Klyber and the other attendees. He had one of his men drive me to my room in a fast-moving cart. He drove me through a service tunnel, dropping me off in a corridor behind my room. I ran the rest of the way.

Not even bothering to look around my quarters, I tossed my bag on my bed and started to strip off my blouse. The rest of the room was dark, but the glare from the entryway light was enough for me to see what I was doing. I had my blouse off and was just beginning to step out of my pants when I heard the hiss of the pneumatic door sliding open. By the time I heard the noise, it was too late.

I was bent over with my ass in the air just stepping out of my pants when the door opened. I managed to swivel around just far enough to see the boot before it kicked me across the chin. Bright lights popped in my head as I tipped over and fell into the darkness of my room.

I had no time to react before the man rushed forward, brought up his boot and kicked me in the base of the ribs. My lungs seemed to implode. He kicked with the top of his foot like a soccer player. My ribs already hurt and I saw him bring back the boot for another strike. Behind the kicker, I saw two more men but I did not have time to see their faces.

The next kick struck me across the point of the chin. Had he aimed farther in, the man might have broken my jaw. The fireworks in my head were intense; but by this time my Liberator combat reflex had started. Adrenaline and endorphins ran through my bloodstream. My thoughts were clear, the pain was distant, and this fellow would have to kill me before he could knock me out.

He changed his kick. This time he brought back his boot and prepared to strike toe-first. He aimed at my throat or face, I could not tell which. Using my left foot to push off the bed, I lashed forward with my right, scooping the man’s leg off the floor. He fell to the carpet.

I wanted to retaliate. I wanted to lunge for him and snap his neck, but that would come later. I was down on the floor and he had friends. Pushing up to my knees, I sprung to my bed and grabbed my rucksack with one hand while rolling over the far edge for cover.

As I dug through my bag with one hand, I stole a quick glance over the bed. The two men in the entryway pulled pistols. I ducked back behind my bed and lay flat on the floor as bullets tore through my mattress and slammed into the wall behind me. My fingers found the butt of my M27. Feeling the cool steel of the grip, I smiled, visualized the room, and sprung to my feet. I fired one shot, shattering the lamp above their heads.

The ambushers had silenced weapons. The report of my M27 was loud and reverberated through the room like a train wreck.

“What do we do?” one of the attackers called.

Three more bullets cut through the mattress. By this time, I had moved. The room was completely dark. I had no reason to hide.

My shoes were off and I moved along the edge of the wall toward the entryway in complete silence. I watched the muzzles flash and knew where two of the men stood. Taking in a long, deep breath, but not exhaling, I crouched and prepared to shoot.

I heard the
flak
of a heaving object hitting the quilted blanket that covered my bed, followed by a thud from that same object dropping to the floor. “Get out of here!” one of the men yelled. I took his advice. Grabbing my bag off the floor, I sprinted for the entryway. The door slid open and I jumped out into the hall dressed in nothing but my underwear with my rucksack in my left hand and my M27 in my right, blood pouring from several spots on my face and purple bruises starting to form on my ribs. If there had been any civilians in the hall, they might have passed out. One of the assailants peeked out from behind a corner and fired a shot at me. I leaped in his direction, firing shots I knew would miss. The shots did what I needed them to do—they scared the man away. He disappeared around the corner, and I managed to get clear of the door. I was lying flat on the ground with my side pressed against the wall of the next room when the grenade exploded, disintegrating my quarters in a storm of debris and shrapnel.

Smoke alarms shrieked across the hallway. Security alarms bellowed. A sheet of water poured out of sprinklers hidden in the ceiling.

The assailants got away. Rocked by the percussion and covered with the shredded remains of my room, I was in no condition to chase them. I struggled just climbing to my feet. Had the attackers waited around to see if I had survived their grenade, they could have killed me easily enough.
They’ll be back
, I thought.
Next time I’ll be ready for them
.

Other than a bunch of officers with political aspirations giving long-winded speeches, nothing bad happened at the banquet. Of course, nothing
happened
at the banquet. What was Huang supposed to do, lean across the dinner table and stab Klyber with his butter knife?

My job at the Dry Docks was to protect Klyber; but more and more, it looked as if he had come to protect me. Golan security drove me to the infirmary where an orderly diagnosed me as having three cracked ribs. No collapsed lung, no life-threatening injuries, just a bruised-up face and a lot of hostility. Had my attackers put a boot into my testicles, they would have done a lot more damage. As it was, the medic strapped some bandages around my torso, handed me a bottle of painkillers, and gave me a clean bill of health.

As I buttoned my blouse, Admiral Klyber came into the room. He wore his dress whites and could not help smiling. “I suppose that is an effective way to run a security detail,” he said.

“How is that, sir?” I asked.

“Get all of the assassins to come after you.”

“Very clever, sir,” I said.

“You always were a lightning rod for trouble,” Klyber said. “When I sent you to Gobi on your first assignment to hide you from some Liberators, a Mogat general found you instead.”

“Hazards of the career,” I said. “Marines and mercenaries get shot at. It comes with the pay.”

“And you always survive,” Klyber said. “Extraordinary.” I had lacerations just under my left eye. Bruises covered my chin and cheeks and one side of my face was swollen. Admiral Klyber watched as I buttoned my blouse over my bandaged ribs, and his smile faded.

“Are they after you or after me?” he asked.

“Without you,” I said, “there’s no reason to go after me.”

“I suppose not,” Klyber said, now looking a bit gray.

“But look on the bright side,” I said. “If this is the best they can do with three gunmen and a grenade, by the time they get to you they might run out of ammunition.”

Klyber smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “I feel better.”

Golan security arranged for my new room, complete with guards posted outside the door. I was a bodyguard with bodyguards. In short, I was useless. When I finished stowing my gear, I put on my mediaLink and contacted Ray Freeman.

“So much for traveling as Arlind Marsten,” Freeman said when I finished telling him about my day.

“Yes,” I said. “Corporal Marsten can finally rest in peace. As far as I’m concerned, Huang did me a favor. Now I can come and go freely. I don’t have to worry about guards finding out that I’m a Liberator every time I pass through security stations anymore. They’ll know, and they’ll know that I’m legal.

“Thanks to Huang, I can carry my gun in public. The head of security asked me how many men I need. Hell, he even upgraded my room.”

I was lying on a bed with a queen-sized mattress covered by a blue and white quilt. My room in the Dry Docks dormitory looked like a suite for important executives. My bedroom included a media center with a holographic screen and there was a separate office with a desk and reference shelf. The setup included a wet bar complete with liquor and tumblers, an ice maker, a sink and three stools. Having grown up in an orphanage and spent most of my life living in barracks, this was a lifestyle I had never imagined.

“What does Klyber have to say about Huang?” Freeman asked.

“He’s got other things on his mind,” I said. “He’s going to tell the Joint Chiefs about his ship tomorrow.”

Klyber built the
Doctrinaire
working directly with friends on the Linear Committee, just as he had worked in secret with the committee with the Liberator project. Huang and the other members of the Joint Chiefs supposedly knew nothing about the
Doctrinaire
. At least they should have known nothing about it. I wondered whether Rear Admiral Halverson was also spying for Huang. Johansson did not know me from Marston. Halverson knew my real name and make.

“Will you be there when he makes the announcement?” Freeman asked.

“I’m not allowed in. Only top brass gets in that room.”

“No guards? No wonder Klyber’s nervous,” Freeman said.

“It’s all top brass,” I said. “He’s with civilized company.”

“They stabbed Caesar to death on the floor of the Senate,” Freeman said, giving a historical reference I would never have guessed him to know. “Caesar thought he was in civilized company, too.”

Freeman would not have learned about Caesar from the works of Shakespeare. War and the engines of death interested him, not literature. I thought about this for a moment and decided that Klyber would be safe enough on the floor of the summit. It was out of my control, anyway. Once Klyber entered the conference room, there was nothing I could do.

“You flying back with Klyber after the summit?” Freeman asked, ending my chain of thought.

“Nope,” I said. “My job is to get him from his transport to the meeting, and from the meeting to the transport.”

“Think you will see Huang at the meeting tomorrow?” Freeman asked.

“Yeah, I need to thank him for the swank accommodations,” I said. I sounded more confident than I felt. Huang, never hid his hate of all clones, especially Liberators. All clones, except his own top secret model. Before initiating the attack on Little Man, Huang transferred every last Liberator in the Unified Authority military to the invading force. If he wanted me dead, sooner or later he would succeed.

“How did Huang’s office know you were headed to Golan?” Freeman asked. “Who told them about you?” His low voice reminded me of distant gunfire. His flat expression conveyed no emotion. If he were a poker player, no one would read his bluffs. But Ray Freeman did not trouble himself with card games. That would be far too social an activity for him.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Half of Klyber’s senior staff officers had arrived the day before. I checked the manifest. Captain Leonid Johansson was among them.

“Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Freeman said after a long moment of thought. “Those weren’t Huang’s men in your room. He could have let you rot in jail if he wanted to hurt you.”

I was about to sign off when Freeman changed the subject. “What do you know about Little Man?”

“The battle or the movie?” I asked, trying to sound smarter than I felt.

“The planet,” Freeman said.

I had only seen a hundred-mile strip of the planet at tops—just a straight swatch from the beach where we landed to the valley in which we fought the battle. Before landing, we had a briefing. I tried to remember what the briefing officer had said. “It’s a fully habitable planet,” I said. “Well, not fully habitable. That valley where the Mogat ship crashed is plenty hot.”

“Hot as in radioactive?” Freeman asked.

“As in highly radioactive. You wouldn’t want to go anywhere near there. Every place else should be OK. Why do you want to know about Little Man?”

“My family is moving there.”

It never occurred to me that Freeman had a family. I thought of him as a freak of nature . . . like me, the last clone of his kind. “Your family? A wife and kids?”