Nyquist turned gray. He rubbed his fingers across his mouth, then swore softly. “Because all you need is one,” he said. “Slow grown. Trained.”
Flint nodded. “Who is going to notice a thief with a vague resemblance to one of the more famous thieves in the Alliance? Especially if he’s younger, dressed differently, and speaking current slang?”
“There’s no guarantee here, though,” Nyquist said. “You can’t be sure that because a clone shares the DNA with his famous originator, the clone will act in the same way. Sorry, Miles, I’m a big believer in environment.”
“Me, too,” Flint said. “But look at it. These clones are made in bulk.”
“Raised in bulk,” Nyquist said.
“And not human.” Flint hated saying that. Because they were human. He’d always known it intellectually, but Talia had proven it to him. “Under the law, anyway.”
“You’re talking Earth Alliance law,” Nyquist said.
“Do you know anywhere that gives clones the same rights as the original?” Flint asked.
“Not without a lot of legal mumbo jumbo,” Nyquist said. “And the Earth Alliance is the most progressive place I know for the legal mumbo jumbo side of things.”
“Yeah,” Flint said.
Nyquist stood up. “You’re saying they raise clones in bulk, like cattle, kill the ones that won’t go with the program, and sell the rest.”
“I’m guessing,” Flint said, “but that’s the only way this all makes sense. At least to me.”
“Given the information from your informant,” Nyquist said.
“That too,” Flint said.
Nyquist shook his head. “That seems like a lot of work to me. Why not build an android or use something else to do your big theft?”
“Androids won’t work,” Flint said. “No one can seem to make them sophisticated enough.”
He’d studied their systems in the past, and he’d found that there was still some kind of limitation in artificial intelligence that made some humans nervous.
“I liked it better when we thought one nutcase created the clones specifically for this job.” Nyquist grabbed his coffee cup and swirled it. “What you’re telling me is that there is a nutjob who wanted the clones for this job—”
“And waited more than twenty years for them,” Flint said.
“That’s what I don’t get,” Nyquist said. “You have to be one cold S.O.B. And now you’re telling me there are enough cold S.O.Bs to make designer criminal clones into some kind of market category.”
Flint shrugged. “I suspect most of them are used for other things, like creating your own team of pickpockets.”
“Fagan for the modern era,” Nyquist said.
Flint actually had to reference the word “Fagan,” and he realized then that Nyquist was referring to an ancient Earth novel, one still taught in schools. “Yeah, I guess.”
But Nyquist had moved on. “That one nutjob and then whoever—whatever—is making the clones. Of all the things you could have told me, Miles, this scares me more than anything.”
“It scares me too,” Flint said. “Someone has designed these clones as weapons.”
Nyquist looked at Flint over the cup. Flint tried to hold off a blush. His pale skin betrayed him more than he wanted it to, particularly when someone like Nyquist, who could see things clearly, looked at him with that level of speculation.
“You made that point earlier, without saying it,” Nyquist said. “There’s something you’re not telling me here.”
Yes, Flint imagined himself saying. Noelle told me that you could handle the case, but the clones were something classified. I’m just bending the rules a little.
“Yes, there’s something I’m not telling you,” Flint said. “And for now, I’d like to keep it that way.”
Nyquist set the coffee cup down without drinking anything. “You want me to look into the designer criminal clones, don’t you?”
“In a specific way,” Flint said. “I want you to look at past investigations here on the Moon, in particular. See if any arrests have led back to some kind of organization or ring.”
“What if that organization belongs to your informant friend?” Nyquist asked.
“Nothing would surprise me.” Flint sighed, then decided to add one more layer of honesty. “I’m tired of the way this investigation is going nowhere, Bartholomew. Some of that is our fault, but a lot of it isn’t. And I’m done playing nice. I’m going to piss off a lot of people in the next few weeks. If you don’t want to be part of that, say so now.”
Nyquist smiled slowly. “‘Piss off a lot of people,’” he repeated. “Like your informant friend.”
“Possibly,” Flint said.
“And Noelle.”
Damn that man was perceptive. “Yes.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’ll tell Noelle something you don’t want her to hear?”
“No,” Flint said.
“Because you’re not worried about me?” Nyquist asked.
“Because she already knows I’m mad at her. If something she doesn’t like comes at her from the investigative side, she’ll know it comes from me.”
“You’re positive?” Nyquist asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Flint said. “And if she doesn’t like it, well then, too bad. I don’t work for her.”
Nyquist leaned back. His expression had become unreadable. “I don’t work for her either, Miles.”
“I know,” Flint said. “But you’re close.”
“I have no idea if we’re close,” Nyquist said. “I suspect you’re closer to her than I am.”
It was a night for honesty. “Noelle and I have never been involved.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Nyquist said.
Flint didn’t know how to respond to that. He never had known how to deal with that undercurrent between him and Nyquist. It had started before Nyquist started seeing DeRicci. He and Nyquist hadn’t entirely trusted each other then either, but they had respected each other.
Apparently, they still did.
“No one has really taken charge of this investigation,” Flint said. “I’ve been given a dozen reasons why, most of them coming down to the way that this agency can’t do something without that agency’s approval. I’m tired of it. I don’t belong to any agency. So I’m going to run the investigation. If people don’t like it, then fine. They can ignore me.”
“Or arrest you,” Nyquist said.
“If I do something illegal,” Flint said. “I don’t plan to.”
“Yet you’ve done illegal things before,” Nyquist said.
Flint looked at him, purposely keeping his expression neutral. “Have I?”
This time, Nyquist didn’t respond directly.
“It doesn’t matter, Miles,” Nyquist said. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to say in my own inept fashion. I’m going to help you. If it costs my job, so be it. I can’t live this way either.”
“And if it costs your relationship with Noelle?” Flint asked.
Nyquist shrugged. “You get older, you realize that things change.”
“That’s a rather bloodless way to look at life,” Flint said.
“I prefer to think of it as realistic,” Nyquist said.
“Does Noelle know about your realistic point of view?” Flint asked.
“She’s not at issue here,” Nyquist said. “What’s going on outside us, the fact that we can’t catch these criminals, that’s the issue. I’m with you, Miles, all the way to the end if need be. We will catch them.”
Flint smiled. He was more relieved than he realized. “And we will make them pay,” he said.
Twenty-one
Uzvot took Rastigan to the site where the attacks against the Peyti originated. Uzvot didn’t have to take Rastigan there; in fact, Rastigan had the sense that Uzvot was jeopardizing her position with her own people.
But it was Uzvot’s decision to make. Besides, Rastigan wanted to see this.
She suited up so
that she could handle Peyla’s toxic atmosphere, and trudged more than a kilometer to the origin site. There was no way to hide her presence. The suit alone, with the creaks and the groans it made in the strange air, made her conspicuous.
Uzvot stayed at her side, not leading the way. Since the Peyti were all about small details, Rastigan wondered if Uzvot’s decision to walk beside her had a subtlety to it—a silent complaint that her fellow Peyti would understand: The human insisted on seeing the site; I do not approve, that is why I am not leading her here, but merely accompanying her.
Rastigan did not ask because it was none of her business. Uzvot was doing her a favor—again, for a reason that Rastigan did not entirely understand—and she was going to take advantage of it.
The suit was bulky. She should have been used to wearing one by now, since she wore one everywhere she went. But Uzvot insisted that Rastigan wear a full environmental suit instead of a thin one that provided minimal protection while allowing for freedom of motion.
As she walked, Rastigan had the suit run a continual diagnostic, in case the atmosphere around her shifted composition. She suspected it might, just because of Uzvot’s insistence on the suit, but she didn’t compulsively watch the numbers.
Instead, she monitored everything around her.
The franticness she had noted among the Peyti investigators had lessened up here. They did not crouch and examine the soil. Instead they touched things like tree trunks and had soft discussions that Rastigan could only catch bits of.
Mostly, they were talking about weapon range and power. Somehow, that chilled her.
Then she crested the last rise and felt even colder. She saw a weapon she had only seen in histories, something native to Peyti. She had once explained it to a student as a catapult crossed with a dedicated laser.
In other words, the impression she had had—that the Peyti had been catapulted from something and then shot—was correct. They had been strapped into that thing, then flung forward with incredible force as the weapon itself fired on them.
Even if the weapon hadn’t fired, the Peyti would have died. Their physiology was delicate: They broke bones when a human shook their hands with a normal (human) grip. Crashing against a wall or a tree, or just plain landing too hard, would probably have killed them.
The laser itself was deliberate overkill.
She glanced at Uzvot. Uzvot did not look at her, but stared at the weapon, her mouth flat. She carried her mask, useless in this atmosphere, in her right hand. And because she did, the full range of her expression became visible to Rastigan.
Her entire face was threaded with soft blue. Much as Uzvot tried to hide her emotional reaction, this entire scene broke her heart.
On the crest of the next hill were the buildings that Rastigan had seen earlier. Unlike most Peyti buildings, these were quite utilitarian, with no obvious design at all. They looked like buildings copied from early human colonies, made with limited materials, designed only to house the colonists and to do little else.
In the valley between the two hills, Peyti gathered. It took Rastigan a moment to realize that half of the Peyti had corralled the other half.
I don’t want to take you closer, Uzvot sent. Does your visor have magnifying capability?
It took Rastigan a moment to understand. Uzvot meant the helmet of the environmental suit.
Yes, she sent as she stopped. She switched the helmet to a scope lens and looked into the valley.
She almost asked what she was looking for, then realized she didn’t have to. It was quite obvious.
All of the Peyti acting as security wore various versions of a dark suit and each carried a single handheld weapon that Rastigan had seen before.
But the others surprised her. The others did look the same. They were the same height and weight. They had the same posture and even held their hands in the same position.
The most shocking thing, however, was their faces. The expressions differed—a few seemed downcast, others neutral, and one or two had turquoise lines throughout their skin—but the faces themselves were identical.
More clones? Rastigan sent.
Exactly the same type, Uzvot sent. Young adult versions of Uzvekmt.
They were the ones doing the killing? Rastigan sent, feeling a little shaky.
Yes, Uzvot sent.
What were they doing, just lining up and killing each other? Rastigan’s heart rate had increased. She was more upset than she realized.
We don’t think so, Uzvot sent. We believe the ones killed were undesirable.
Which means what? Rastigan sent.
We will find that out, Uzvot sent.
They’re young, Rastigan sent. Were they unsupervised?
We do not think so, Uzvot sent. A ship left the area shortly after Gallen contacted the Earth Alliance by emergency link.
And you believe the supervisors were on that ship. Rastigan scanned the faces. They did not look evil. But then, she didn’t know what evil, insane Peyti looked like.
We do not know. It seems likely.
Which also means they were monitoring all link channels. Rastigan frowned. She was trying to remember if the emergency message had come through a secure link, and she couldn’t recall.
She supposed it didn’t, since the message had routed through the habitat’s emergency links.
You’re going to track this ship, right? Rastigan sent.
I don’t know, Uzvot sent. I am not in charge of this investigation.
Rastigan nodded. Now it was her turn to be deeply unsettled. Uzvot had been unsettled when she recognized the clones as clones of Uzvekmt.
But this, this mass killing in a people not known for any kind of violence, was disturbing enough. The fact that she saw before her young adult clones of the Peyti’s most notorious mass murderer had sent alarm bells through her head.
Back in the habitat, Rastigan sent, you mentioned PierLuigi Frémont. You realize there is a parallel here.
Uzvot did not respond. So Rastigan turned toward her and saw Uzvot slowly moving her head up and down. A nod. Most Peyti did not know what a nod was, and Uzvot knew that.
She was communicating in a way that would not get her in trouble.
You have warned your people, right? Rastigan sent.
They know, Uzvot said.
Rastigan stared at the identical faces more than a kilometer away from her. Then she looked up at the compound. It looked lived in. Fresh dirt surrounded the buildings, remains of meals sat on outdoor tables.
She was cold, and she shouldn’t have been, given that she was wearing an environmental suit.
I have to go back to Alliance headquarters, Rastigan sent.
I understand, Uzvot sent. She did not move. She was not happy about the way the information would escape, but she seemed to know why it was necessary.
Uzvekmt, clones. I cannot assume that this is a coincidence, Rastigan sent.
We Peyti do not believe in assuming anything, Uzvot sent. She did not look at Rastigan.
Rastigan placed a gentle gloved hand on Uzvot’s shoulder, and then pivoted. She would follow their footsteps back the way they had come.
Nor, Uzvot added through a different link, do we believe in coincidence.
Rastigan glanced back at Uzvot. Uzvot hadn’t moved.
Yet she had given Rastigan her blessing.
Something horrible was going on. They both knew it, and now they had to let the Alliance know.
Because if it had happened among the Peyti and among the humans, it might be happening elsewhere in the Alliance.
And Rastigan had no idea exactly what that meant.
Twenty-two
H’Jith took Zagrando through a few more side passages and an odd little door that both had to duck through to get inside. This section of the docking bay had an entirely different feel than the other sections Zagrando had seen. The colors—while still bright—blended into each other as if an artist had swirled them together with a brush.
The effect was softer, and not as jarring. Zagrando had the sense that he had entered a section of Hellhole that most outsiders never saw.
Oddly, knowing that made him feel calmer.
H’Jith led him along some twisty paths that went past several vessels of a type that Zagrando had never seen before. He hoped that H’Jith’s vessel was at least familiar. If not, Zagrando’s troubles would grow worse.
Then H’Jith stopped in front of an extremely expensive space yacht. Zagrando hadn’t seen anything that elaborate in person. He’d heard of them, of course, but hadn’t known anyone rich enough to own one.
He certainly doubted H’Jith was that rich as well, although, given the number of ships it had for sale, it might have been.
The yacht was half the size of Whiteley’s cruiser, but had a sleeker form and was probably faster. Which was good.
The yacht was also hot pink, which was, apparently, a favorite color of the J’Slik. The yacht shone, and looked like it hadn’t been used much. Or, at least, it hadn’t been used much since its color had changed. Zagrando couldn’t imagine that hot pink being standard issue.
“Now you’ve seen it,” H’Jith said. “Let us return to my inventory.”
Zagrando ignored H’Jith and walked around the yacht until he found the entry. He put his hand on it. Of course, it did not open to his touch.
“When I said I wanted to see your ship,” Zagrando said, “I didn’t mean the exterior. I want to see how well you keep up your personal ship. Plus I want to see the cockpit, so that I know what kind of additions and modifications you prefer.”
H’Jith’s head tilted backward slightly, its wide mouth thinning. Then it sighed.
“All right,” H’Jith said. It put its three right claws into a small, three-pronged opening on the side.
Zagrando cursed silently. He would either need H’Jith’s claws to open the ship on his own or he would have to get H’Jith to continue opening it for him. He didn’t like either option.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a glowing red interior.
“You first,” Zagrando said, as if he were being generous. He just wanted to make certain there were no booby traps for strangers inside this vessel.
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