Blood rose to fill Three’s mouth. She worked to swallow it. “You know .. . what you did with her.”
Maylo was there—pressing a makeshift compress against the entry wound. The politician’s eyes flicked to her and back. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Svetlana. I wish I had known.”
But her face was slack, the light had faded from her eyes, and Gorgin Three was gone. The villa, which had been constructed to meet the exacting standards set forth by Antonio Seven, crowned a verdant hill. The roof was covered with locally manufactured tile, the walls were painted pristine white, and bright-red fire trees guarded the grounds. A series of gracefully proportioned arches admitted large volumes of air into the dwelling along with semicircles of warm orange-yellow sunlight. Simply put, the villa flew in the face of the sort of institutional architecture the founder favored, and it was indirectly responsible for the rounded, more organic shapes that were starting to appear out away from the cities.
There was nothing especially luxurious about the house, however. The furniture was of good quality but far from ornate. Nor was there much of it, which meant that Alpha Clones Magnus Mosby One and the flamboyant Pietro Seven could either take the seats that were offered, or sit on the floor. Magnus, who had been born of a union between the Alpha Clone Marcus Six and Marianne Mosby, one of the Legion’s most storied officers, had his father’s black hair, his mother’s tendency to put on weight, and a deep booming voice. He wore a plain white toga held in place by his favorite double helix pin. A pair of plain but sturdy sandals completed the outfit.
Pietro, who had exactly the same features as his host, wore a gauzy lime-green pullover top, matching pantaloon- style trousers, and a pair of leather slippers. A single earring dangled from his left lobe. It was an embellishment Antonio considered to be excessive, like a dish with too many ingredients or a contrived work of art. He preferred a spartan black tunic, matching pants, and bare feet. They padded across the floor and stopped in front of his favorite chair. It was made of cane and creaked under his weight. His voice was slightly higher than that possessed by Magnus but a good deal more melodious. He looked from Magnus to Pietro. “Much has changed.”
“Yes,” Magnus agreed thoughtfully. “It has. Much as it pains me to say so ... it appears that you were correct.”
Pietro looked surprised. “He was? About what?”
“Almost everything,” Magnus replied somberly. “Starting with his opposition to the cabal—and extending to his suspicions regarding the Thraki. The first strategy failed to achieve its purpose, and, should the Sheen arrive, the second could actually destroy us. Especially if the alien military bases come under attack.”
Pietro, who was a much better administrator than a strategist looked alarmed and defensive. “That’s not what our experts say . . they say ...”
“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
