The Clone Redemption

camera, smirked, and let his head bob in a way that made him seem all the more arrogant.

I felt my gut bounce, and my lips involuntarily formed the word, “speck.” Other than that, I sat in silence.

The camera was aimed at my head and shoulders. Trying to move as little as possible, I reached for my communications console with my right hand. Keeping my eyes on Freeman’s little two-way, on Andropov, I fumbled with the console. If I hit the right buttons, Holman and his aides could listen in.

Trying to act more sure of myself than I felt, I smiled, and said, “I must have the wrong number.”

“We knew they were spying for you. We’ve been watching all along, Harris. You had to know we could see everything they did; we programmed them. We programmed their environment. We had access to their thoughts. Hell, Harris, we didn’t need cameras or bugs to listen in on them; everything they did took place on our computers.”

“Then why did you let them help us?” I asked.

Andropov laughed. “Let them help you? The synthetic brain …Sometimes I think we should have given you clones bigger brains.

“We didn’t let them help you. We let you help us. We wanted you to evacuate those planets.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

Andropov shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Think what you want.”

“We stole your barges.”

“Yes you did, and make no mistake, we will take them back.”

“You attacked our fleet.”

“A ship here or there, mostly fighter carriers. Strategic hits. We wanted to weaken you. We were playing with you, testing your abilities. I must say, your Navy was always pathetic.”

“We have enough ships to …”

Andropov shook his head. “You still don’t understand. Harris, it doesn’t matter how many ships you send here; they’re as good as dead.

“You gave us a scare with that device that you used off New Copenhagen; but it won’t work this time, not unless you plan on destroying the planet.” He paused to smirk.

“New Copenhagen?” I muttered. He must mean Solomon, I thought. He’s talking about the torpedoes Holman fired. Maybe the test had gone better than we thought.

Andropov turned away from the camera, but he continued speaking. He said, “Ah, I see your fleet has arrived. Sixty-eight carriers. Two hundred battleships.” He nodded, turned to face me, and said, “Very impressive.”

Even as he said this, the Klaxons began their howling call to stations.

No longer able to stop myself, I looked down at the communications console and saw that I had not succeeded at powering it up. Holman had not heard a word of the conversation, not that it would have mattered. The gears of the invasion were already in motion.

Looking back at Freeman’s two-way, I said, “Just so you know, it’s personal between us. I’m coming for you.”

He nodded, and said, “Don’t you have a transport to catch?”

I did not know if I signed off or he did. My hand was on the two-way, but I did not remember killing the power. I reached for the communications console, signaled the bridge, and spoke to Captain Cutter. I said, “Better kill the engines. I think they’re expecting us.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

We searched the space lanes and found only a few U.A. ships. The Unifieds had six Perseus-class ships in the area. These were older ships, the same make as our ships. They didn’t pose any threat at all.

The Unifieds might have had spy ships watching us; but just as Andropov had said, their fleet had gone.

I sat in a conference room with Cutter. We had an audio link to all the top officers in the fleet. Cutter repeated everything I had told him, then said, “I’m open to suggestions.”

Several officers mumbled indistinct answers, but no one spoke up.

Cutter looked at me and shook his head. “It’s hard to know what to do when you don’t know what you’re up against.”

We were just off the bridge of the Alexander, a recently refurbished ship that still seemed only partially ready for battle. The engines worked fine. As far as I could tell, the shields worked right. Maybe it was just my nerves.

“If he has some kind of superweapon, why doesn’t he fire it?” asked one of the disembodied voices.

“Could be short-range,” said another.

“Or proximity-based,” said another. “They could have laid mines. If he salted the space lanes, he’ll need to keep his ships out of the area.”

“He knows we’re not going anywhere,” I said, “not unless he hands over the keys to the Mars broadcast station.”

Cutter interrupted me. “The station is gone. There’s no trace of it.”

“They must have destroyed it,” I said.

“I don’t think so. There would still be wreckage unless they towed it away,” said Cutter.

“So we’re stuck here,” I muttered. “What are they doing?”

Cutter said, “You know, he could be bluffing. It’s always possible that we caught the bastard with his pants down, and he’s trying to stall the attack until his fleet returns.”

“If it returns,” I said.

Several people asked, “What?”

“Holman stole the shield-buster torpedoes from the ships we destroyed when we took the barges,” I said. “Andropov thinks we have them. The bastard’s in for a surprise if he sends his fleet to Terraneau. Holman’s still got them.”

“Holman’s battleships are carrying shield-busters?” asked Cutter.

I said, “Not his battleships, his fighters,” and I told him about my meeting with Mars. I went over it quickly, leaving out the shit about Mars praying for our salvation.

Cutter listened carefully and smiled. “Brilliant strategy. He’s letting the Unifieds go after the nest when they should be chasing the hornets.”

“He still only has three carriers,” said one of the ships’ captains.

“That’s why it works,” Cutter said in a voice so bright you would have thought we’d already won the war. “The Unifieds will go after the carriers first. They’ll home right in on them. Once they do, Holman will slip his fighters right past them. He’s going to hit the bastards in the gut, and they won’t know where it came from.”

“They’ll figure it out before he finishes off their ships,” I said.

“Those fighters are going to give Holman the element of surprise, and they’ll be hard to track. The Unifieds won’t know which fighters have shield-busters and which ones have lasers,” said Cutter. “One thing about Holman—he always thought ahead of the curve.”

“That doesn’t help us,” said one of the captains.

I disagreed. Every ship Holman sank in the Scutum-Crux Arm was another ship that would not return to Earth. If he sank enough of them, we might be able to take the Sol System uncontested …except that still left the question about Andropov’s superweapon.

Cutter sat silent while the voices on the communications console debated scenarios and outcomes. I sensed uncertainty as I listened to them.

One officer suggested we approach slowly and prepare to retreat. Another wanted to send two battleships to probe their defenses, then regroup. It sounded intelligent.

Cutter responded quickly, interrupting the man. He said, “No. We go in hard and fast, and present a moving target. Whatever they have, it’s got to be a surface-to-space weapon. They might have cannons, but it’s probably rockets. It’s almost sure to be rockets …a lot of rockets. That’s why they haven’t rebuilt their Navy, they’ve been