The Clone Redemption

CHAPTER EIGHT

Earthdate: November 20, A.D. 2517

Master Chief Oliver looked at the time. Two hours to go before the launch. In another hour, he would board a shuttle to the Onoda and escort one hundred of his men to their Kamikaze farewell. He would watch as they drank the ceremonial sake. They would leave on a hazardous mission, and he would call in their orders from the safety of a ship. They would face danger, and he would command them from far away. Oliver chided himself for hiding on a ship while his men faced the enemy on otherwise-uninhabited moons. He felt humiliated.

Replacing Emerson Illych as master chief of the SEALs was a nightmare for Oliver. Like an undergraduate secondstringer replacing an injured varsity athlete, Oliver saw himself as having inherited the promotion instead of earning it. He thought about Illych’s dying on A-361-F while he would not go on the mission to A-361-D, and experienced a stab of the self-loathing that had been hardwired into every SEAL clone’s brain.

He went to the landing bay and boarded an interfleet shuttle that flew him to the Onoda. Five Japanese sailors rode the same flight. They were enlisted men, as he was. Oliver did not speak to the sailors, and they paid little attention to him as they talked loudly among themselves in Japanese.

They were not really ignoring him, though. English was the first language on Ezer Kri, as it was in all of the 180 colonies. Many of the colonists learned to speak Japanese and read Kanji out of pride in their heritage, but English remained their first and native language. Had a SEAL clone not been on their shuttle, the sailors would have spoken in English.

Bred for stealth and almost invisible, Oliver told himself. He sat alone in the back of the shuttle for the ten-minute flight. A few rows ahead, the sailors chatted among themselves, confident in the knowledge that the master chief could not understand them. One of them commented that Oliver had the face of a bat. Another said, “Not all bats are that ugly. I once saw a fruit bat that was much better-looking than this kage no yasha.”

The sailors laughed.

Had the sailors been paying more attention, they might have noticed Oliver ignoring them a little too much. Some of their chuckling should have caught his attention.

Had Yamashiro read Oliver’s profile a little more closely, he would have seen that the SEALs learned languages just by hearing them spoken. The ability was built into their brains. Corey Oliver spoke Japanese better than the sailors on the shuttle. Sitting quietly in his seat, pretending not to hear them, he corrected their grammatical mistakes in his head.

Oliver fantasized about asking the sailors for directions to Captain Miyamoto’s office in Japanese. He imagined the stunned looks on their faces and smiled. But Illych gave strict orders to the SEALs not to speak Japanese in public, and Oliver understood the wisdom of that decision. If he spoke Japanese to these men, he would humiliate them. They would know that he had heard them, and they would be ashamed. Oliver did not want to humiliate them.

The shuttle landed. Oliver waited for the sailors to leave the ship. He gave them another minute to leave the landing bay, then he rose from his seat and left as well.

Two of his SEALs met him as he came off the shuttle. “Do I have a face like a bat?” Oliver asked as he joined his friends.

“Maybe a really ugly one,” said Senior Chief Harmer.

“Have you been eavesdropping on sailors again?” asked Senior Chief Warren. “Just ignore them.”

Harmer laughed. “Listen to him,” he said. “He’s always complaining because some sailor …”

“He asked what my face looked like before it caught on fire,” Warren explained.

“He wasn’t speaking to you,” Harmer said.

“But he was talking about me.”

“Well, yeah. But you really are ugly.”

“You have the same face I do,” said Warren.

Harmer looked mortified. He looked down at the ground, then briefly met Warren’s gaze, and said, “That’s low.”

Warren looked to Oliver for help. “See what I mean? He treats me like this all the time.”

Oliver only shrugged, and said, “You shouldn’t let it get to you.”

They started toward the compound in which the SEALs lived and trained.

All three SEALs might have been thinking the same thing, but Warren was the one who voiced it. “I’m sorry you can’t come with us,” he said, and the joking fell away from his voice.

“I wanted to go on the mission,” said Oliver.

“Everybody knows that,” said Harmer. “Give us a little credit.”

A few silent moments passed, then Harmer and Warren began joking back and forth, their banter coming across like a play they had rehearsed to bolster the master chief’s spirits. Warren made himself the butt of the jokes, spurring Oliver and Harmer to use him as their fall guy; but Oliver’s mood only became darker.

“You know, it’s not going to be like Illych’s mission,” said Warren. “You saw the files. It’s a flat surface. That’s all it is, probably just an abandoned landing strip. I bet the only thing we find is a million-year-old sign that says, ‘Keep off the grass.’ ”

Oliver tried to smile, but he felt so humiliated.

Still hoping to raise the master chief’s mood, Warren added, “Honestly, the aliens won’t even bother coming after us, not on a moon like that. They probably forgot the place exists.”

They reached the compound but did not get the chance to step inside. A young Japanese ensign waited for them at the door. Short by Japanese standards, the ensign stood five-eight and towered over the SEAL clones. He wore a blue uniform, so dark it was almost black.

“Captain Miyamoto has sent for you,” said the ensign.

Already wallowing in insecurities, Oliver jumped to conclusions. He assumed this meant he would not be allowed to attend his men’s Kamikaze farewell. At first he was angry, then he felt more ashamed than ever. Maybe he did not belong at the ceremony. Maybe a leader who did not accompany his men on a suicidal mission did not deserve to attend their last ceremony.

Oliver saluted and acknowledged the order. He turned to Warren, tried to sound upbeat, and said, “Give my regards to Admiral Yamashiro.”

“The admiral is not here,” said the ensign.

Not here? thought Oliver. It’s not just me. He’s dismissing the SEALs from his mind. Perhaps we haven’t lived up to his expectations. As these thoughts ran through his mind, the master chief began to believe he had dishonored his men. It was not a rational thought, and he knew it. It was part of his neural programming. He knew that as well, but he could not do anything to change it.

Oliver did not speak as he followed the ensign up to the bridge. He considered all the things he might have done wrong and all the reasons Yamashiro might have for dismissing him. Only a day had passed since he took command of the SEALs. The only misdeed that came to mind was showing the video feed of Illych’s mission to his men.

They passed several sailors on the way to Miyamoto’s office, both male and female. The men mostly ignored Oliver. A pretty female petty officer third class smiled at him. The ensign noticed this and scowled. Oliver pretended not to see her.

Rumor had it that the SEALs protected the female sailors in the Japanese Fleet. In the three years that the Fleet had been in Bode’s Galaxy, none of the women had been raped or assaulted. The women credited the SEALs for the men’s lawabiding behavior.

The SEALs did not fraternize with women. Because they saw themselves as hideous, they spoke to almost no