The Clone Empire

“You want a theory?” I asked. I wanted to tell him that “Marines don’t speculate.” I wanted to tell him that the Unifieds probably told the Double Ys to kill every officer whose brains were bigger than his balls, and that after Franks and Thorne, the killer clones ran out of targets. “Here’s a theory,” I said. “Maybe the Unified Authority wants its ships back.”

“And they don’t have the brass to come after us in a fight,” Warshaw said. Clearly he liked that line of thought. It stroked his ego. He saw himself as the hero of Terraneau. If the Unified Authority was scared, that meant they were scared of him. Maybe he deserved the credit, too. He’d come up with the idea of using the broadcast stations to create a new network.

Warshaw nodded, and asked, “So they kill off the officers, and anyone left is so scared they just hand over command of our ships? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that,” I said. “It’s just a possibility.” Most clones lacked the initiative to take over once the officers went down.

We had found a solution to the Double Y problem before we fully understood its significance. Interrogating the Double Ys didn’t help, the pathetic bastards did not even know as much as we did.

Freeman understood what was going on, though. I would ask him again.

“What are we going to do about Olympus Kri?” I asked.

Warshaw must not have told the other admirals about Freeman’s warning. I heard confusion in their whispering.

There was a moment of silence in which Warshaw sat glaring at me, clenching his right fist, then letting it relax, making his forearm and biceps bulge. If he had not mentioned this bit of intelligence to anyone, it was because he did not take it seriously. He probably hoped it would just go away. Now I had thrown it back in his face in front of his admirals.

By way of explanation, Warshaw said, “Harris believes the Unifieds are going to attack Olympus Kri.”

“That’s a pretty safe bet,” said Admiral Nelson. Of all of the admirals, he had the biggest stake in the matter. As the commander of the Orion Inner Fleet, protecting Olympus Kri was his responsibility.

“He says they’re going to attack early next week,” Warshaw said.

“How solid is your information?” asked Admiral Nelson.

“Pretty solid,” I said, not offering any details. Had any of them asked me that question a week ago, I would have vouched for Freeman without question. Now, though, I had reservations.

“How many ships do we have patrolling the planet?” Warshaw asked.

“Sixty-eight,” I said.

All heads turned to stare at me. That was not the kind of information admirals expected to hear from a Marine.

Nelson looked at his pocket computer and confirmed my number.

“How did you know that?” Warshaw asked.

“From the same source that told me the Unifieds were on their way,” I said.

“Maybe your man isn’t blowing steam after all,” Warshaw said. “What do you think we should do?”

“We need to send more ships to the area and land more Marines on the ground,” I said. I kept one recommendation to myself—that we needed to pray Freeman was really on our side.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Philo Hollingsworth met me as I arrived back on the ad-Din to tell me about his promotion. He waited for me in the landing bay and waylaid me as I came off my transport.

“Has Admiral Warshaw contacted you?” he asked. He gave me a proper salute. I did not yet know why he had come, but I could tell he was uncomfortable by the way he approached me. I half expected him to inform me that I had been relieved of command.

“I was just in a meeting with Warshaw,” I said. The staff meeting had ended a couple of hours ago. While the other officers rushed back to their ships, I went down to the officers’ mess and ate a leisurely meal.

Hollingsworth bobbed his head in agreement a bit too quickly, his eyes never quite meeting mine. Whatever news he had, he knew I would not like it, and he seemed almost apologetic. “Warshaw gave me a promotion,” he said.

He’d been a full-bird colonel; the next step up was general and the promotion was well deserved. Hollingsworth and I did not get on all that well, but he was a good Marine.

“You got your star,” I said, putting out my hand to shake his. “It’s about specking time.”

“Three stars, sir. He promoted me to major general.”

I had no doubt Warshaw had made that promotion to send me another message, and he’d been none too subtle. The promotion put Hollingsworth and me in the same pay grade.

“Congratulations,” I said, though I already had a premonition that his rise in the ranks signaled my fall.

I wished him luck. Hollingsworth suffered from the same character flaw that got in my way as an officer. He had the temperament of a combat Marine, not a fleet officer. Infighting and backroom deals did not appeal to him.

“When are you shipping out?” I asked.

“I’m not shipping out; my orders are to remain on the ad-Din,” he said.

That sealed the deal, I was on my way out. Warshaw might leave me marooned on Olympus Kri, or he might send me back to Terraneau. One thing was certain, the ad-Din did not have enough room for two three-star generals. Hell, there wasn’t enough room for two three-stars in the entire Enlisted Man’s Marines.

For now, I still had the upper hand. I’d held the rank longer. Trying to sound unconcerned, I said, “The last update I received, we were heading for Olympus Kri. Is that still the case?”

“Yes, sir,” Hollingsworth said. “I wanted to speak with you about that.”

I nodded and started toward the exit. Hollingsworth fell into step.

“Admiral Warshaw says you think the Unifieds are going to attack.”

“I do,” I said.

“We have a half million troops stationed on Olympus Kri,” Hollingsworth said.

“I did not know that,” I said, wondering why Freeman had neglected to mention it.

“Yes, sir.” Now that we were on equal footing, Hollingsworth seemed more anxious to get along.

“That’s a lot of men,” I said.

“I gave them orders to look for sonic cannons …in case the Unifieds attack.”

I had to think about that for a moment. Finally, I flashed back to Lieutenant Mars’s findings on Terraneau. “In case they have shielded armor,” I said. I vaguely remembered the conversation, as if it had happened years earlier instead of weeks.

“It was your idea,” he said.

I smiled and answered, “Yes, and if it doesn’t work, we can always try to get them to chase us into an underground garage.”

There were always wild cards in battle. If a sniper targeted you from two miles away, for instance, you would never know what hit you until God gave you the details. Even factoring land mines, snipers, and atom bombs, I always felt that as a combat Marine I had more control of my fate than sailors had of theirs.

When the shooting started, I could attack or run for cover. If I stayed alert, I would probably survive. Sailors, on the other hand, lived and died with their ships. Speed and reflexes cannot save a man when his ship explodes around him. Maybe it was a phobia; but I felt helpless riding into a combat zone on the Salah ad- Din.

Most of my Marines shared that phobia. The twenty-two hundred Marines on the ad- Din had survived the land battles of Terraneau, then seen what happened to the men on the ships. Walking around the Marine complex, I felt the tension. Fuses burned quickly. Tempers ran short. Stumble into another man, and he might curse at you. Step on another man’s toe, and a fistfight would likely follow.

Olympus Kri was not an especially large planet. With the Salah ad-Din and two more