the well-being of other sentients as well. It will be up to you to chart the exact path that your new government will take, but the Confederacy will be there to help in any way it can, and to celebrate your accomplishments. Thank you.” And with that the screen faded to black. Meanwhile, even as Nankool’s message was delivered to the population, half a dozen protest groups converged on the building that housed the Chamber of Governmental Process and became a single mob. That was when Alpha Clones Antonio and Pietro boarded a shuttle, and were transported up into orbit, where the admiral in command of the Hegemony’s home fl?eet agreed to take them aboard his fl?agship, but only as prisoners. Not because he hated them, but out of fear of the political consequences, were the military to take sides.
As that was taking place, Marcus went out to confront the mob. It was common knowledge that an earlier version of himself had not only fallen in love with a free breeder, but produced a child by her, believing the birth would trigger systemic changes within the Hegemony. But that Marcus had been wrong. The other Alpha Clones had been able to keep things under control, eventually forcing the visionary and his family into exile, thereby leaving all the existing problems unresolved.
But the historical connection meant that would-be free breeders had come to see any Marcus as a potential ally even though the current replicant had been a faithful and unwavering enforcer of the founder’s plan. For that reason, Marcus believed that the workers would listen to his pleas to stop rioting and return to work. So even as his clone brothers fl?ed, he went out to greet the riotous mob. There were hundreds of them, representing dozens of lines, all mixed together. And it was an ugly sight to behold. The workers could hardly believe their eyes at fi?rst, as one of the normally reclusive Alpha Clones came out to speak with them, and did so without any Nerovs to guard him. That was why the crowd actually let him speak a few paragraphs of what they saw as government mumbo jumbo before surging forward.
In a bloody denouement that was televised for all to see, the workers tore the Alpha Clone apart. And that, in the judgment of the historians who would write about the revolution later, was the moment when the old government truly came to an end.
Christine Vanderveen was naked. More than four hours had passed since Antonio and Pietro had fl?ed, Marcus had been killed, and Alan fi?nished his lunch with Nankool. The Clone Republic was a wildly chaotic reality by then, and the new president knew there were thousands of things that he should do, and eventually would do, but only after what he wanted to do—which was to spend some quality time with Christine Vanderveen. A private meeting which, thanks to his new title, he’d been able to insist upon. And now, as the blond encircled him, Alan was lost in the smell of her freshly washed hair, the softness of her lips, and the urgent thrust of her hips. He wanted to please her, but knew very little about how to do so, and feared he would lose control.
But Vanderveen’s passion was a match for his, and it wasn’t long before the pace of their lovemaking quickened, and both were carried away by successive waves of pleasure that seemed to last forever. And left both lovers wonderfully exhausted.
Alan said things he had never said before, whispering them into her sweat-glazed skin, rubbing them into her pores. And Vanderveen answered, though not with words, because she knew things her lover didn’t. She knew the Clone Republic’s interim president would be required to travel to other planets, where he would meet hundreds if not thousands of attractive women. More than that, she knew that in spite of the chemistry between them, and the extent to which she admired Alan, there was another. The only man who could truly fi?ll the emptiness inside her, the man with whom so much had already been shared, and the man she had been thinking about when the pleasure had been at its very peak. Alan fell asleep, and had every right to, given all he’d been through during the previous week. That made leaving easier. Eventually, when the president of the Clone Republic awoke, he would fi?nd the note:
My dearest Alan,
Your newfound freedom will bring many challenges, including those posed by the human heart. Mine is fi?lled with gratitude for the time we spent together, as well as admiration for the man that you are, and will be in the future.
But there is another. . . . A man to whom promises were made—and for whom I must wait. But I will remember. . . . Not with shame, but with joy, and the sure knowledge that you will fi?nd your way to happiness.
Affectionately,
Christine
16
However skillful the maneuvers in retreat, it will always weaken the morale of an army. . . . Besides, retreats always cost more men and material than the most bloody engagements; with this difference, that in battle the enemy’s loss is nearly equal to your own—whereas in a retreat the loss is on your side only.
Maxims of War
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE REPUBLIC
Snow was falling, the air was bitingly cold, and the steady rumble of mortar and artillery fi?re could be heard as elements of the Legion’s 1st REC, the 3rd Marine Division, and the Clone Republic’s 7th Infantry Brigade fought to hold the bugs back. The effort had been successful largely because the trenches intended to bar entry to Yal-Am also made it diffi?cult to leave, so long as they were occupied. But allied forces wouldn’t be able to hold the chits back for long, something Legion General Mortimer Kobbi was painfully aware of, as a ragtag collection of battle- weary offi?cers fi?led into the clone-built structure next to Yal-Am’s stone quarry. There was no heat and the big 155mm-sized hole in the roof allowed snow to fi?lter down into a space that was halffi?lled with slabs of frosty granite, some of which might very well become grave markers eventually. But the walls were mostly intact, blocking the wind. That, plus four blazing burn barrels, gave the impression, if not the reality, of warmth as the inside temperature hovered at twenty-six degrees. Rows of makeshift benches offered the attendees a place to sit, and many were so weary that they took advantage of the opportunity to rest even though they knew it was important to keep moving. The offi?cers were a motley group representing the Legion, Marine Corps, and the new Clone Republic, which many of them had only recently heard about. And, because of all the casualties suffered during the last few days, Kobbi noticed that captains, lieutenants, and even sergeants had been sent in place of the generals, colonels, and majors who would normally participate in a command briefi?ng. As the last of them entered, Kobbi was pleased to see that both Santana and Quinlan had survived, the fi?rst being a good deal more useful than the second. Although Quinlan had led his troops bravely, if not brilliantly, which was more than some allied offi?cers could claim. By virtue of a small miracle, one of the Legion’s supply sergeants had conjured up thermos bottles fi?
