A dozen or so girls were seated cross-legged on the floor, their hands clasped behind their necks, under the waving threat of one Dendarii’s stunner. Their sleep-tunics and shorts were pink silk, otherwise identical to the boys’. They looked frightened, but at least they sat silent. He stepped into a side room to find Taura and the other trooper confronting a tall Eurasian girl-woman, who sat at a comconsole with her arms aggressively crossed. Where the vid plate should have been was a smoking hole, hot and recent, from plasma fire.
The Eurasian girl’s head turned, her long black hair swinging, from Taura to himself and back. “My lady, what a circus!” Her voice was a whip of contempt.
“She refuses to budge,” said Taura. Her tone was strangely worried.
“Girl,” he nodded curtly. “You are dead meat if you stay here. You are a clone. Your body is destined to be stolen by your progenitor. Your brain will be removed and destroyed. Perhaps very soon.”
“I know that,” she said scornfully, as if he were a babbling idiot.
“What?” His jaw dropped.
“I know it. I am perfectly aligned with my destiny. My lady required it to be so. I serve my lady perfectly.” Her chin rose, and her eyes rested in a moment of dreamy, distant worship, of what he could not guess.
“She got a call out to House Security,” reported Taura tightly, with a nod at the smoking holovid. “Described us, our gear—even reported an estimate of our numbers.”
“You will not keep me from my lady,” the girl affirmed with a short, cool nod. “The guards will get you, and save me. I’m very important.”
What the hell had the Bharaputrans done to turn this girl’s head inside-out? And could he undo it in thirty seconds or less? He didn’t think so. “Sergeant,” he took a deep breath, and said in a high, light voice on the outgoing sigh, “Stun her.”
The Eurasian girl started to duck, but the sergeant’s reflexes worked at lightning speed. The stunner beam took her precisely between the eyes as she leapt. Taura vaulted the comconsole and caught the girl’s head before it could strike the floor.
“Do we have them all?” he asked.
“At least two went down the back stairs before we blocked them,” Taura reported with a frown.
“They’ll be stunned if they try to escape the building,” he reassured her.
“But what if they hide, downstairs? It’ll take time to find ’em.” Her tawny eyes flicked sideways to take in some chrono display from her helmet. “We should all be on our way back to the shuttle by now.”
“Just a second.” Laboriously, he keyed through his channels till he found Thorne again. Off in the distance, carried thinly by the audio, someone was yelling, ” ’n-of-a-bitch! You little—”
“What?” Thorne snapped in a harried voice. “You got those girls rounded up yet?”
“Had to stun one. Taura can carry her. Look, did you get that head-count yet?”
“Yes, took it off a comconsole in a keeper’s room—thirty-eight boys and sixteen girls. We’re missing four boys who apparently went over the balcony. Trooper Philippi accounted for three of them but says she didn’t spot a fourth. How about you?”
“Sergeant Taura says two girls went down the back stairs. Watch for them.” He glanced up, peering out of his vid display, which was swirling like an aurora. “Captain Thorne says there should be sixteen bodies here.”
Taura stuck her head out into the corridor, lips moving, then returned and eyed the stunned Eurasian girl. “We’re still short one. Kesterton, make a pass around this floor, check cupboards and under the beds.”
“Right, Sergeant.” The Dendarii trooper ran to obey.
He followed her, Thorne’s voice urging in his ears, “Move it up there! This is a smash-and-grab, remember? We don’t have time to round up strays!”
“Wait, dammit.”
In the third room the trooper checked, she bent to look under a bed and said, “Ha! Got her, Sergeant!” She swooped, grabbed a couple of kicking ankles, and yanked. Her prize slid into the light, a short girl-woman in the pink crossover tunic and shorts. She emitted little helpless muted noises, distress with no hope of her cries bringing help. She had a cascade of platinum curls, but her most notable feature was a stunning bustline, huge fat globes that the strained pink silk of her tunic failed to contain. She rolled to her knees, buttocks on heels, her upraised hands vaguely pushing and cradling the heavy flesh as if it still shocked and unaccustomed to finding it there.
Ten years old. Shit. She looked twenty. And such monstrous hypertrophy couldn’t be natural. The progenitor-customer must have ordered body-sculpture, prior to taking possession. That made sense, let the clone do the surgical and metabolic suffering. Tiny waist, flare of hip … from her exaggerated, physically mature femininity, he wondered if she might be one of the change-of-sex transfers. Almost certainly. She must have been slated for surgery very soon.
“No, go away,” she was whimpering. “Go away, leave me alone … my mother is coming for me. My mother is coming for me tomorrow. Go away, leave me alone, I’m going to meet my mother. …”
Her cries, and her heaving … chest, would shortly make him crazy, he thought. “Stun that one too,” he croaked. They’d have to carry her, but at least they wouldn’t have to listen to her.
The trooper’s face was flushed, as transfixed and embarrassed as he by the girl’s grotesque build. “Poor doll,” she whispered, and put her out of her misery with a light touch of stunner to her neck. She slumped forward, splayed on the floor.
His helmet was calling him, he wasn’t sure which trooper’s voice. “Sir, we just drove back a crew of House Bharaputra fire-fighters with our stunners. They didn’t have anti-stun suits. But the security people who are coming on now do. They’re sending new teams, carrying heavier weapons. The stunner-tag game is about over.”
He keyed through helmet displays, trying to place the trooper on the map-grid. Before he could, the air-guard’s breathless voice cut in. “A Bharaputran heavy-weapons team is circling around your building to the south, sir. You’ve got to get the hell out of there. It’s about to turn real nasty out here.”
He waved the Dendarii trooper and her doll-woman burden out of the bedroom ahead of him. “Sergeant Taura,” he called. “Did you pick up those outside reports?”
“Yes, sir. Let’s move it.”
Sergeant Taura slung the Eurasian girl over one broad shoulder and the blonde over the other, apparently without noticing their weight, and they herded the mob of frightened girls down the end stairs. Taura made them walk two-by-two, holding hands, keeping them rather better organized than he would have expected. The girls’ hushed voices burbled in shock when they were directed into the boys’ dormitory section. “We’re not allowed down here,” one tried to protest, in tears. “We’ll get in trouble.”
Thorne had six stunned boys laid out face-up on the corridor floor, and another twenty-odd lined up leaning against the wall, legs spread, arms extended, prisoner-control posture, with a couple of nervous troopers yelling at them and keeping them in their places. Some clones looked angry, some were crying, and all looked scared to death.
He looked with dismay at the pile of stunner victims. “How are we going to carry them all?”
“Have some carry the rest,” Taura said. “It leaves your hands free and ties up theirs.” She gently laid down her own burdens at the end of the row.
“Good,” said Thorne, jerking its gaze, with difficulty, from fascinated fixation on the doll-woman. “Worley, Kesterton, let’s—” its voice stopped, as the same static-laden emergency message over-rode channels in both their command helmets.