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
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
