The Clone Betrayal

by Kent, Steven

  She probably would have allowed me to grope her if I forced the issue, but I never did. Instead, I would lie there, smelling her scent and feeling her warmth, entirely unable to sleep.

  We talked a lot. Ava told me all about her life. She treated conversations like an autobiography. I didn’t mind, though; her life was interesting.

  Ava had known that she was a clone from an early age. When she was young, the man who claimed to be her father employed a series of lab technicians to help raise her. Although they treated her well, they were not especially careful about what they said around her or about keeping her safely away from the truth of her birth. As an eight-year-old, she sneaked into the lab where she was cloned and saw the equipment that reproduced her. She wanted to believe she was real, but seeing that equipment, she had her doubts.

  She lost her virginity and decided she was a clone all on the same night. She had her first period at the age of fifteen. Exactly one week later, her “father” came to visit her after she’d gone to bed. By the time he left, her virginity was gone along with any illusions that the man was really her father.

  She related this tale in a matter-of-fact style without shedding a single useless tear. After telling me this story, she stared at me for several seconds, then asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Her question caught me off guard. I did not know anything was wrong with me. “Wrong with me?”

  “Don’t you feel sorry for me?” she asked.

  “Why the speck would I feel sorry for you?” I asked.

  “He raped me and took away my dreams.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” I grew up with thousands of clones who never knew any parents other than instructors at military orphanages. Our instructors lied to us and sent us to war. The closest thing we had to a dream was the goal that we might one day reach the rank of sergeant. Sex and reality at the age of fifteen sounded pretty good to me.

  That night and the next, Ava and I slept in the same rack but a million miles apart. I call them nights, but they were just sleep periods. Life on a starship . . . the halls are constantly bright as day, and the world around you is generally dark as night. I had work shifts, shifts in which I was off duty, and shifts in which I slept.

  Ava’s attitude thawed the day before I left for Terraneau. From the moment I entered my quarters, she wanted to talk.

  I came in sweating from a day spent working out, sparring, and drilling my men. Ava, pretending as if she had not given me ice for the last forty-eight hours, followed me into the bathroom and asked about my day as I stripped off my clothes. I grunted that I had worked hard and that my crew looked ready.

  “That’s good,” she said. “Are you excited to get to the planet?”

  I turned to look at her. Dressed in the smallest sailor suit I could find, she looked clean and childlike. The tunic looked stylish and loose on her, but the trousers were baggy around her waist. She had rolled the cuffs back on the denim sleeves to prevent them from covering her hands. There was something vulnerable and oddly erotic about seeing this petite woman wearing a sailor’s suit.

  She had also applied the makeup I brought her. Her eyes looked wide and the blue of the eye shadow played well against the green of her eyes. The makeup looked a lot better on her than it had on Fahey.

  “Are you excited or scared?” she repeated in a soft voice.

  I stood there naked and sweaty, considered her question, and said, “I’m both,” no longer thinking about the mission. I was excited and scared by the beautiful woman standing in the doorway. For a sliver of a second, I thought of Pavlov and his dog. He rang a bell, and his dog salivated. Ava dressed right, and I did the same.

  “Excited to fight?” she asked. The other half of her question hung in the air entirely tangible but unasked. Was I anxious to get away from her?

  “I was designed to fight,” I said.

  I stepped into the shower. Ava had once said the difference between women and Marines was that women did not only shower when they wanted to have sex. She was wrong, of course, the Corps demands hygiene. That said, she had certainly pegged the motivation behind this particular shower.

  Ava stepped into the bathroom so we could hear each other over the water. She didn’t mind the fact that I was naked. Ava was many things, but she was not shy. Rather than sit on the toilet, she stood just outside the shower and half sat on the washbasin. She kept her arms folded across her chest.

  “Do you think it’s going to be dangerous?”

  “Any time the Avatari are involved, things are going to get dangerous,” I said. The term “Avatari” was highly classified, but I had shared a lot of classified information with Ava. I was an outcast now; what did I care about Unified Authority security?

  “Is Thomer ready?” she asked. She knew all about Thomer and his drug problems.

  “He’s as ready as he’s going to get,” I said.

  “Can you count on him?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said. He did a good job drilling the men today—not perfect, but good enough. “He still moves slowly; but once he gets a little adrenaline running through him, I think he’ll do okay.”

  “What about Warshaw? Are you worried about him?” she asked.

  “There’s not much I can do there,” I said.

  “What if he doesn’t let you off the planet?” she asked. “Would he try to shoot your transport?”

  “He could,” I said. “I don’t think he will. If he shoots my transport, he’s going to answer to some angry Marines.”

  “Does he know that?” Ava asked.

  “He’d better.”

  After my shower, I dressed and went to the mess. We had hundreds of MREs stowed by now, but we would save those meals. I brought back a tray covered with food—two steaks, two bowls of soup, two potatoes, and an oversized salad.

  Ava mostly ate salad and picked at a potato. I ended up eating both steaks, which was just fine.

  After dinner, I dropped off my dishes and went to the officers’ club to grab some bottles of beer. Ava preferred wine to beer, but she would need to make do. No one paid attention to off-duty officers walking around with a beer, but a bottle of wine would attract all kinds of notice. So far no one had asked me if I had a Hollywood starlet hidden in my quarters, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  I stepped through the door. Silence. Always aware of her precarious situation, Ava never called out my name when I came back. She waited for me to identify myself, then came out of her hiding places—usually the shower.

  “Ava, I’m back,” I called softly.

  She came out from the bathroom, very much the confident woman of the house. “Why do I feel like I should be bringing you a pipe and slippers?” she asked.

  I laughed as I placed the bottles on the nightstand. She came and sat across the bed from me. She poured her beer into a glass. I drank mine from the bottle.

  She took a sip of beer, and asked, “I know you’re excited about going on a mission, but don’t you ever get scared? Do Marines get scared?”

  “Sure we do. The Avatari scare the hell out of me,” I said. “A little fear is a good thing; it keeps you from making stupid mistakes. Scared is another thing. I’ve seen good men freeze under fire.”

  “But that’s never been a problem for you, Harris,” she said.

  “The Avatari are eight feet tall. You can’t hurt them. Their guns cut through shielded bunkers as easily as they shoot through the air. I saw a man get hit by a bolt in the shoulder. He went into convulsions and died a miserable death.

  “Yes, I get scared.”

  Ava laughed softly and touched a warm finger to my cheek. “I’d be worried if they didn’t scare you,” she said.

  I did not like this conversation. I did not like discussing my fears. “Once we liberate Terraneau, you will be able to move into a mansion or maybe even have a whole damn hotel to yourself. I bet you’ll be glad to have a place to yourself.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, and sadness fi
lled her voice. She didn’t cry, but her mood turned melancholy, and she seemed to withdraw.

  “You don’t want your own hotel?” I asked.

  “Not to myself,” she said, looking down at the food. She would not meet my eyes. “I thought maybe . . . I thought maybe we could share a place.”

  I had just downed a large mouthful of beer when she said this. I nearly choked on it. I coughed, which she must have taken to mean I was laughing at her. She looked up, and I saw anger in her eyes.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.”

  “Why would I want to get rid of you?” she asked.

  “You haven’t let me touch you since we landed on the ship,” I said.

  “And you’ve been wonderful about it,” she said. “Ted and Al never took no for an answer.”

  “Al?” I asked. “Al Smith?” I knew she had dated General Mooreland, but she could not possibly have meant who I thought she meant. “You don’t mean General Alexander Smith?”

  Looking like a scolded child, she silently nodded, her beautiful green eyes fixed on mine.

  “You slept with Al Smith? That fat old bastard has to be twice your age,” I said.

  “He’s almost three times my age, thank you,” she said. “I’m twenty-three, he’s sixty-five.”

  I had a brief, chilling vision of Smith, his body as white and round as an egg, sliding into bed beside Ava. She would not have let him touch her for money. She had to have made millions. She sure as hell wouldn’t have slept with him for love.

  “What in the world were you doing with that old man?” I asked.

  “Faking it mostly,” Ava said. “He needed a lot of encouragement.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “The Senate hearings set off a witch hunt, and I was the galaxy’s most famous witch. Ted dumped me before the hearings even ended. We were living together, and he kicked me out of the house.” Ava sat silent for a moment.

  “Was he good to you before the hearings?” I asked.

  “Was he good to me? Honey, I hope he knows more strategies in battle than he does in bed.”

  “No shit?”

  “Even good things get boring when you do them the exact same way every time.” She paused, thought, and said, “I will say this for the boy, he’s got a lot of energy . . . a lot of energy.”

  I could not help but feel a little jealous. Maybe she read me too well. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “He liked it more than I did, Harris.”

  “So how did you end up with General Smith?” I asked.

  “I moved in with Al after Teddy kicked me out. He said he would keep me safe until things calmed down. That lasted for about a month, then he dropped me off at Clonetown.

  “So what do you think, Harris? Does that make me a whore?” she asked, her voice defiant, almost daring me to condemn her.

  “It says a lot about Smith’s negotiation skills,” I said.

  She moved toward me, her hand still over mine. Her touch was warm, and the air in the room was slightly cold. I wondered how she might describe me to the next man. It made me nervous.

  “What about me?” I asked. “Am I energetic?”

  “You took care of me, and you never forced yourself on me,” Ava said.

  “I think I’d rather have you think of me as ‘energetic,’ ” I said.

  “Do you want to hear you were the best lover I had?” Ava laughed. “Men.

  “Teddy showed me off like a trophy, like one of the medals he wears on his chest. That’s why he introduced me to you at the New Year’s Eve party; he wanted to show you he had something you couldn’t have.”

  “He’s got a lot of things I will never have,” I said.

  “He doesn’t see it that way. He’s scared of you, Harris.”

  “Scared of me?” I asked.

  “Scared to death. They were all scared of you. Al, Teddy, J. P. Glade, all of them. They knew you won the war. They were scared Congress would find out who was a hero and who was a fake.”

  “Even Mooreland?” I asked.

  “Especially Teddy.”

  “But he fought. He was the only officer who stood his ground.”

  “He said he didn’t fight in the last battle, the one that ended the war.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “But you did,” Ava said.

  “Herrington, Thomer, Freeman, and me,” I said, more to myself than to Ava. Ray Freeman was a mercenary, a ruthless freelancer who knocked down a billion-dollar payday for helping win the war. Thomer, Herrington, and I were clones. The only men to survive that final battle were three clones and a mercenary, no wonder the Pentagon kept a lid on the story.

  “You were the real heroes,” she said.

  I didn’t respond.

  Ava slid closer to me. She fixed her eyes on mine, a strange smile playing on her lips, and she ran her finger along the open neckline of her blouse. She moved slowly and her eyes never left mine. There was nothing unusual about the way she undid the first buttons. Her eyes stayed on mine; her smile remained gentle. There were seven buttons on her sailor’s tunic. As she undid the buttons, she peeled back the material, giving me a glimpse of breasts and bra. Just that glimpse of satiny material got my pulse pounding.

  She leaned toward me until our lips met. We had kissed before, but those other times had been mechanical and infrequent. Kissing had been part of a ritual, just another step toward having sex. This time it seemed to take on its own significance.

  I realized now that she was in control. Ava, with her perfect body, green eyes, and gentle touch, knew what she wanted and how to get things done. I did not think she loved me, but she gave herself over to me that night in a way that seemed more lasting than before.

  When my alarm woke me the next morning, I found her lying beside me wide-awake. She took my hand in hers and held it against her breast.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

  “Me?” she asked. “I’m not the one going out to fight the aliens.”

  “You’re going to need to hide for a while,” I said.

  “You just come back to me,” she said. She teared up as she said this. Maybe I was being cynical, but it reminded me of a scene from a movie. I did not know if Ava loved me, but I absolutely knew she was an accomplished actress.

  “We’ll find other women on the planet. You’ll be safe once you’re not the only woman on this side of the galaxy,” I said.

  “I have to admit, I would be so glad to talk to another woman. God, Harris, you have no idea.”

  “For now, you have to stay hidden. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I promised.

  “No problem,” she said. “I’ll just hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside your door.” She rubbed her naked body against mine. I knew I would be a few minutes late arriving at the docking bay, but some things cannot be helped.

  Admiral Thorne did not come to see the transports off, but he did wish us luck on the mission. As I dressed in my armor, I noticed the message light flashing on the communications console beside my desk. Instead of a steady flash, the light blinked three times, paused, and blinked three times. That meant the message came from Fleet Command.

  I vaguely remembered ignoring a call while Ava and I were in the throes. Not entirely sure there was anyone in Fleet Command I wanted to hear from, I played the message.

  “Good luck on Terraneau,” said the reedy voice, and that was it.

  “Who was that?” Ava asked.

  “Admiral Thorne,” I said.

  “That’s it? That’s the entire message?” she asked.

  “It would appear so.”

  “It’s a bit on the terse side, don’t you think?” she asked.

  “Well, he is an admiral. Maybe he’s too busy running the fleet for mushy farewells,” I said.

  I kissed Ava. We had kissed more over the last twelve hours than all of our other nights to
gether combined. “Stay hidden,” I said.

  She put a hand on the crook of my arm, and asked, “What do you think will happen if they find me?”

  “The sailors on this scow have not seen a woman in four years, what do you think will happen?”

  “I see,” she said.

  “So don’t get caught.”

  Ava hid her fear well. She was, after all, the clone of an actress. She looked at me, her green eyes scanning my face. “Will I ever be safe?” she asked.

  “Sure you will,” I said. “There will be women on Terraneau. I’ll smuggle you down and release you into the flock.”

  “Will I still be yours?” she asked.

  She had not had time to fix her hair that morning. Her lipstick and rouge had not survived the night. I probably had more of them spread on my skin than she did on hers. Somehow she had replaced last night’s glamour with simple beauty. She looked less like a starlet and more like a beautiful housewife—the prettiest woman on the block.

  Looking into her face, I silently asked myself if I loved Ava Gardner. At the moment I felt sexual satisfaction more than anything else, but I could grow to love her.

  “I have a planet to capture,” I said.

  She stood up, gave me a long, luxuriant kiss, and scampered into the bathroom. The last I saw of her was blue panties covering cream-colored cheeks as she slipped through the bathroom door.

  “Stay hidden,” I said.

  “As if my life depended on it,” she said.

  “It does.”

  “You be careful, too.”

  I turned and left the room.

  I had not suited up for a mission in more than two years, not since New Copenhagen. It felt good to wear a shell. Combat armor was not bulletproof, though it would deflect shrapnel. Under my armor I wore a skintight bodysuit, which was airtight, climate-controlled, radiation-resistant, and pressurized. There were limits as to how much it would protect me; but it stood up well to heat, radiation, and chill. If I found myself at ground zero during a nuclear explosion, the percussion would crush me, and the extreme heat would cremate me, but my bodysuit would shield me from the radiation.

  Our armor was light and bodysuits impressive, but it was our communications and surveillance technology that enabled the once-powerful Unified Authority Marines to conquer the Milky Way. The list of tools built into the visor of our helmets included a communications network called the interLink—video lenses that let us see in the dark, read heat signatures, and view distant targets. We had radar/sonic detection equipment for locating traps and surveying battlefields. Our visors also housed a memory chip that recorded everything we saw and heard in battle. Officers could transmit live visual feeds or read images from their subordinates’ visors. All of these tools were controlled with an ocular interface. Only Marines wore this combat armor. Soldiers fought in fatigues, and sailors . . . well, you could say they wore their ships when they went into battle.