“Because you told me to,” Jepp said defensively.
“I told you nothing of the kind,” the voice answered evenly. “The orders you received came from Hoon number one.”
“Hoon number one?” the human asked hesitantly, scanning the bulkheads for some sign of the intelligence he was talking to. “So who are vow? Hoon number two?”
“Precisely,” the AI replied. “Now, leave this compartment, and return to wherever you came from.”
Metal scraped on metal. Jepp turned to find that Alpha had entered the compartment. The robot walked with a limp but its voice was clear. “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. James 4:7.”
Who had spoken? Alpha? Or Hoon number one? Jepp decided it didn’t make any difference. God had would have his way. He took the handle, gave it one turn to the right, and pulled it free. There was only one sensor built into Hoon number two’s main processor module, but that was sufficient to monitor the carefully computed launch, the fall toward the sun, and one last moment of existence. What is a devil? the AI wondered. And what would such a being look like? An image etched itself onto the computer’s consciousness and it looked a lot like Jorely Jepp.
Chapter 7
Just as the process of natural selection will determine which species shall ultimately prevail, a logical tendency toward self-interest applies similar pressure to the covenants, treaties and other agreements that govern affairs of state.
Mowa Sith Horbothna
Turr academic
Standard year 2227
Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
Conscious of the fact that his movements were monitored, Senator Samuel Ishimoto Six palmed the panel, waited for the hatch to open, and nodded to the embassy guards. Both had been cloned from a much celebrated soldier named Jonathan Alan Seebo whose badly mangled body, and the DNA stored there, had given birth to entire armies.
Each trooper had experienced different things, leading to different personalities, but remained very similar. They had strong bodies, the intelligence necessary to operate sophisticated weapons systems, and a near fanatical devotion to duty. The guards came to attention, but there was nothing respectful about the look in their eyes, or the expressions on their identical faces. The soldiers had been briefed by either his clone brother, Harlan Ishimoto Seven, or his assistant, Svetlana Gorgin Three, both of whom were aligned with Alpha Clone Magnus Mosby One and his brother Pietro. They, along with a significant number of the advisors who served them, had been seduced by the Ramanthian-led cabal. Something that Six, along with his sponsor, the reclusive Alpha known as Antonio, both opposed. That being the case, the sentries would make a note of his departure and enter it into a log. The politician nodded an acknowledgement and stepped out into the nonstop foot traffic. The corridors, busy during the most lax of times, positively hummed as the senators and their staffs prepared for the half-session hiatus. A rather important opportunity to return home, rub elbows, tentacles, and pseudopods with constituents, and enjoy some R&R.
Six allowed himself to be absorbed into the crowd but was far too experienced to think that it would shield him from surveillance. No, not on board a vessel that crawled with every sort of bug known to more than a dozen races. Information was power—that made it valuable—and everyone sought to obtain as much as they could.
Private meetings were possible, however, provided that the participants took elaborate precautions and left nothing to chance. That being the case, the clone adopted a quick decisive pace, stepped onto a fully packed lift at the precise moment when the doors started to close and rode it down. Then, following the crowd into a labyrinth of corridors, he took a shortcut through one of the passageways reserved for robots, paused in a public restroom, donned a privacy mask, changed into some electronically laundered clothes, and left via the back door.
The mask smelled of plastic, and made the area around his eyes itch, but did offer a modicum of anonymity. The fact that about ten percent of the crowd wore similar disguises hinted at the number of last-minute schemes, deals, and agreements being hammered out as the hiatus began. Finally, after the senator had done everything he could to shake surveillance, he entered a one-person lift tube, dropped to the less-trafficked boat deck, and took a careful look around. Nothing. Nothing he could see anyway.
Then, with the quick, positive movements of someone who knows his way about, the politician followed the gently curving hull to a multilingual sign that read: “Lifeboat46, Oxygen Breathers Only.”
Then, after another backward glance, the clone removed a card from his pocket and inserted the rectangle into a slot. The lock mechanism read what it thought was one of 749 acceptable DNA-based codes and released the hatch. It hissed open and closed.
The lifeboat was equipped with a tiny lock, but it was located toward the stem—and away from the main hatch.
Seconds would count should an actual emergency occur, and the entry had been designed to accommodate a large number of beings in a short period of time. The air was cold, and the lights were on. The interior smelled like the inside of a brand-new ground car. Six removed the mask. “Maylo? Are you here?”
There was a whisper of fabric, followed by the slightest whiff of perfume. Six turned, and there she was. An overhead spot threw light across her face. She wore a plain high-collared sheath-style dress. It clung to her body the same way he wanted to and was slit up both legs. Wonderful legs, which on one memorable occasion, had been used to pull him in. But that was months in the past, a moment he’d never been able to replicate, much as he desired to do so. His voice was husky. “You are very, very, beautiful.”
Maylo smiled. The truth was that she liked Samuel Ishimoto Six, liked him more than she should have, or even wanted to, given her relationship with Booly. Whatever that was. The clone was about six feet tall, had a slightly Japanese cast to his features, and looked very handsome. “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”
Both were silent for a moment—taking each other in. The clone spoke first. “I didn’t know about the cabal—not till your uncle and Ambassador DomaSa forced the whole thing out into the open.”
Maylo nodded. “Yes, I thought as much. I’m sorry they threw you into the brig with Ishimoto Seven.”
The politician shrugged. “It was for the best. Otherwise, the conspirators would have assumed the worst and arranged for some sort of accident. The cabal will stop at nothing. The so-called duel proved that.”
“So?” Maylo asked gently, “why the meeting?”
Six grinned. “Because I want to seduce you.”
“I believe you have already accomplished that,” Maylo observed dryly.
“Which is why I know it’s worth the effort,” Six replied.
‘That’s it then?” me executive inquired mischievously.
“You put your life on the line in order to get in my pants?”
The politician laughed. “No, I have an ulterior motive as well.”
“Ah,” Maylo replied. “I thought as much . .. My career as a sex goddess comes to an end. Come on, let’s find a place to sit.”
The lifeboat’s interior was somewhat spartan. An emergency services droid stood motionless at the rear of the compartment. A forehead-mounted “Ready” light blinked on and off. There were overhead bins packed with supplies, pressure suits racked along the bulkheads, and rows of adjustable seats. Maylo sat on one, heard a whirring noise, and felt it conform to the shape of her body. Six took the chair opposite hers. “So,” the executive continued, tell me more ... What’s on your mind?”