“Go get one of the marines. Any marine. Bring him here.”
“Sir, yes sir,” the Seebo said obediently, and disappeared.
“Will one be enough?” Six inquired. “Or will it be necessary to shoot more?”
Kelly stared into the clone’s hard, implacable eyes.
“You’re crazy.”
“No,” Six replied calmly. “I’m a soldier engaged in a war against a ruthless enemy that will do anything to win. In order to beat them, we will have to be equally ruthless. Our survival depends on it.”
As luck would have it the person the clones dragged into the surgery was Hospital Corpsman Third Class Sumi. A small man, with black hair, who was clearly pissed off.
“What’s going on, ma’am?” the medic wanted to know. “The clone bastards shot a whole lot of our guys—and they won’t let me help them!”
“Here’s the deal,” Kelly said grimly, as she stood with hands on hips. “You let Sumi and I treat all of the wounded, yours included, and we’ll go with you. Otherwise, you can go ahead and start shooting. And you’d better start with me!”
It was a good suggestion. Six knew that. But even though it made sense, he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the doctor and thereby deny her services to his men. That’s what he told himself anyway as the offi?cer took a full step backwards.
“Okay, Doctor, have it your way. But hurry. I’ll give you one hour to treat the wounded and pack. Then we’re leaving. And we’ll be watching you. Step out of line, and the chief dies.”
The next hour was a living nightmare as Kelly and one of her medics sought to save as many lives as they could while Sumi packed their gear. Which, thanks to the fact that all their equipment was designed to be portable, was fairly easy to do.
The total number of casualties was shocking, and as a badly wounded marine died in Kelly’s arms, more than fi?fty sturdy civilians plodded up the hill. All of them wore homemade pack boards. One by one the Ortovs stepped up to the mountain of supplies that had been assembled for them, accepted their eighty-to one-hundred-pound loads, and made their way back down the hill. Even children could be seen through the drifting snow, bent nearly double under twenty-fi?ve-pound packs, as they followed the adults into the darkness.
Finally, at exactly 0300, Kelly was forced to break her efforts off as the last loads of medical supplies were carried away. “It’s okay,” Lance Corporal Danny Tovo said, as the doctor stood. “My leg feels pretty good all things considered. Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll come looking, and once we fi?nd these bastards, all of them are going to die.”
Kelly wanted to say that there had already been enough dying, but knew Tovo wouldn’t understand, and nodded.
“Tell the chief I said to change that dressing every eight hours. Do you read me?”
The marine grinned. His teeth looked unnaturally white in the glare produced by one of the pole-mounted lamps. “I read you fi?ve-by-fi?ve, ma’am.”
Kelly wanted to cry but didn’t as Sumi helped her into her jacket, and the two of them marched downhill. The battle for Firebase 356 was over.
PLANET ALPHA-001, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
Christine Vanderveen was standing. She couldn’t see anything through the blindfold, but she felt the truck start to slow, and knew it was about to stop. Fisk-3 and Fisk-5 held the diplomat upright as the truck jerked to a halt. “Remember,” the clone called Alan said, as a side door slammed open. “Tell Nankool that the revolution is coming. Tell him that if the Senate will recognize the new government quickly, we’ll join the Confederacy.”
Vanderveen had heard the argument at least a dozen times by then, and wasn’t likely to forget, but she nodded.
“And,” Alan added softly, “please take care of yourself.”
Before the diplomat could make any sort of response, she was literally lifted out of the truck, and placed on the sidewalk. The blindfold came off as the truck roared away. The bright sunlight caused her to blink. It was well into the workday by that time, so very few clones were out on the street, but those who were eyed the female as she hurried away. The orderly grid-style streets made it easy to navigate. So it was only a matter of minutes before Vanderveen located the hotel to which Nankool and his delegation had been assigned. As Vanderveen entered the lobby, she was planning to contact Nankool’s secretary and request an appointment. But that wasn’t to be as someone recognized the FSO-2, shouted her name, and triggered all sorts of attention. Within moments Vanderveen was hustled away and sequestered in a conference room, where she was questioned by a succession of security teams. Starting with the beings assigned to protect Nankool, who were followed by three sternlooking clones, including two Romos and a hard-eyed Nerov. The latter were the genetic line which, if Alan and Mary had told her the truth, hunted free breeders as if they were animals. So Vanderveen was careful to be as vague as possible regarding her abductors, what their motives were, and where she had been held. All of which frustrated the policemen, who were used to browbeating the citizenry into submission but couldn’t use such tactics on a foreign diplomat. That was when a second team of Confederacy security people arrived. They escorted the recently freed diplomat to one of the “clean rooms” that had been established a few fl?oors above, where they intended to interrogate her all over again. Partially to clarify what had occurred, but mostly in an attempt to protect senior offi? cials from a similar fate, especially the president himself. So they were far from happy when a mere FSO-2 refused to answer their questions until she could sit down with Nankool and give the chief executive a fi?rsthand report on what she had learned. An assistant secretary of state tried to talk Vanderveen out of her plan, but she was insistent, and due to the nature of her relationship with Nankool the offi?cial thought it best to back off rather than risk the president’s ire. That was why three hours after her unexpected return, Vanderveen fi?nally found herself standing outside the conference room that the president was using as his offi?ce, waiting for the undersecretary of defense to leave. And eventually she did. Vanderveen noticed that the retired colonel, whom some people referred to as “the Iron Lady,” closed the door gently, as if letting herself out of a hospital room. The two of them made eye contact, and Undersecretary Zimmer forced a smile. “Hello, Christine. . . . It’s good to have you back safe and sound. You should have seen the president’s face light up when the news came in. He actually smiled!”
Vanderveen searched the older woman’s face. It was common knowledge that Nankool had been depressed ever since the attack on Earth. But the last comment seemed to hint at something more profound. “It’s that bad?”
