“But in order to accomplish that, it will be necessary to show the Alpha Clones that the new government has the support of the people,” Alan said urgently. “So take control of your lives! Be whatever you want to be! And demonstrate your power by continuing to strike until a member of the provisional government announces some sort of settlement. At which point I want you to remember that we are at war with the Ramanthians. Our citizens are fi?ghting on distant planets, and it’s important to support that effort by running our factories and other institutions as effi?ciently as possible. And that means it will be necessary for most of us to remain in our present functions during the ensuing transition period. Thank you for your support,” Alan fi?nished. “And let this be our fi?rst day of freedom!”
“Good job,” Fisk-Five said, as he lowered the camera.
“But I think we just ran out of time. Look at that!”
Alan turned to look in the direction of the other man’s pointing fi?nger. Though not an expert on military spacecraft, the clone didn’t have to be to know that the ship coming their way was big! At least twenty times larger than the police assault boats that were circling the building. And, given the weaponry the warship carried, it could destroy both Building 516 and half the city if those on board chose to do so. That suggested the Alpha Clones were prepared to sacrifi?ce the DNA repository in order to kill the rebel leaders. The ship was only two hundred feet off the ground, which made it all the more impressive, as repellers roared and the destroyer escort drifted in over the building. The downdraft blew debris every which way, and the air was thick with acrid stench of ozone, as a huge shadow fell over Alan. The rebel thought about running, knew it would be pointless, and saw Fisk-Five aim the camera at him. To record how brave he was? Or document the end of the Clone Republic? There was no way to know.
As Alan waited to die, one of the Crowleys pointed upwards. Her hair was fl?ying, and it was necessary to yell in order to make herself heard. “Look at those markings!” the woman said. “That ship belongs to the Confederacy!”
As an assault boat parted company with the larger vessel, the rebel realized the woman was correct! Did that mean what he thought it meant? Alan felt a sudden surge of hope as the assault boat circled the building and came in for a perfect landing. A hatch opened, stairs were deployed, and a familiar fi?gure appeared. But rather than rush forward and embrace him, Foreign Service Offi?cer-2 Christine Vanderveen took up a position next to the stairs, as a second woman appeared. And it was she who came forward to shake hands with Alan Freeman.
“Hello,” the woman in the tidy business suit said. “My name is Marcy Cowles. Ambassador Marcy Cowles. On behalf of President Nankool, and the Confederacy, please allow me to be the fi?rst to congratulate you and your fellow freedom fi?ghters on the creation of a new government. I know you’re busy, but considering the circumstances, this might be a good time to have lunch with the president.”
Alan turned to eye his surroundings. Once the warship arrived, the police boats had been forced to back off. He could imagine the frantic radio traffi?c between them and various government agencies as hundreds of bureaucrats were forced to confront a problem the founder hadn’t prepared them for. He and his fellow revolutionaries were safe for the moment, but that would end once the ship left, so the choice was really no choice at all. “Are my friends invited as well?” the rebel wanted to know.
“Of course,” Cowles responded blandly. “We look forward to meeting all of the brave freedom fi?ghters who will go down in the annals of history as having founded the Clone Republic.”
Alan looked over to where Vanderveen was standing. Her blond hair was whipping in the downdraft from the warship overhead, and despite the condition of her fi?lthy clothes, she looked regal somehow. He wanted to take her into his arms, but knew he couldn’t, and nodded instead. “Thank you,”
Alan said, as he turned back to Cowles. “It would be an honor to join the president for lunch.”
There was a sense of purpose within the conference room, as Booly made arrangements to evacuate the president under fi?re should that become necessary, and senior staff members took furious, and in some cases, frantic calls from individuals inside the Hegemony’s government. It quickly became apparent that while some of the clones were trying to hold things together, others had capitulated, and were seeking asylum within the Confederacy.
That left Nankool and a handful of others to watch video provided by both the rebels and the Confederacy’s destroyer escort, as Cowles, Vanderveen, and the rebel leaders entered the assault boat and were subsequently taken aboard the warship that was hovering above. That left the Romos and Nerovs to reoccupy an empty building. A victory of sorts, but not the one the Alpha Clones had been expecting, as their carefully organized society crumbled around them. The process continued to accelerate as a new video clip appeared on the rebel-dominated com channels.
“There it is!” an aide said excitedly, and Nankool turned to look at a screen off to his right. “Good afternoon,” the digitized version of himself said. “My name is Marcott Nankool and, as president of the Confederacy of Sentient Beings, it is my pleasure to formally recognize the Clone Republic, and assure its citizens that not only will the existing military alliance remain in force so far as we’re concerned, but we look forward to having even closer ties with your democracy during the days ahead. I will meet with Provisional President Alan Freeman within the next few hours and provide him with whatever assistance he requires.” The last phrase was directed more at the Alpha Clones, than the citizenry, and amounted to a thinly veiled threat. Now that the Confederacy was committed, it couldn’t back off, even if that meant a clash with the police.
Nankool watched his likeness smile—and knew what was coming. “For all too long the two major branches of humanity have been divided by a social system that could deliver peace and prosperity, but at a very steep price, that being the loss of personal liberties. Foremost among them was the right to vote, the right to choose a profession, and the right to procreate. Congratulations on the acquisition of your newfound freedom—and the responsibility it entails! Because, like us, you are at war. . . . And the future of all humanity is at stake, along with the well-being of other sentients as well. It will be up to you to chart the exact path that your new government will take, but the Confederacy will be there to help in any way it can, and to celebrate your accomplishments. Thank you.” And with that the screen faded to black. Meanwhile, even as Nankool’s message was delivered to the population, half a dozen protest groups converged on the building that housed the Chamber of Governmental Process and became a single mob. That was when Alpha Clones Antonio and Pietro boarded a shuttle, and were transported up into orbit, where the admiral in command of the Hegemony’s home fl?eet agreed to take them aboard his fl?agship, but only as prisoners. Not because he hated them, but out of fear of the political consequences, were the military to take sides.
As that was taking place, Marcus went out to confront the mob. It was common knowledge that an earlier version of himself had not only fallen in love with a free breeder, but produced a child by her, believing the birth would trigger systemic changes within the Hegemony. But that Marcus had been wrong. The other Alpha Clones had been able to keep things under control, eventually forcing the visionary and his family into exile, thereby leaving all the existing problems unresolved.
But the historical connection meant that would-be free breeders had come to see any Marcus as a potential ally even though the current replicant had been a faithful and unwavering enforcer of the founder’s plan. For that reason, Marcus believed that the workers would listen to his pleas to stop rioting and return to work. So even as his clone brothers fl?ed, he went out to greet the riotous mob. There were hundreds of them, representing dozens of lines, all mixed together. And it was an ugly sight to behold. The workers could hardly believe their eyes at fi?rst, as one of the normally reclusive Alpha Clones came out to speak with them, and did so without any Nerovs to guard him. Th
at was why the crowd actually let him speak a few paragraphs of what they saw as government mumbo jumbo before surging forward.
In a bloody denouement that was televised for all to see, the workers tore the Alpha Clone apart. And that, in the judgment of the historians who would write about the revolution later, was the moment when the old government truly came to an end.
Christine Vanderveen was naked. More than four hours had passed since Antonio and Pietro had fl?ed, Marcus had been killed, and Alan fi?nished his lunch with Nankool. The Clone Republic was a wildly chaotic reality by then, and the new president knew there were thousands of things that he should do, and eventually would do, but only after what he wanted to do—which was to spend some quality time with Christine Vanderveen. A private meeting which, thanks to his new title, he’d been able to insist upon. And now, as the blond encircled him, Alan was lost in the smell of her freshly washed hair, the softness of her lips, and the urgent thrust of her hips. He wanted to please her, but knew very little about how to do so, and feared he would lose control.
But Vanderveen’s passion was a match for his, and it wasn’t long before the pace of their lovemaking quickened, and both were carried away by successive waves of pleasure that seemed to last forever. And left both lovers wonderfully exhausted.
Alan said things he had never said before, whispering them into her sweat-glazed skin, rubbing them into her pores. And Vanderveen answered, though not with words, because she knew things her lover didn’t. She knew the Clone Republic’s interim president would be required to travel to other planets, where he would meet hundreds if not thousands of attractive women. More than that, she knew that in spite of the chemistry between them, and the extent to which she admired Alan, there was another. The only man who could truly fi?ll the emptiness inside her, the man with whom so much had already been shared, and the man she had been thinking about when the pleasure had been at its very peak. Alan fell asleep, and had every right to, given all he’d been through during the previous week. That made leaving easier. Eventually, when the president of the Clone Republic awoke, he would fi?nd the note:
My dearest Alan,
Your newfound freedom will bring many challenges, including those posed by the human heart. Mine is fi?lled with gratitude for the time we spent together, as well as admiration for the man that you are, and will be in the future.
But there is another. . . . A man to whom promises were made—and for whom I must wait. But I will remember. . . . Not with shame, but with joy, and the sure knowledge that you will fi?nd your way to happiness.
Affectionately,
Christine
16
However skillful the maneuvers in retreat, it will always weaken the morale of an army. . . . Besides, retreats always cost more men and material than the most bloody engagements; with this difference, that in battle the enemy’s loss is nearly equal to your own—whereas in a retreat the loss is on your side only.
—Napoleon I
Maxims of War
Standard year 1831
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE REPUBLIC
Snow was falling, the air was bitingly cold, and the steady rumble of mortar and artillery fi?re could be heard as elements of the Legion’s 1st REC, the 3rd Marine Division, and the Clone Republic’s 7th Infantry Brigade fought to hold the bugs back. The effort had been successful largely because the trenches intended to bar entry to Yal-Am also made it diffi?cult to leave, so long as they were occupied. But allied forces wouldn’t be able to hold the chits back for long, something Legion General Mortimer Kobbi was painfully aware of, as a ragtag collection of battle-weary offi?cers fi?led into the clone-built structure next to Yal-Am’s stone quarry. There was no heat and the big 155mm-sized hole in the roof allowed snow to fi?lter down into a space that was halffi?lled with slabs of frosty granite, some of which might very well become grave markers eventually. But the walls were mostly intact, blocking the wind. That, plus four blazing burn barrels, gave the impression, if not the reality, of warmth as the inside temperature hovered at twenty-six degrees. Rows of makeshift benches offered the attendees a place to sit, and many were so weary that they took advantage of the opportunity to rest even though they knew it was important to keep moving. The offi?cers were a motley group representing the Legion, Marine Corps, and the new Clone Republic, which many of them had only recently heard about. And, because of all the casualties suffered during the last few days, Kobbi noticed that captains, lieutenants, and even sergeants had been sent in place of the generals, colonels, and majors who would normally participate in a command briefi?ng. As the last of them entered, Kobbi was pleased to see that both Santana and Quinlan had survived, the fi?rst being a good deal more useful than the second. Although Quinlan had led his troops bravely, if not brilliantly, which was more than some allied offi?cers could claim. By virtue of a small miracle, one of the Legion’s supply sergeants had conjured up thermos bottles fi?lled with hot coffee and a “secret ingredient” that was immediately recognizable as rum. Most of the offi?cers carried fi?re-blackened cups that were critical to a quick “brew-up,” and hurried to produce them, as the muchabused aluminum bottles made the rounds. The rest were supplied with mugs, some of which were of Ramanthian manufacture, but still serviceable.
Santana took a tentative sip, and having found the concoction to his liking, took another. A sensation of warmth fl?ooded his belly and seemed to spread out from there. The company, minus a number of casualties, was waiting about a mile away. Zolkin had orders to get a hot meal into the bio bods, and carry out cold-weather maintenance on the cyborgs, while Dietrich went out to scrounge whatever supplies he could. Alpha Company had burned through lots of everything during the past few days and was going to need a lot of ammo, food, and medical supplies if they were going to make it back over the pass. Which, based on the cavalry offi?cer’s limited knowledge of the situation, was what everyone would have to do. Some fl?y-forms were still in service, but they were being used to air evac the wounded, and even that was iffy.
“All right,” General Kobbi began, as he stepped up onto a platform that consisted of two side-by-side cargo modules.
“I know you want to rejoin your outfi?ts, so I’ll keep this meeting brief. First, in case there’s someone who hasn’t heard, General-453 is missing in action, and presumed dead. And yes, the man who led the advance on Yal-Am was a person other than Four-fi?fty-three.”
That announcement produced a good deal of buzz—
since it served to confi?rm some of the rumors that had been fl?oating around. Santana felt the fi?rst stirrings of concern when he saw that Kobbi was looking directly at him. The general wouldn’t send him after Colonel Six right in the middle of a full-scale retreat. Would he?
The question went unanswered as the briefi?ng continued.
“So as the most senior offi?cer still on his feet, I assumed command,” Kobbi said grimly. “Unless there’s another offi?cer who wants the job—because they sure as hell can have it!”
That generated a chorus of chuckles from the offi?cers who, better than anyone else, knew how diffi?cult the retreat was going to be.
“Most of you know that we were suckered,” Kobbi said matter-of-factly. “And not once—but twice! Because even as the chits boiled up out of the ground in Yal-Am, a Ramanthian battle group dropped out of hyperspace, and tore into our ships. The swabbies bloodied the Ramanthian beaks pretty good, but took a lot of casualties, and were forced out of the system. That left the chits holding the high ground, which means our line of retreat has been severed, and we’re momentarily cut off. Worse yet, I’m told that thousands of Ramanthians have fi?ltered in behind us, which means they’re planning to infl?ict a lot of casualties as we withdraw.”
The report produced a symphony of groans, followed by a more upbeat assessment from a Hudathan major. “Good!”
the legionnaire rumbled. “Now we’ve got ’em where we want ’em!” Santana laughed along with the others, but knew the reality of it wouldn’t be fun
ny, as thousands of soldiers and civilians started the long cold trek up over Tow-Tok Pass.
Kobbi marveled at the fact that the men and women in front of him could still laugh and waited for the noise to die down before picking up where he had left off. “But, thanks to some bug technology, we have real-time communications with General Booly, and he’s working on a plan to pull us out. I can’t go into the details yet, lest one of us be captured, but I want you to know there’s hope. And I want you to communicate that to your troops. But before we can take advantage of the general’s plan, we need to get our people over the mountains. So focus your efforts on that. Be sure to get your marching orders from Lieutenant Giles as you leave. And obey them. Because if we’re going to retreat—then it’s going to be the best damned retreat that anyone ever saw! Do you read me?”
The answer was a ragged, “Yes, sir!”
“Good,” Kobbi said. “Now, one more thing before you go out to play in the snow. . . . As many of you have heard, there has been a change of government on Alpha-001. Simply put the Alpha Clones are out—and something called the Clone Republic is in. The new government is going to be a democracy, or so I’m told, and the existing alliance remains in effect. Which, all things considered, is all we need to know!
“All right,” the general fi?nished. “Get your orders—and get in gear. I’ll be checking in with each one of you during the coming days. Captain Santana—a moment of your time please.”
Quinlan frowned. Kobbi’s habit of using Alpha Company to run errands for him was starting to grate. Especially now that more than a third of his battalion was either dead or wounded. But there wasn’t much Quinlan could do about it except shoot Santana an annoyed look before following the others toward the door.
Santana drank the last of his coffee and rum before fold- ing the handle into the center of the mug and tucking the implement away. Kobbi had stepped off the cargo modules by then, and had just completed a conversation with a major, when Santana made his way forward. Kobbi nodded as they came face-to-face. “So, have you ever seen a bigger screwup than this one?” he inquired lightly.
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