The clone forced his thoughts away from die way she looked and focused his mind on business. The business of politics. “I know that you know there’s been a schism within our government. It would be hard to miss. What you don’t know, or I hope you don’t know, is how deep it went.”
“I couldn’t help but notice the use of the past tense,” Maylo observed. “Has the schism been healed?”
The senator shrugged. “No, not yet. I think such a thing is possible, however, remembering that I’m something of an optimist. The essence of the situation is this: Alpha Clones Magnus and his brother Pietro allowed themselves to be drawn into an alliance with the Thraki in hopes that the aliens would serve as a counter to the cabal’s steadily growing influence. A situation the Hegemony could have avoided by steering clear of the conspiracy in the first place. My sponsor, the Alpha known as Antonio opposed the plan—but lost the vote.
“During the period immediately after Magnus and Pietro authorized the alliance with the Thraki, the aliens took possession of Zynig47 and were allowed to establish military bases on a number of our sparsely settled planets.
“The strategy, as conceived by my brother Ishimoto Seven, was that anyone who attacked the Hegemony would be in the position of attacking the Thraki as well, and, given the size of their armada, would have second thoughts.”
“A strategy your leaders have since come to regret,” Maylo finished for him. “Especially in light of the fact that the Sheen are headed this way—and seem bent on destroying the very armada that you spoke of.”
“Exactly,” the politician agreed. “Which equates to a one-of-a-kind opportunity. This is the time to speak, to offer countervailing counsel, and turn them around.”
Maylo nodded. “What you say makes sense ... But why tell me?”
His eyes locked with hers. “If, and I repeat if, we are able to convince Magnus and Pietro of the truth, we’ll need Nankool’s support. The Thraki value their bases and will strive to keep them.”
“And you believe that I can secure Nankool’s support?”
The clone nodded. “Yes, but more than that, I want you to accompany me home. Your experience, your views, and your connections will add weight to my arguments ... We must convince the Alpha Clones that if they change, if they break with the cabal, the Confederacy will take us in.” His eyes pleaded with her. “So, will you come?”
Maylo felt a rising sense of excitement. If the Sheen were on their way, and should they turn out to be even half as powerful as the Thraki claimed that they were, the Confederacy would need every bit of strength that it could muster. The Hegemony, along with its highly developed military, could make an important difference. Her uncle would want her to go.
There was another reason however—one that had more to do with him than politics. Maylo smiled.
“Yes, I’ll come.”
The two of them left after that, but the emergency services robot stayed where it was, waiting to repeat what it had seen and heard.
Exhausted by the long hours he’d been keeping, and still grieving over the War Omo’s untimely death, the Ramanthian senator retired to his warm, somewhat humid quarters. The politician noticed the ultraviolet message light, decided to remove his computer-assisted contact lenses, and saw the light replicate itself dozens of times. He had grown used to the transition but it still made him dizzy.
Omo listened to the message, listened again, and wondered how two seemingly intelligent beings could be so stupid. Meeting in a lifeboat, discussing how they had mated with each other, then switching to politics. It made him feel unclean. Well, there was a solution for that, one of the few pleasures the Ramanthian allowed himself.
The politician made his way back to his private quarters, took pleasure in the low murky light, and released his robes. The garment was left for a drone to deal with while he shuffled toward the sand bath. Though smaller than the ones typical of dwellings on his native planet, the transparent duraplast box was functional nonetheless. The Ramanthian entered, descended a set of stairs, and mounted the equivalent of a stool. The switch was located next to his left pincer. The Omo triggered the pre-warmed sand, and felt it rise around him, and experienced something verging on bliss.
Then, when the finely grained stuff lapped around his neck, it stopped. That’s when the entire mass started to vibrate, each grain acting like a tiny scrub brush, removing dirt while it polished his chitin. The senator allowed his mind to drift and knew that it was here, within the warm embrace of the sand, that some of his most inspired schemes had been hatched. And, painful though the knowledge was, the Omo realized that some of his worst plans had been concocted there as well, as measured by the extent to which they had been successful.
Now, as he prepared to return home and report to the hive mother, it was necessary to evaluate the situation as dispassionately as she would.
The plan to destabilize the Earth government, and thereby lessen the extent to which the humans controlled the Confederacy, had been successful initially, and might have achieved the desired end had it not been for the sudden reemergence of the damnable ChienChu, and for the meddling by Hiween DomaSa. A dangerous pair who had suddenly dropped from sight. Why? Where were they? And what were they up to? There was no way to be sure.
What the Ramanthian did know was that the newly stabilized Earth government, plus the arrival of the Thraki, plus the threat posed by the Sheen had altered the political landscape. Yes, it would take idiots like Ishimoto Seven and his ilk awhile to notice, but the nature of the game had changed. Certain elements within the Hegemony were in the process of reconsidering their options. The conversation between Ishimoto Six and Maylo ChienChu was proof of that, and the possibility of war lurked just beyond the horizon. War between the clones and the Thraki, war between the Thraki and the Sheen, and war between the Sheen and the Confederacy.
Should the Ramanmians choose sides? No, the politician decided, not with so many variables clouding the outcome. His race had been scavengers once and could so profit again. The most intelligent strategy was to pull back, allow the cabal to wither, and wait to see who or what reigned victorious. Then, their strength undiminished by war, his people would emerge to claim the worlds they so desperately needed. Omo settled into the sand and allowed the substance to take most of his weight. Warmth sought his center. Yes, the Ramanthian decided, there are times to act and times to wait. The trick was knowing the difference. Sleep pulled him down.
Clone world Alpha001 was extremely Earthlike in keeping with the nearly endless edicts laid down by the Hegemony’s founder Dr. Carolyn Anne Hosokowa. Though beautiful when viewed from orbit, the surface of the planet was less attractive from thirty-five thousand feet, and even less so as the courier ship came in for a landing. Not because of some failure on nature’s part but due to what human beings had done to it.
Maylo watched with a growing sense of dread as the carefully laid out farms gave way to low-strung factories and rank after rank of identical high-rise buildings. They looked like what they were meant to be: cold, cost-effective boxes in which workers were “stored” during nonproductive “rest and regeneration periods.”
The business executive glanced sideways, saw the look of eager anticipation on Ishimoto Six’s countenance, and was reminded of how adaptable human beings were. First, they had colonized every conceivable comer of their native world, and later, other planets as well. Even those that swirled with methane, were almost entirely clad in ice, or subjected them to 1.5 gees. More than that, they frequently came to love them, like ducks that imprint on the first animate object they see, and claim it as their own. And here, where an effort had been made to establish the “perfect” society, one could expect to see even more of that. “Beautiful isn’t it?” Six inquired as the ship flared in for a landing.