how to clone Veram Dejae. Brute force, not science.”
Prudence knew she had scored a direct hit, because the monk didn’t say anything.
Kyle shrugged his shoulders again. “But why? Why even bother?”
“Why not?” snapped the monk. “The First Master, the original Dejae, recognized himself as the ultimate expression of genetics. Why not reproduce? Why not fill the galaxy with the best human, instead of with random genetic trash?”
The arrogant insanity broke something in Garcia, who stopped swearing and bolted into the ship. Prudence could not tell if his flight was in horror or rage.
“And the aliens? What part do they play in this lunatic scheme? Who is master, man or spider?” Kyle leaned in closer, with increasing menace.
The monk didn’t retreat. His megalomania was greater than his fear. “Dejae is master, of course. Man is alone, and Veram Dejae is alone among men. The creatures you fear so much are merely our tools.”
“But they weren’t good enough.” Prudence was thinking out loud. “You tried to brute-force their design, too, and it didn’t work. You knew the spiders couldn’t take the galaxy by strength alone. So you sent clones out into the
Poor little gods. Like the cargo-handling machines, none of their creations could quite live up to their expectations. Everything they made was only a shadow of the genius they had claimed for themselves.
“But why? What is all of this for?” Kyle still didn’t understand.
Prudence did. Kyle could not see it. But she had seen Strattenburg, and after that her eyes had been opened to the depths of narcissism that still lived in men’s souls. Prudence could comprehend the scope of their plan, the madness that made
“They want Altair, Kyle. Professor Jandi told me that Altair was like a vat. A blank medium you could grow any kind of human on. That’s why it’s so rich, so populated. And that’s why the clones want Altair.”
She saw the realization creep over his face.
“Fifty million Dejaes…”
“You’re spoiled,” the monk said. “You treat Altair like your private park. That planet could support fifty
“That wouldn’t leave room for any non-Dejaes,” Prudence said. Because she knew that narcissists could never share.
“We’re not going to murder them,” the monk said contemptuously. “We’re not savages.”
Kyle growled. “No, you’ll just squeeze them out. The League is just another one of your tools. You’ll use the League to squeeze humanity into a coffin, and then you’ll throw the League in after them and nail it shut.” He had finally found the secret he had been looking for, but Prudence didn’t think he was happy about it.
“And the aliens are the tool you use to control the League. There will be other attacks, on other planets. More people will die, and more planets will join the League. The war against the spiders will go on and on and on, until there’s nothing left of the governments that took up arms in self-preservation. No matter how much power the League gets, the attacks will continue, so they’ll ask for—and receive—even more power. Until they have it all. Then you can institute population controls, or diseases, or whatever you want, until there aren’t any native humans left at all.” Kyle was doing his interrogation thing, where he laid out a plan so cleverly that the criminal wanted to claim ownership of it. She’d seen him do it to Garcia during one of their card games.
The monk shrugged. “It’s worked before.”
“Not this time. You didn’t plan on us.”
“What are you going to do?” The monk seemed genuinely curious. “You must know that the minute you leave this planet, I will report you, and you’ll never make it to the node. If you kill me now, then you won’t even break atmosphere before they shoot you down.”
“What if we take you with us?” Prudence asked.
“Fuck that,” Garcia shouted, coming down the loading ramp.
Prudence swore under her breath. He had the splattergun again, and he was drunk as hell.
“Fuck that. Let’s just kill the Earth-damned thing right now.” Garcia stumbled closer, raising the gun to his shoulder.
“Garcia, put that down!” she ordered.
“It’s not even human, Pru! It’s a goddamn clone, and it killed Kassa, and it called me and you and everybody in the whole universe genetic trash!”
Prudence chose to overlook the fact that Garcia had called Jorgun that very same thing not too long ago. Probably that was exactly why Garcia was so angry. “He is human, and he’s not lying. He hasn’t lied to us yet, Garcia. He’s not lying about the automatic alarm.”
“Then why hasn’t he triggered it? Why aren’t they already here?”
The monk spoke down his nose at Garcia. “Our society, like any other, attaches different values to different individuals. Being young, I am not particularly highly ranked at this time. Thus, they will not negotiate for my life.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Garcia glared at everyone.
Kyle answered. “It means if he trips the alarm, they’ll show up, shoot everything that moves, and sort out the bodies later. It’s how police forces without oversight tend to operate.”
“Exactly,” agreed the monk. “And for the same reason, you cannot take me on your ship. They would detect my leaving the planet and simply destroy your vessel.”
“The alarm isn’t in there just to protect you, is it,” Prudence said to him. “It’s there to stop you from running away, too.”
Again, the monk said nothing.
“It’s a Mexican standoff,” Garcia said, and then he laughed. “You know how you break a Mexican standoff?”
“Garcia, I don’t even know what a Mexican is,” she said wearily. From now on she was going to ration his liquor. She couldn’t take these wild mood swings anymore.
“I’ll tell you how, Pru. You get yourself one crazy-assed motherfucker of a Mexican. You give him a bottle and a gun, and then you run like hell.”
“We can’t do that.” Kyle was disagreeing with the plan, and Prudence hadn’t even figured out there was one.
“You know I’m crazy, right?” Garcia was talking to the monk. “You know I’m drunk enough to do something really goddamned stupid, right?”
“Yes,” the monk answered. “I believe you capable of the most irrational behavior.”
“Jorgun.” For the first time Garcia’s voice was commanding, not arguing. “Get me another bottle. Then get Pru on the ship, and get out of here. You’ve got until I fall asleep or the bottle empties. I hope it’s enough.”
Their roles reversed, Prudence found herself suddenly trying to wheedle. “Garcia—we can’t leave you here. They’ll kill you.”
“Not necessarily,” the monk said. “He’s pliable, and too stupid to lie. They may simply enslave him.”
The monk was already beginning his negotiations, already trying to talk Garcia into putting down the gun and making a deal. The monk was sober, brilliant, and armed with facts. He would con any ordinary man out of the gun thirty seconds after the ship was out of sight.
But this wasn’t any ordinary man. This was Garcia.
“I’ll tell ’em everything, Pru. You know that. In the end I’ll tell them all your secrets. But not until the bottle is empty. I owe you that much.”
Her vision was getting blurry. There were tears in her eyes.
She wanted to thank him. For the first time since she had seen him getting beaten up in that tawdry bar back on Antonio, suffering the results of a complex con he was too drunk to pull off, she wanted to grab his big brown head and kiss him.
But she couldn’t. Garcia was doing his own negotiations, playing his own part. He had to make the monk think he would give in, like any sane person would. He had to stall, just on the edge of surrender, for as long as he could. He had to look like the weak, pathetic, incorrigibly dishonest human being he had been for his entire life.
Prudence couldn’t wreck that by treating him like a hero, even while he was being one. She couldn’t trust
