“Okay,” Fisk-Five said, as he aimed a small handheld camera at the rebel’s face. “Say what you’ve got to say —and hurry up! We don’t have much time.”
The government had done everything possible to keep the rebels off the main com channels, but that was hard to do, so long as all the technicians continued to side with the rebels. “My fellow citizens,” the rebel began. “My clone name is Trotski-Four. But my new name is Alan Free-man. As I speak to you, the forces of oppression are preparing to attack Bio-Storage Building 516. If the Alpha Clones are successful in their efforts to kill, and thereby silence us, they will insist that they did so in an effort to protect you. But what they are really trying to protect is the status quo, which is to say their power, so they can pass it along to replicas of themselves. Not power conferred on them by the people, but power they are born to by virtue of a plan, handed down to them from a dead scientist, which no one is allowed to change.
“Well,” Alan said, as he stared into the camera. “If you’re happy with things as they are—then this is nothing more than a day off from work. But if you, like so many others, would like the freedom to choose another line of work, or to have a sexual relationship, or to produce natural children, then take to the streets and support the new Clone Republic! A provisional government, led by me, will prepare the way for a constitutional democracy, which will take over one year from today.
“But in order to accomplish that, it will be necessary to show the Alpha Clones that the new government has the support of the people,” Alan said urgently. “So take control of your lives! Be whatever you want to be! And demonstrate your power by continuing to strike until a member of the provisional government announces some sort of settlement. At which point I want you to remember that we are at war with the Ramanthians. Our citizens are fi?ghting on distant planets, and it’s important to support that effort by running our factories and other institutions as effi?ciently as possible. And that means it will be necessary for most of us to remain in our present functions during the ensuing transition period. Thank you for your support,” Alan fi?nished. “And let this be our fi?rst day of freedom!”
“Good job,” Fisk-Five said, as he lowered the camera.
“But I think we just ran out of time. Look at that!”
Alan turned to look in the direction of the other man’s pointing fi?nger. Though not an expert on military spacecraft, the clone didn’t have to be to know that the ship coming their way was big! At least twenty times larger than the police assault boats that were circling the building. And, given the weaponry the warship carried, it could destroy both Building 516 and half the city if those on board chose to do so. That suggested the Alpha Clones were prepared to sacrifi?ce the DNA repository in order to kill the rebel leaders. The ship was only two hundred feet off the ground, which made it all the more impressive, as repellers roared and the destroyer escort drifted in over the building. The downdraft blew debris every which way, and the air was thick with acrid stench of ozone, as a huge shadow fell over Alan. The rebel thought about running, knew it would be pointless, and saw Fisk-Five aim the camera at him. To record how brave he was? Or document the end of the Clone Republic? There was no way to know.
As Alan waited to die, one of the Crowleys pointed upwards. Her hair was fl?ying, and it was necessary to yell in order to make herself heard. “Look at those markings!” the woman said. “That ship belongs to the Confederacy!”
As an assault boat parted company with the larger vessel, the rebel realized the woman was correct! Did that mean what he thought it meant? Alan felt a sudden surge of hope as the assault boat circled the building and came in for a perfect landing. A hatch opened, stairs were deployed, and a familiar fi?gure appeared. But rather than rush forward and embrace him, Foreign Service Offi?cer-2 Christine Vanderveen took up a position next to the stairs, as a second woman appeared. And it was she who came forward to shake hands with Alan Freeman.
“Hello,” the woman in the tidy business suit said. “My name is Marcy Cowles. Ambassador Marcy Cowles. On behalf of President Nankool, and the Confederacy, please allow me to be the fi?rst to congratulate you and your fellow freedom fi?ghters on the creation of a new government. I know you’re busy, but considering the circumstances, this might be a good time to have lunch with the president.”
Alan turned to eye his surroundings. Once the warship arrived, the police boats had been forced to back off. He could imagine the frantic radio traffi?c between them and various government agencies as hundreds of bureaucrats were forced to confront a problem the founder hadn’t prepared them for. He and his fellow revolutionaries were safe for the moment, but that would end once the ship left, so the choice was really no choice at all. “Are my friends invited as well?” the rebel wanted to know.
“Of course,” Cowles responded blandly. “We look forward to meeting all of the brave freedom fi?ghters who will go down in the annals of history as having founded the Clone Republic.”
Alan looked over to where Vanderveen was standing. Her blond hair was whipping in the downdraft from the warship overhead, and despite the condition of her fi?lthy clothes, she looked regal somehow. He wanted to take her into his arms, but knew he couldn’t, and nodded instead. “Thank you,”
Alan said, as he turned back to Cowles. “It would be an honor to join the president for lunch.”
There was a sense of purpose within the conference room, as Booly made arrangements to evacuate the president under fi?re should that become necessary, and senior staff members took furious, and in some cases, frantic calls from individuals inside the Hegemony’s government. It quickly became apparent that while some of the clones were trying to hold things together, others had capitulated, and were seeking asylum within the Confederacy.
That left Nankool and a handful of others to watch video provided by both the rebels and the Confederacy’s destroyer escort, as Cowles, Vanderveen, and the rebel leaders entered the assault boat and were subsequently taken aboard the warship that was hovering above. That left the Romos and Nerovs to reoccupy an empty building. A victory of sorts, but not the one the Alpha Clones had been expecting, as their carefully organized society crumbled around them. The process continued to accelerate as a new video clip appeared on the rebel-dominated com channels.
“There it is!” an aide said excitedly, and Nankool turned to look at a screen off to his right. “Good afternoon,” the digitized version of himself said. “My name is Marcott Nankool and, as president of the Confederacy of Sentient Beings, it is my pleasure to formally recognize the Clone Republic, and assure its citizens that not only will the existing military alliance remain in force so far as we’re concerned, but we look forward to having even closer ties with your democracy during the days ahead. I will meet with Provisional President Alan Freeman within the next few hours and provide him with whatever assistance he requires.” The last phrase was directed more at the Alpha Clones, than the citizenry, and amounted to a thinly veiled threat. Now that the Confederacy was committed, it couldn’t back off, even if that meant a clash with the police.
Nankool watched his likeness smile—and knew what was coming. “For all too long the two major branches of humanity have been divided by a social system that could deliver peace and prosperity, but at a very steep price, that being the loss of personal liberties. Foremost among them was the right to vote, the right to choose a profession, and the right to procreate. Congratulations on the acquisition of your newfound freedom—and the responsibility it entails! Because, like us, you are at war. . . . And the future of all humanity is at stake, along with
