The Clone Redemption

broken, the launchers crashed, shattered, and bent. Stealth infiltration pods dropped on bodies and slid. Oliver was thrown ten feet in the air and landed badly, trying to catch himself with his dislocated arm as he tumbled.

But the transport did not move.

The transport did not move. It was clamped into a launch sled.

The rear hatch of the transport hung open, a gaping maw in the dim light of the bay. Oliver looked back and saw two teams of SEALs wheeling in pods and equipment. He signaled for them to follow him, then trotted into the transport.

Fortune smiled upon him in the grimmest of ways. As he started up the ramp, he spotted a launch device and computer station in the darkness of the kettle. No glow rose from the computer screen, and no lights winked along the side of the launch device, but the transport had obviously been powered down, and Oliver thought that the odds were pretty good that both mechanisms still worked perfectly.

The Sakura hit what might have been a small pocket of turbulence. The deck of the transport dropped out from beneath Oliver. It was a small bounce. He landed on his feet, rolling his right ankle. If he somehow survived another hour, the sprain would hurt; but he knew that he would not live long enough to feel it. For now, he could still walk. The joint did not seize; it simply felt stiff.

He looked at the pod-launching equipment. Both the computer and the launch device had not moved. Bolted into tracks that ran across the floor and ceiling of the transport, the launcher remained fixed.

Oliver crossed the kettle. He struggled as he climbed the ladder one-handed. When he reached the top, he flopped onto the catwalk. Ignoring the pain in his dislocated shoulder, he stood and entered the cockpit.

Like many of the SEALs, Corey Oliver had received flight training for transports. Hoping the bird had not been abandoned because of mechanical problems, Oliver climbed behind the stick and powered up the controls. The board lit up without a hitch.

He would fly the transport and launch the S.I.P.s himself. It was a one-man job. Only one man would die. The Sakura and her crew would live.

Looking at the tactical screen, Takahashi saw a city that showed no signs of life. Buildings both round and square, some metal, some mirrored, stood in straight-edged rows. He saw bridges and streets. Part of the city was covered with waterways that looked both narrow and deep; but he did not see boats, cars, flying vehicles, or pedestrians.

“Sir, maybe they’ve evacuated the city,” said one of the weapons officers.

“Maybe they’re in emergency shelters,” said Suzuki.

Given the view in the tactical screen, either man might have been right; but to Takahashi, the city looked abandoned. There would have been cars along the roads if the population had hidden in shelters. There would have been debris. The city looked like it had been stripped bare by time.

Most of the buildings were a few hundred feet high, but some stood a couple of thousand, vanishing into the perfectly flat dome of shining energy.

“Captain, we can’t navigate around these buildings. The Sakura doesn’t handle like a fighter, she’s too big,” said Commander Suzuki. They’d already bumped hard as they tried to maneuver around one of the buildings.

Just beyond the city was the shoreline. Takahashi said, “Take us over open water, Commander.”

As the captain of the Sakura, Takahashi Hironobu would not let her die until she had completed her mission. If they could just hold on for a few minutes more, she might not need to die at all. “What’s our fuel status?”

“We’re out,” said Suzuki.

“We’re still flying,” said Takahashi.

“We should have gone down three minutes ago,” said Suzuki.

“Just keep us up,” said Takahashi.

He looked at the timer by the tactical display. Five more minutes. He did not know what was keeping the Sakura in the air. He did not know the source of the miracle, but he hoped it would last. A few more minutes, and the broadcast engine would be charged. Then they could launch the transport and broadcast to safety.

A three-dimensional holographic map showed in the air above the captain’s table. The map showed the cityscape along with a representation of the Sakura flying above it.

Takahashi walked to the chart table for a closer look. He bent so close over the scrolling holographic city that he could see through the translucent landscape. It’s not a city, it’s an artifact, he thought to himself.

He remembered a conversation from before everything went wrong, a briefing Admiral Yamashiro had held with his four captains. Seen from thousands of light-years away, some of the stars in Bode’s Galaxy appeared dormant. They’d been dead for hundreds of thousands of years. The aliens must have mined them all those millennia ago.

The occupants of this planet had probably killed off their nearest neighbors first. Who knew if they had even seen resistance, let alone retaliation. If they had, how long had it been since enemies had knocked on their door?

“Captain, I found our route.” Suzuki’s voice woke the captain from his musings. Suzuki sounded excited. He said, “I’m going to need to clear a path. May I engage weapons?”

Takahashi laughed. “We came here to destroy the planet.” Maybe there is no one left here to destroy, Takahashi thought. What if they died fifty thousand years ago, and all that remains are the machines they created?

“Captain, there’s something out there,” said the weapons officer.

“Where?” asked Takahashi.

“I’m changing course! I’m changing course,” yelled Suzuki.

The holographic map showed the outer fringe of the city followed by an endless plain of pristine, cerulean sea.

“There’s nothing on the display,” said Takahashi, his heart pounding, his breath short. He looked at the timer. They had three minutes and twenty seconds to go. Just another two hundred seconds!

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“The caskets are loaded,” said Senior Chief Warren.

“Okay, get out of here. Every man off the transport, I need to launch this bird.” Oliver checked the instrumentation. Everything was ready. “Get the atmospheric locks opened.”

“I’ve never worked a control tower before,” said Warren.

Oliver rolled his eyes, and asked, “How hard can it be? It’s automated.” If he’d been a swearing man, if the ability to use profanity had not been programmed out of him, the master chief would have unleashed a string of expletives.

“You should take somebody with you …just in case,” said Warren. “How are you going to pilot a transport? You have a badly sprained ankle and a broken arm.”

“It’s not broken.”

“It ain’t whole,” said Warren.

“Good thing I’m not flying far,” said Oliver.

“You need a copilot, somebody to help launch the caskets.”

“Senior Chief, you are wasting valuable time. Now get to the control tower and get the locks open!”

Though it was not proper protocol to salute another enlisted man, Senior Chief Warren saluted Oliver and left the cockpit. Oliver didn’t see the salute. He’d already turned back to his controls and powered up the engines.

He looked at his watch. The S.I.P.s were overcharged. With a simple computer command, he could make them explode. It would take the Sakura’s broadcast generator another minute and a half