“So you’re doing what you were created to do,” Vanderveen mused out loud. “Doesn’t that mean your efforts are doomed to failure? Because other lines are dedicated to canceling you out?”
“Not this time,” Alan said grimly. “There’s too much unhappiness. The people are ready to rise up and take control of what is rightfully theirs!”
Vanderveen had been skeptical at fi?rst. But the more the diplomat listened, the more she began to believe that a revolution was possible. And with that belief came certain questions. Important questions that could have a bearing on the war with the Ramanthians. If the clones were to rise up, and overthrow the existing government, how would that affect the new alliance? Because if that came apart, Nankool’s strategy would crumble, and the Confederacy would teeter on the edge of defeat. “You mentioned a message,” the diplomat said cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”
“Go to President Nankool,” Alan instructed. “Tell him that the revolution is about to begin, and when it takes place, there will be an opportunity. By recognizing the new government quickly, and allowing it to join the Confederacy without delay, he will be in a position to replace the existing alliance with something far more valuable: a member state.”
It was a stunning opportunity, or would be if the population actually rose up, but before Vanderveen could respond to the offer the door slammed open and Fisk-Three appeared. He was dressed in homemade body armor— and armed with a machine pistol. “The Nerovs are here,” the clone said matterof-factly. “Take her out through the sewers. . . . We’ll hold them off for as long as we can.”
Suddenly, Alan had one of Vanderveen’s arms, and Mary had the other, as they hustled the diplomat out of the storeroom and down a hall. Off in the distance the muted rattle of automatic fi?re could be heard, as the secret police attempted to search the building, and the Fisks sought to delay them. Then Vanderveen was propelled through a doorway, down a fl?ight of metal stairs, and into a room fi?lled with what appeared to be the building’s heating and cooling equipment. Machines rumbled, whined, and purred as the threesome jogged between them. The fl?oor-mounted access hatch was made out of steel, and protected by a three-sided tubular railing and a length of bright yellow chain. The sign that dangled from it read, “Danger! Authorized personnel only!” But that didn’t stop Alan from unhooking the chain—and motioning for the women to enter the restricted area. Mary turned the wheel mounted on top of the hatch, pulled the dome-shaped closure upwards, and motioned with her free hand. “Down the ladder! Quick before the Nerovs come!”
Part of Vanderveen wanted to stay, and thereby free herself from captivity, but another more professional persona said no. The alliance with the Hegemony was clearly important, and if the revolution that Alan spoke of actually took place, a preexisting relationship could be extremely advantageous. So the diplomat nodded, turned, and grabbed hold of the protective railing. Once Vanderveen’s right foot found the top rung of the ladder, the descent began.
The shaft went down about twenty feet or so, and it wasn’t long before Mary’s body blocked much of the light from above, and the smell of raw sewage rose to envelop the diplomat. She had been dressed for work when snatched off the streets, but something told her that the pantsuit was destined for a recycling chute, as her pumps came into contact with the duracrete below. Mary was only a few feet above her, so Vanderveen hurried to get out of the way, and found herself on a raised walkway that ran parallel to a river of sewage. The odor was so strong it made the diplomat gag as she wondered where she was relative to her hotel. The ceiling was curved, oppressively low, and equipped with recessed lights. There weren’t all that many though, not more than one every fi?fty feet, and some were burned out. That contributed to the dark, claustrophobic feel of the tunnel, and caused Vanderveen to question the decision made minutes before.
“The place stinks!” Alan acknowledged cheerfully, as he appeared at her elbow. “But it’s reasonably safe. The Nerovs don’t come down here unless they absolutely have to—because they know at least half of them will get killed if they try. That doesn’t prevent them from sending robots, though—some of which are quite nasty. So keep your eyes peeled.”
On that cheerful note, the three of them set off. Alan was in the lead, with the two women following. The stench was nauseating, so Vanderveen tried to breathe through her mouth, and memorize the route. But there were too many twists and turns, so it wasn’t long before the diplomat was forced to give up.
Then they passed under a low arch, and arrived in front of a gate guarded by two seemingly identical men. Both had stocky bodies, appeared to be quite strong, and stood no more than four feet tall. The sentries were armed with pistols appropriated from Nerovs who had been brave enough, or stupid enough, to enter the maze of tunnels under Alpha Prime.
“They’re Lothos,” Mary explained. “The founder chose their progenitor, Lars Lotho for both his engineering expertise, and small stature. It’s easier to work down here if you’re small.”
The history of the Lotho line was especially interesting, since unlike Alan and Mary, the Lothos hadn’t been born into the role of outsiders. But were there more mainstream rebels? Or were the Lothos the exception? Time would tell. A mesh barrier barred the way, and metal clanged as one of the guards opened a door that allowed the fugitives to enter the holding area. “That’s one of our habs,” Alan explained, as he pointed to the brightly lit area that lay beyond a second mesh wall. Vanderveen saw that sections of solid fl?ooring had been laid over the open sewer, and the duracrete walls were covered with idealized murals, plus a variety of slogans. “Before we show you around,” the clone continued, “we’ll need to visit the clean rooms.”
“It’s annoying,” Mary added apologetically, “but necessary. Please follow me.”
So Vanderveen followed the prostitute through a doorway and into a room equipped with two standard gynecological tables. That was enough to stop the diplomat in her tracks—
but Mary had already begun to strip. “It’s almost impossible to visit the surface without picking up half a dozen robots,”
the clone explained. “Most can’t harm you directly, but the Nerovs can track them, and that’s a problem. It’s diffi?cult for low-power signals to reach the surface from down here, and we have scramblers, but it pays to be careful.”
Mary was nearly naked by then—and Vanderveen could see why the fi?rst Yee had been chosen for her job. The prostitute had large breasts, a fl?at stomach, and a nicely rounded bottom. A female nurse entered the room, and Mary was quick to climb up on the examining table and spread her long slim legs. Then, as the diplomat began to remove her pantsuit, the cleaning process began. It consisted of examining the clone’s body through a pair of high- tech goggles, removing the tiny machines with a pair of tweezers, and dropping each of them into an acid bath.
Ten minutes later it was Vanderveen’s turn. But at least the naked diplomat knew what to expect, even if the process was embarrassing, and seemed to last forever. Finally, having been declared “clean,” Vanderveen was free to get down off the table and put on a new set of clothes. They were at least one size too large and anything but fashionable. Alan and Mary were waiting outside. After the threesome were cleared through the second barrier, the diplomat was taken on a tour. Strangers were a rarity, so people had a tendency to stare. Vanderveen tried to
