wanted us to leave. As far as he and everyone else knew, we were landlocked on his planet. We couldn’t very well fly off into space in a fleet of short-range transports, so he tolerated our settling into the Army base on the east side of town.
“Ellery tells me you want to attack Earth,” said Sarah Doctorow, the Right Reverend’s clone-hating wife.
“Wayson, are you planning attacks without telling me?” Ava pretended her feelings were hurt.
Sarah was Ellery Doctorow’s common-law wife. Ava was more like my fiancee than my wife. I got the better deal.
Wearing an ivy-colored dress, Sarah Doctorow looked like a turtle—tiny flesh-colored limbs and head, massive green shell in the middle. Her breasts hung like watermelons, and her third chin sagged so far down her neck, it could have hidden an Adam’s apple.
She looked over at Ava, gave her a warm smile, and said, “You need to keep a close eye on that man of yours. He’s planning a war behind your back.”
Ava answered Sarah in kind, smiling graciously, and saying, “That’s my Wayson.”
Ava had once been the hottest actress in Hollywood. She was a dark-haired, green-eyed goddess who might have been remembered among Hollywood’s greatest legends had word not gotten out that she had inherited her name and her DNA from an ancient actress.
U.A. society turned its back on Ava along with the rest of its synthetic progeny. About the same time that the gossip columnists began flogging Ava, the Joint Chiefs of Staff decided to jettison their clones. They sent us to the farthest reaches of the galaxy; and Ava Gardner, the fallen star, hitched a ride with us.
Sarah loathed Ava because she was a clone. Ava detested Sarah because Doctorow’s wife was a bigot and a bitch. Both women put on a great show. The first time I saw them chatting, I thought they liked each other.
“What happened to your cane?” Doctorow asked, as our better halves conversed.
“I think I’ve outgrown it,” I said.
“Congratulations on your remarkable recovery,” Doctorow said. “Your doctor gave you even chances of survival two months ago, now you’re walking around without a cane.” He lifted his wineglass for a toast. “To what should we attribute your amazing recovery? Good genes, I suppose?”
Doctorow had a talent for delivering insults as backhanded compliments. I was a Liberator, a class of clone that had been discontinued because of a tendency toward uncontrollable violence. The reason I survived was because my Liberator physiology included a special gland that pumped testosterone and adrenaline into my system to help Liberators adjust to battle. They called that feat of anatomical engineering a “combat reflex.”
The new Unified Authority Marines used flechettes instead of bullets. The flechettes were no larger than a sewing needle, but they were coated with a neurotoxin that would have killed me had my combat reflex not gone into overdrive. Strained but not destroyed, the gland went dormant during my recovery period. I was still weak but getting stronger.
Pretending not to notice the insult, I smiled and drank my wine.
Ellery Doctorow did not like me or my Marines, but that did not stop him from making a toast with wine we had provided him. The peas and the canned chicken his wife served for dinner all came compliments of the military he so despised.
The Avatari left Terraneau so battered that the people did not have enough food to feed themselves. Fortunately, the Unifieds lost a lot of ships when they attacked us; we might have starved if they hadn’t come to kill us. Rummaging on the derelict warships floating above the atmosphere, my men found enough food to feed the planet while my Corps of Engineers built farms.
“I even went jogging this morning,” I said. “Nothing too ambitious, just a couple of miles.” Actually, I’d jogged a full ten miles, but Doctorow did not need to know that.
“Jogging? I’m glad to hear it,” he said through a stiff grin that made him look anything but happy. “Now that you are up and around, have you put any thought into finding a new location for your base? I think it’s high time you moved.”
“A new location,” I said. “Washington, D.C., comes to mind.”
He laughed.
I leaned over the table, my eyes locked on Doctorow’s, and said in a hushed voice as if confiding my deepest personal secrets, “I know what happened to my fleet.”
Thinking that I meant I had found the wreckage of the missing ships, he asked, “How far did they get?”
“They made it,” I said. “They survived.”
The room had gone quiet. Ava and Sarah stared at me. I had not thought they would hear me, but I didn’t mind.
“What do you mean they made it?” asked Doctorow.
“They escaped. They’re fine,” I said, both bluffing and telling the truth. I did not know whether or not they were “fine,” but I did know how they had escaped.
CHAPTER THREE
Ava saw through me. She always saw through me. Fortunately for me, she was an actress by trade. She knew when to hide her emotions, and how.
The tone of the evening changed after I made my announcement. Thrilled with the idea that my Marines might actually leave his planet, Ellery Doctorow wanted details. “Where did they go?”
“That’s classified,” I said.
“How soon will they return?”
“Classified.”
“But you’re in contact with them? You’re making plans to leave?”
“Not in the foreseeable future,” I said.
His silence was smothering. He shook his head to show disappointment.
Taking advantage of the silence, Sarah Doctorow butted into the conversation. “Oh, but, General, you can’t possibly attack Earth from Terraneau, it’s too far away. Wouldn’t that weaken your attack?” She didn’t care about my welfare, of course. That was just camouflage.
“Where do you suggest I launch from?” I asked her.
Her husband answered, “Anywhere but here.”
“We don’t have anyplace else,” I said, though I did not know if that was accurate.
“Attack from wherever your fleet disappeared to. Where did you say they went?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” I said.
“You brought the Earth Fleet down on us once already. I won’t allow you to do that again.”
I wondered how he planned to stop me but did not ask. I also wondered why I tolerated the pontificating old windbag. Hell, I didn’t just put up with him, I kowtowed to him. I let him push me around. Somewhere in my mind, I accepted the notion that I was just a guest on Terraneau. This was not my home. Me and my Marines, we were here for a visit, and we could not wait to get away. Doctorow, he was here forever, and for that reason I gave him a little more authority than I normally would have.
Sarah took a different tack. “That is so brave,” she raved. “They nearly annihilated you just two months ago, and you’re already preparing to fight them again.” She touched a hand to her voluminous bosoms as if genuinely moved.
Ava did not join in the discussion. She listened to Ellery and Sarah but kept her eyes on me. No emotion showed on her face.
And that was how the night ended—Doctorow angling to get my Marines off his planet, his wife praising me for my self-destructive spirit, and Ava watching in silence.
Seeing that I would not give out any more specifics, Doctorow finished his glass of wine, and announced, “It’s getting late, perhaps we should call an end to the evening.”
Sarah yawned, placing a hand as thick as a catcher’s mitt before her mouth but making no effort to stifle the sound. Then she stood, started gathering dirty plates, paused to look at Ava, and said, “It’s so nice to see you again.”
