It was strange to see so many virtually identical men—
the only difference being variations in age. Having read up on the subject, Kelly knew that appearances were deceiving, because each soldier had a different personality, which was obvious from the wide variety of expressions that could be seen on their faces, the manner in which they held their bodies, and the way some of them stared at her. Kelly noticed that one man had a pronounced limp and went out to meet him. But, before she could speak to the soldier, a colonel stepped in between them. “Don’t you have some work to do, Lieutenant?” Six demanded. “Because if you don’t, I’ll speak with Captain Smith, and I’m sure we can fi?nd some.”
Kelly had short, fl?aming red hair, piercing blue eyes, and what most people agreed was a two-second fuse. So when she turned to confront Six, the physician gave him what her subordinates generally referred to as “the look.” It consisted of a narrow-eyed stare that was normally reserved for incompetents, slackers, and other assorted miscreants. That, plus the way her hands rested on her hips, was a sure sign that the shit was about to hit the fan. Two marines close enough to be privy to the exchange looked at each other and grinned.
“First, Colonel whatever your number is, I don’t report to you. Second, I don’t report to Smith either. And, third, I am doing my goddamned job! And if you try to interfere with me, Chief Kibaki will blow your motherfucking head off!”
“Sorry,” a deep basso voice said from somewhere behind the clone. “But Dr. Kelly is correct. If you try to interfere with her, I will blow your motherfucking head off. . . . Except you don’t have a mother. . . . Do you, sir?”
That caused every marine within earshot to laugh. And Six turned to discover that a huge black man was pointing a pistol at his head while grinning from ear to ear. The Seebos didn’t like that, and were reaching for their weapons, when Lieutenant-44 snapped, “As you were!” Because he knew that one wrong move could start an all- out shooting war. One the clones would lose.
Six was thunderstruck. Partly because the free-breeding female was the fi?rst person to question his authority in a long time, but also because Kelly was so pretty it took his breath away. That made the offi?cer ashamed, because such reactions were wrong, and he of all people was supposed to control himself. But when the clone turned back, ready to deliver a stern rebuke, it was to fi?nd that the doctor was helping 81 over to an ammo crate so he could take his right boot off. There was an audible click as Kibaki let the hammer down and returned the pistol to its shoulder holster. “Don’t let the doc get to you, sir. . . . Dr. Kelly has a lot of edges, but there ain’t none better! Especially when the casualties start to roll on in.”
Smith came to the clone’s rescue at that point by offering Six a lukewarm shower, and a hot meal. But Lieutenant-44 had witnessed the whole thing, and knowing his commanding offi?cer the way he did, wondered if that would be the end of it. Everyone knew Colonel Six was a horny old bastard. Everybody except him that is. . . . Which was what made the whole thing interesting. Four-four grinned and went in search of something to eat.
The night was cold, and a light snow was falling, as the clone noncoms made their rounds. There was a chorus of groans as the soldiers extricated themselves from their sleeping bags, pulled their boots on, and checked their weapons. Once the Seebos were ready, they left the relative comfort of the bunkers to which they had been assigned for the freezing cold air outside. Each squad had a separate objective—but the same basic orders: Take control of the base, prevent communications with the outside world, and keep casualties to a minimum. And the effort went well at fi?rst. Four-Four led a squad into the Bat HQ bunker, where they took Captain Smith, the duty sergeant, and the RT (radio tech) prisoner. Meanwhile, other teams took control of the weapons pits, the observation tower, and the supply dump.
In fact, the entire operation might have gone off without a hitch had it not been for the fact that Private Harley Haskins had a bad case of the runs. The problem forced the jarhead to exit his sleeping bag in a hurry, grab his weapon, and dash out into the night. The partially screened fourholer was located about twenty-fi?ve feet away, and it seemed like a mile. Having dropped trou, Haskins was forced to plant his formerly warm ass on slushy plywood as a regiment of snowfl?akes parachuted out of the sky. And that’s where he was, shitting his guts out, when a group of clones paused just beyond the privacy screen. Then, as one of the Seebo sergeants paused to remind his brothers “To use knives rather than guns,” Haskins hurried to wipe himself. Having hoisted his pants, and grabbed his weapon, the marine did what any good leatherneck would do: He followed the clones to the front gate, saw them take a sentry down, and opened fi?re. And, because Haskins was a good shot, all six of the clone bastards fell.
But the sound of gunfi?re set off what could only be described as fi?ve minutes of hell, as Haskins tried to warn his buddies over the companywide push, and those marines who hadn’t already been taken prisoner opened fi?re on anything that moved. That resulted in two deaths from friendly fi?re—
and triggered the predictable response from the Seebos. Having lost six brothers to the free breeders, the clones went on a killing rampage, even going so far as to kill a marine who was already bound hand and foot. Lieutenant-44 ran from position to position ordering his men to stop, but that took time and a number of people were killed in the interim. In the meantime the sound of gunfi?re caused Kelly to sit up and start to push the sleeping bag down off her legs when a fi?gure loomed over her. A single light had been left on inside the surgery, and because the man was backlit, it was impossible to see who the visitor was. “Chief?” Kelly inquired. “Is that you?”
“No,” Colonel Six replied fl?atly. “The chief never made it out of his sleeping bag. My men roped him to his cot.”
As Kelly continued to work herself free, she heard a half dozen shots followed by a profound silence. “What’s going on?” the doctor demanded angrily. “We’re supposed to be allies!”
“Not in my book,” Six responded darkly, as the woman’s feet hit the rubber mat. “Once we push the Ramanthians back into space, it will be your turn. In the meantime, we need supplies, and that’s why we’re here. Gather your things. You’re coming with us.”
Kelly had her boots on by then and she stood. Her eyes fl?ashed and Six felt her presence so strongly he wanted to push the free breeder down on the cot and rape her. But that would be wrong, very wrong, so the offi? cer held himself in check. “I’m staying here,” Kelly said tightly. “Now get the hell out of the way. People could be dying out there.”
“People have died out there,” Six replied grimly. “And how many more of them die will depend on you. Choose one medic. Anyone other than the chief. Pack enough supplies to support an infantry company for a month. Don’t worry about weight. You won’t have to carry it.”
Kelly folded her arms and looked up into his heavily shadowed face. “No,” she said defi?antly. “I won’t do it.”
The clone stared down into her eyes. “Sergeant . . .”
“Sir!” a noncom said, as he stepped out into the half-light.
