“They are fools,” Antonio finished for him. “Many of them are sincere but misled. Much of the counsel they received originated with this man.”
The Alpha Clone touched a button and a holographic likeness of Ambassador Ishimoto Seven blossomed at the center of the conversation area. The footage had been obtained surreptitiously. It stabilized and started to rotate. The diplomat was talking to someone.
“Nonsense,” Pietro replied. “Ishimoto Seven is not only genetically appropriate to his task, he has years of relevant experience, and has been rated ready for promotion.”
“The very thing he seeks most,” Magnus observed. “Before all else.”
“Surely you are mistaken,” Pietro insisted, looking from one face to the other. “Where is your proof?
Something objective?”
“Right here,” Antonio replied calmly. “Watch this.”
The holo of Ishimoto Seven dissolved into a shot of a spaceport. Judging from the way it was framed and the duration of the subsequent zoom, the camera had been a long way off. All three of the men watched as the kill ball closed on a courier ship, lined up on Senator Ishimoto Six, and fired a single shot. The clones remained silent as Gorgin Three died—and was carried away. Antonio was the first to speak.
“My agents were caught by surprise and have some explaining to do ... The kill ball was dispatched by Ishimoto Seven. He knew Six was on the way to see us ... and hoped to intervene.”
“So you say,” Pietro replied stubbornly. “Prove it.”
“All three of the Alpha Clones were equipped with implants. Antonio cocked his head as the message came in. “The accused has arrived,” Antonio replied. “Make no mention of what you’ve seen, wait for the rest of our guests to arrive, and watch Seven’s face. His personal communications devices were spoofed hours ago... He will convict himself.”
Pietro considered the matter for a moment, gave a jerk of his head, and wondered if the rumors were true. Had his brother’s DNA been obtained from one of their predecessor’s backup copies rather than stored material? And if so, could that account for the differences between them? There was no way to know.
A chime sounded. Three officials were shown into the room and left to choose from the few remaining chairs. There was Catherine ChambersNine, the secretary of state, Morley Hyde Thirteen, deputy secretary of state, and Harlan Ishimoto Seven, the Hegemony’s ambassador to the Confederacy. Magnus, who had long wished that he were someone else, watched them in a way that he never had before. How, the clone wondered, had he failed to see the cruel almost predatory curve of the secretary’s lips? Her deputy’s sleek, overfed assurance? And the diplomat’s oily self-satisfied smirk?
They were like fingers on a hand. Their joint perfidy seemed so obvious now, so amazingly clear, that he could barely believe his own lack of clarity. His mother would have seen it, his father would have seen it, but he was blind. Damn them anyway! For giving him a life that he neither wanted nor was qualified to have.
There was small talk, the awkward, somewhat stilted kind of conversation that occurs when human beings attempt to communicate across a social chasm, followed by the same chime heard earlier. Chambers and her subordinates turned toward the main hallway. They were curious—but far from alarmed. More officials they supposed or—and this seemed more likely—senior military officers who, in spite of their lack of expertise, never tired of dabbling in statecraft. None of them noticed that the Alpha Clones remained as they were, watching, and waiting. Harlan Ishimoto Seven felt a sudden sense of alarm as Maylo ChienChu entered the room, wondered how she had managed to find her way alone, and what the development would mean. That’s when the diplomat spotted his clone brother, knew the assassination attempt had failed, and heard Chambers gasp. It was the moment Antonio had been waiting for. He turned to Pietro. “So, my brother, took at their faces. What do you see?”
“Surprise,” the Alpha Clone replied sadly. “All of them are surprised.”
“Yes,” Antonio agreed. “Not proof of guilt... but that will come. A citizen is dead and the investigation has begun. One of them will rat on the rest. Guards! Take them away.”
Ishimoto Six was confused, then angry, as the meaning became clear. He lunged forward, stopped when a guard seized his arms, and confronted his brother. “Svetlana is dead. Why?”
Seven saw the hatred in his brother’s eyes, felt Antonio’s contempt, and couldn’t believe it was happening. “Wait! Stop! You don’t understand!”
Oh, but we do,” Magnus replied. “We understand all too well. Take this trash away.”
The subsequent meeting lasted the better part of two local days. Though not empowered to act on behalf of the Confederacy, Maylo was knowledgeable regarding the political climate, and well worth listening to. The Clones did so.
It was clear from the beginning that the Alpha Clones had already decided to form a closer relationship with the Confederacy—the question was how and within what time frame. Finally, when the session was over, Ishimoto Six was empowered to open certain areas for negotiation, and the two of them left. They had the courier ship all to themselves this time. Maylo, who had never tried zero gee sex before, decided that she liked it. The only problem was that the act left her feeling sad somehow—as if something had gone missing. She wrestled with her dreams and felt tired when she awoke.
Chapter 8
In war I would deal with the Devil and his grandmother.
Joseph Stalin
ArmyStaffCollegePapers
Standard year circa 1909
Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
Sergi ChienChu awoke where he usually did—standing in one comer of his small, and rather sparsely furnished stateroom. It had been a long time since he had made use of a bed. He’d been back for about three standard days by that time but was still in the process of reintegrating with his own body and the Friendship’s daily routines.
He thought the word “vision” and scanned the interior of his cabin. It was dark, so he switched to infrared. The corn console glowed green, as did the battery-powered holos of his family, and the overhead heat duct.
The cyborg wondered what time it was, saw 0633 appear in the lower right-hand quadrant of his vision, and knew he should get to work. Hard work—since the task the industrialist had set for himself would be anything but easy.
The Hudathans had agreed to fight... but would the senate allow them to do so? Millions of deaths argued against it. Even he wondered about the wisdom of the idea.
Slowly, reluctantly, the industrialist unlocked his joints, brought all of his systems on line, and departed his quarters. The first meeting would be held over breakfast. A meal he had once enjoyed. Life was anything but fair.
The Molly B popped out of hyperspace like a cork out of a bottle, fired her insystem drive, and immediately started to tumble.
Willy Williams swore a long string of colorful oaths, took the Navcomp off tine, and assumed manual control of the ship. Located deep within the durasteel hull, the computer depended on external sensors for input, and roughly half of them were out of action.
Both the ship and its owner, a man of somewhat elastic morals, had been on Long Jump, minding their own business, catching a little R&R when the Sheen dropped in for a visit. Machines that preached on street comers . .. What was next? Talking dogs?
Willy wanted to leave, wanted to boost ass as fast as possible, but needed his cargo. A nice load of custom-designed bacteria, all destined for a dirtball called Clevis, where the colonists were hanging by their fingernails while they waited for microscopic reinforcements. The kind that eat rock, burp oxygen, and shit fertilizer.
They weren’t gonna get “em, though, not anytime soon, not since the machines slagged Fortuna, Willy hauled butt, and a Sheen fighter put the hurts to Molly.