“Ooh, gross,” he said, crinkling his nose.
“What?”
“He was a clone.”
“Two Clem was?”
“Yeah.”
That was… really odd.
“Is there anything else you need to check or can I stand up now?”
“Can you even stand up?”
“No, I’ll need help. But can I get off this body?”
“Yeah, I think 19-10 was trying to stop us from finding this out.”
“How?” I asked, as I slowly scooted away from the corpse.
“Remember how I found out those other soldiers were clones a long time ago?”
“No,” I said.
“Their brains. They aren’t fully-formed. They don’t need all the capabilities a true Colmarian has because they are built for doing specific functions.”
“So you think 19-10 kept shooting him in the head to destroy his brain?”
“I’m sure of it. If you see the scans, you can tell. A few more attacks and it would take me a month to try and figure out what had once been inside his skull. Because it would have been all over my floor in little tiny pieces.”
“Wait, didn’t they also have bad DNA?” I said, remembering I had been concerned about clones sneezing on me.
“Yeah, his is fine.”
“So he’s not like Naked Guy’s army of clones?” I asked, bringing up our encounter from decades past. Clones had been used to instigate the Colmarian civil war.
“No, he’s not like them. But close.”
“Do we have a million variety of clones or something?”
I had managed to get into a seated position with my legs out in front of me and I was taking a break.
“All the clones should have been destroyed in the war,” Delovoa said.
“How do you know?”
“Because, owing to their lack of brain, they aren’t good at doing much except whatever they were designed to do. In the case of the war, it was fighting. So they would keep fighting until they were killed.”
“Did you know he was a clone?”
“Yeah, I just told you he was.”
“But did you know when you were hanging out eating cake?” I asked.
“Of course not.”
“So there might be other clones who aren’t purely combat. And remember, you said the Messahn battlesuit was designed to be worn by a clone.”
“Yeah.”
“Why do we have all these clones all of a sudden? And who would want a clone of Two Clem?”
I used the heavy security door to pull myself to my feet.
“Maybe Two Clem created it himself,” Delovoa shrugged.
“That’s the dumbest… actually… that’s probably it. Two Clem was a huge narcissist. If he could have a clone of himself I think he would do it in a heartbeat just so he could be his own best friend. Or have sex with himself. And he could probably afford it—if such a thing could be bought.”
“I suppose they could. I just don’t know where.”
“And it doesn’t tell us why clone 19-10 would want to kill a has-been actor’s stunt double.”
“I didn’t say 19-10 was a clone. I said the armor was made for a clone.”
“Who else could wear it?”
“Anyone who could fit inside and interact with the controls.”
“So no one.”
Delovoa shrugged again
“It’s a big galaxy,” he said.
“Why can’t you just say 19-10’s a clone?” I asked, annoyed. “At least concede that.”
“That’s not the way it works, Hank. The probability of there being a mutant like you, standing on Belvaille, talking about clones, is so infinitesimal that you would say it could never possibly happen. But you’re here and you’re doing it.”
“So he could be a rainbow of kitten flowers?”
“I barely know enough to keep this station functioning. You can’t expect me to know every mutation and species that exists in this entire galaxy. No one does. I doubt you even know all the different races on this space station,” he said.
“Well. Now I know there are clones here.”
CHAPTER 38
I was not very well-liked in the city. I could tell because on my way to my new trial on Courtroom One Street, I was booed by all the spectators.
It sure was a quick descent going from folk legend to having garbage thrown at you.
The judge was Moer-lox-n. He wore an enormous black furry hat that made it look like smoke was coming out of his head.
I had no idea what this trial was for. I had even thought of ignoring it. What were they going to do? Ask me to arrest me?
Now that I was here, I really wished I hadn’t come.
The prosecutor was rambling on about my excessive use of force and overstepping my bounds. I had been provided no defense.
The plaintiff was someone I didn’t even know, but apparently three years ago I had arrested him. Or confiscated his goods. Or beat him up. Or all three.
The case rambled all over with the judge, plaintiff, and prosecutor taking turns calling me names, basically.
This was just a ploy to embarrass me or harass me. I had been the bully of Belvaille for so long, now that they were able, everyone was going to enjoy kicking me in the teeth.
The judge would score political points and the prosecutor would score political points and the plaintiff would get whatever restitution he was looking to get. I sensed a long line of trials in my future if I put up with it.
“What’s the point?” I finally asked, frustrated.
“The point of what?” the judge replied.
“This whole mess? Will you get to it and charge me with something or do you just want to smell your breath when you talk?”
There were some chuckles from Belvaille, but mostly there were more boos and catcalls.
I didn’t care.
If the city wanted me out, that was fine by me. See how long the peace lasts. I’m happy to go… fishing. Or whatever. Plant flowers. Or not flowers, but something to eat.
Just find a nice, non-toxic planet to settle down on and get off this metal heap. I bet I’ll even stop having heart attacks when I don’t have to worry about this place anymore.
“I’ll have you know, you are on trial, Supreme Kommilaire,” the prosecutor blared with great umbrage.
“When you’re in my courtroom you will address me and our judicial process with the respect it deserves,” Moer-lox-n added.
“You owe me ten thousand thumbs,” the plaintiff fired, since everyone else was raising grievances.
I waved them away.
“Get on with it. You’re not getting paid by the hour and I’m hungry,” I said.
They all sputtered and spat and the judge finally gaveled.
“Two, no, three hundred thumb fine!” He yelled.
“For what?”
“Civil disobedience!”
“And who is going to take my three hundred thumbs? You? You’re going to have a tough time yelling your moral indignation with that hat shoved down your throat.”
I was not winning the popular support of Belvaille from what I could hear.
“Your size and position does not make you immune to the law,” Judge Moer-lox-n stormed.
“What laws? There are no laws. I decide how to keep this city safe.”
“You work within the boundaries set by the adjudicators,” he countered.
“Who are you kidding? Adjudicators are just fancy tiles on a bathroom floor. Their only value is to count their swirls and loops while you’re taking a crap.”
The judge, prosecutor, and entire city were hollering at me.
What a waste of time. And I didn’t even mean this trial, I meant the last seven decades I had been trying to save this worthless city.
I wouldn’t miss it. I should take Delovoa with me, just to nail this coffin shut definitively.