A Murder of Clones: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  I know, she sent. She did, too. She understood that local currency could change from culture to culture, but almost every group near the Alliance took Alliance funds in one way or another. It was one of the few leverages the Alliance had to encourage membership.

  Search for it all, she sent. The more we know, the better.

  Then she signed off. She glanced at the Alliance databases now that her searches were done. She found nothing about the explosions, the destroyed base, or the causes of the violence.

  The language about the base seemed pretty normal for something that far away from the Alliance. The only thing she found that was suspicious was an entry about the base from five years before. The entry sounded like someone had traveled there recently. But the posting was anonymous, one of those ubiquitous reviews that showed up about every corner of the universe.

  As if the base still existed.

  She would have Apaza investigate the listing as well.

  She rubbed her hands over her arms. The chill hadn’t gone away. Neither had the goose bumps.

  She started to contact Charlie, to have him search his outside maps for more locations like this one—destroyed cities, destroyed bases, destroyed domes.

  Then she stopped herself just before activating her link.

  Everything on the Stanley was monitored. She’d shut off most of it, but not all of it. Even though she thought she had gotten everything, she wasn’t certain about the cockpit. There might have been some really deep fail safes that she had missed. Maybe the cockpit couldn’t entirely shut off its connection to the Alliance.

  She would be alerting someone that she was on their trail.

  If there was a someone within the Alliance whom she should worry about.

  If there was a trail.

  She moved the holographic map back into place.

  She needed to go to the second moon.

  But she would do it under the guise of something else entirely.

  No one would blame her for investigating the clones she had discovered on Epriccom. Everyone would assume she was looking into the connections with Anniversary Day.

  After all, who wouldn’t look?

  They would simply think her oblivious to the links to the Alliance.

  If she played this right.

  She needed to play it right.

  She needed to talk to the Eaufasse first.

  THIRTY-NINE

  RAFIK FUJITA HATED these jobs the most. Transporting former prisoners always entailed some kind of problem, usually caused by the prisoner himself. The prisoner expected freedom, expected that he could order Fujita around, expected that he would be able to do whatever he wanted from the moment he boarded Fujita’s ship.

  Fujita carried a full crew on cases like this, and the crew knew how to handle former prisoners and troublemakers.

  Usually, though, Fujita carried former prisoners with enough clout to hire S3 and to get out of prison, whether the charge was just or not. He’d never dealt with a clone prisoner before, and certainly not one like this.

  Zhu had warned him that the clone would look like the clones that harmed the Moon. Zhu also paid a little extra so that the clone—whom Zhu said to call Trey—would be as far from Alliance space as possible.

  Fujita loved working for S3, so he would follow orders. Even if he had to imprison that deadly clone all over again.

  He’d been reading the file that Zhu provided. The clone seemed harmless enough. But Fujita had dealt with enough so-called harmless prisoners to know that what a former prisoner seemed like and what he actually was were often two different things.

  But Fujita was as prepared as a man could be. He owned five different ships, and he was using the Alus 15, the most complex, for this mission. The Alus 15 had a double-reinforced frame, so that it would survive most standard weapons attacks. It had a sophisticated internal security system that could determine if a marked passenger acted strange or out of line—and Fujita would certainly mark this clone.

  The internal security system would also detect common bomb manufacturing and standard weaponry, and isolate anyone not authorized to use such things on a ship.

  All of the weaponry that Fujita’s people had—and he had two dozen highly trained warriors on the Alus 15—was keyed to their DNA, so if they lost a grip on their weapons, then those weapons went out of commission. No stealing anything.

  Fujita didn’t have back-up weaponry anywhere that wasn’t tied to his staff, although he did have some additional firepower built into the Alus 15 itself.

  If, somehow, someone was able to take over the Alus 15, then that person could, in theory, use the ship to attack another ship.

  But that would take a lot of work, and many, many things would have to go right for the attacker.

  In fact, almost everything would have to go right.

  Everyone on this ship could pilot it, just like everyone could man the external weaponry, and everyone could defend the interior. The crew that Fujita had chosen for this mission had worked together off and on for more than thirty years.

  He figured they’d do all right.

  Fujita had been to clone prisons before, but never to pick up a clone. He’d dropped off guards, and picked up Salehi back when the man was practicing a lot more law than he’d been doing of late.

  Fujita missed Salehi. He liked working with the man. Salehi was a bit of an idealist, but he was a risk-taker too. He’d gotten disillusioned during some major cases. Fujita had actually tried to talk him down, to make him feel better, but to no avail.

  So Fujita continued to work for S3, hoping Salehi would come back. But Fujita had a feeling he might not. Fujita didn’t really like the other partners, and he hadn’t liked Zhu at all.

  They’d had an uncomfortable meeting. Zhu had apparently done a good job for his client, and then regretted it. Fujita thought it a strange attitude for a high-level defense attorney.

  So Fujita tried to have the right attitude, the attitude that Zhu clearly didn’t have. Fujita told himself that it didn’t matter what the former prisoner had done or what he would do in the future. What mattered was that for this short window of time, the former prisoner was a man who needed transport and maybe a bit of coaching on life on the outside.

  Fujita had coached dozens of people on how to make it after a lifetime in prison. He’d try to do the same—with compassion—for this Trey, no matter what the guy looked like, no matter who his DNA said he was.

  None of that stopped Fujita from reading up on PierLuigi Frémont or preparing for the worst. He suspected that if Trey was going to be bad, he’d be bad in his own way. Fujita would be prepared for all of it.

  S3 paid him to anticipate, not to be surprised.

  As much research as he had done on the way to EAP 77743, he better not be surprised.

  The prison expected him in exactly twelve hours. He would arrive within eleven.

  He’d learned the hard way that being on time was often too late. Some guards took advantage of that last hour to ensure that a prisoner wouldn’t get his release. Arriving early was the best thing.

  Early and unannounced.

  He prepared his identification, his court orders, and his arguments. He prepared the maximum security cell in the bowels of the Alus 15 in case this Trey turned out to be a raving lunatic. Fujita prepared the minimum security cell two levels above the max cell in case this Trey didn’t want to leave the Alliance.

  Fujita prepared for every contingency, including the one he couldn’t foresee—whatever that was.

  He knew something might go awry here.

  That’s the one thing the file told him. The release had been too easy. That judge had cooperated on the record, clearly saying she would take a bribe. But she never received that bribe because Zhu was too cowardly to tell his companions at S3.

  Although Zhu had said he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the “quid pro quo” the judge had offered.

  Fujita always kept his own counsel with d
elusional lawyers. And Zhu seemed more delusional than most. He didn’t seem to understand that by getting this Trey released, he had already taken the quid pro quo. He just had to provide his pro quo or quid or whatever the proper terminology was.

  If that judge ever got a job at S3, then Zhu would forever be on the hot seat.

  The man seemed to have convinced himself otherwise.

  Not that it was Fujita’s business.

  Fujita had done his due diligence—except for the interview with Trey.

  And that would happen shortly after Trey arrived on board.

  It wasn’t fair to say that Fujita was looking forward to that moment. But he was anticipating it. Because, his experience had taught him, once he’d acquired the prisoner, his work was 95% complete.

  FORTY

  EPRICCOM LOOKED NOTHING like it had fifteen years before. Dozens of small bases orbited the moon, all of them affiliated with some Alliance corporation. The Stanley got through the beefed-up space traffic control regulations easily because it was an Earth Alliance ship, but Gomez could see how hard it would be for non-aligned ships to enter Epriccom’s space.

  The Eaufasse appeared to be in charge of all of the contacts, even though there were fifteen other sentient species on Epriccom. Gomez hadn’t really studied the changes—she didn’t expect to be on Epriccom long—but she hoped Simiaar had.

  They landed in an actual Alliance-approved port, with the standard regulations that all Alliance ports had. The port was small, but the small crew Gomez had brought with her had to go through everything from document check to decontamination to the hiring of a certified Eaufasse guide, none of which she’d had to go through fifteen years before.

  This is creepy, Simiaar sent Gomez privately.

  We rarely see what we’ve wrought, Gomez sent back, hoping the wry tone made it through her linked communication.

  No kidding, Simiaar sent back.

  They were walking side by side through the port’s main arrival area. Nuuyoma and Verstraete walked behind them. Apaza had stayed on the Stanley, ostensibly to help facilitate any research that they needed from the surface, but primarily because he hadn’t finished searching the financials yet. The ship registrations had led to nothing, but the financials, he said, were “promising.”

  The walls of the port depicted scenes that Gomez’s links told her came from Eaufasse history. Most of the scenes looked like battles, but she couldn’t tell, really.

  The Eaufasse certainly seemed less alien than they had at that first encounter. Some of the Eaufasse now wore robes instead of tight material over their torsos. The robes hid a lot of their differences, from the length of the arms and legs to the sexless characteristics of that torso.

  Only their liquid eyes and small size made them seem obviously different.

  The guide walked quickly, taking the team to a building attached to the port. On the maps of the area drawn up in Standard, the building was called The Alliance Center for Harmonious Relations. Gomez had no idea what the actual name of the place really was.

  The corridors leading from the port to the Alliance Center were wider than the average Eaufasse corridor—at least the ones that Gomez remembered. She remembered weird window-shaped things, inexplicable doors, ceilings just a bit too low, and the buzz of a language she did not understand.

  Instead, this place looked like it could be dropped anywhere in the Alliance, with corridors wide enough to accommodate the Rev. She understood most of the conversations, but then most everyone in the port was human, Peyti, Gyonnese, or LaBotian. She hardly saw any Eaufasse either, although she realized halfway to the Alliance Center that she simply had taken many of the ones she had seen for human, because of the robes.

  Other natives from Epriccom hugged the walls or didn’t seem to appear at all. They often watched from restricted areas.

  She usually prepared before she arrived at a new place, but she hadn’t considered Epriccom new, considering what she had gone through here.

  Now she realized that her entire attitude toward this trip here was a mistake.

  She sent to Simiaar on their private link, You want to abort this one?

  Getting cold feet? Simiaar sent back.

  I wasn’t prepared for all the changes, Gomez sent.

  No worries, Simiaar sent back. I was. I’ll go head-to-head with them. You handle the other thing.

  She hadn’t referred to the trip that Gomez really wanted to take because both of them had learned that in places like this, sometimes the most secure link could get hacked.

  Gomez nodded and followed their guide up a flight of human-sized stairs and into a brownish-beige corridor. Some of those rectangular window coverings decorated the walls here, and the net effect was just a bit more like that outpost where she had first interviewed Thirds.

  A nearly invisible door slid open, filling the corridor with the scent of dried mud and chocolate.

  An Eaufasse wearing something that looked like the uniforms of old opened its long arms wide.

  “Mar-shal Gomez,” it said with what she took to be joy. “Wel-come. It be long years.”

  Gomez compared the old memories she had downloaded into her current data stream with a recognition program that should have worked for Eaufasse.

  This was the Eaufasse who had led them to Thirds. Gomez couldn’t pronounce the Eaufasse’s name. She wasn’t sure she had even known it back then.

  “I learn Stan-dard bad,” the Eaufasse said proudly.

  “I think you learned it well,” Gomez said. “Would I offend you if I give you a standard Earth handshake?”

  “Hon-or-ed would be I,” the Eaufasse said, and extended its hand.

  Gomez couldn’t remember touching an Eaufasse before. As her hand hit its skin, she was pleased to discover that the texture was as soft as fine silk. Still, Gomez was careful to grip lightly, shake once gently, and disengage.

  “I am honored that you came to see us,” Gomez said.

  “Un-fin-i-sh-ed bus-i-ness we,” the Eaufasse said, then peered at the other three members of her team. “New?”

  It took Gomez a minute. “Two of them have not been to Epriccom before. But Doctor Simiaar was with me the last time.”

  “I don’t think I ever left the ship,” Simiaar said, then bowed slightly. “Meeting you is my pleasure.”

  “My yes,” the Eaufasse said, bowing back.

  Simiaar looked at Gomez, as if she didn’t really understand. It’s okay, Gomez sent.

  “Talk us a-lone?” the Eaufasse asked Gomez.

  “I’d like Dr. Simiaar to come with us, if possible,” Gomez said. “She’s very familiar with your culture. And she’s the one who encouraged me to come here again.”

  The Eaufasse’s gaze shifted to Simiaar. The Eaufasse’s eyes seemed even more liquid for a moment. Then it nodded.

  “Yes,” it said. “No Pey-ti?”

  Gomez smiled as she understood. “That’s right. I didn’t bring my own translator. I can send for one if you think I need one.”

  “No, I have trans-late,” the Eaufasse said. “Right all?”

  “Yes, that will work.” Gomez turned to the other two. “You two can probably get something to eat or just look around. We’ll send for you when we need you.”

  As she said that, she sent, It’ll take maybe an hour, so stay close.

  Nuuyoma nodded. Verstraete looked like she didn’t need to be told twice. She was already looking down the corridor.

  The Eaufasse ushered Gomez and Simiaar into a room that was as bland as the corridor. Gomez’s links didn’t detect any unusual recording devices. She assumed everything in this Alliance-built building would be up to Alliance standards, so she should be able to find something out of the ordinary.

  She wasn’t sure if that was a safe assumption, but she wanted it to be.

  Another Eaufasse stood near the back of the room, wearing a light blue robe, its hands clasped together. It was younger. Gomez only knew that because she had just compared the fift
een-year-old images of the first Eaufasse to that Eaufasse now, and realized that its skin had become grayer and more elastic.

  This Eaufasse had skin that was taut, at least around its face.

  “Marshal,” it said with no decipherable accent at all. Standard spoken as—well, as standard as possible. “I am Oaupheau. I will act as your translator, with your permission.”

  “Thank you,” Gomez said. “You have my permission.”

  She was recording everything. She hoped Simiaar was doing the same.

  There were four chairs in the room, two normal human chairs with a flat seat and a flat back, and two Eaufasse chairs that looked like mushrooms growing out of the floor.

  “I have been chosen for my discretion,” Oaupheau said. “Mir Munshi trusts me with his life and now yours. In return, I give you my oath that I will not reveal anything said here on pain of death.”

  In the early years of her command, Gomez would have politely stated that such extremes weren’t necessary. Now, she had learned to respect cultures that insisted on such things.

  So she acknowledged Oaupheau’s statement with a polite response, while pondering what else it (he?) had told her. He had used an old Earth title for someone who ran a foreign office. She had had to learn most Earth forms of address, old and new, because different cultures translated the names of their leaders using words they found in Earth histories, for accuracy.

  She wasn’t sure how accurate this title was, but considering the precision with which Oaupheau spoke Standard, she had a hunch the title was as accurate as the Eaufasse could make it. That title made sense. She wondered how much work it had taken to find the proper title to translate into Standard.

  Oaupheau had also given the Mir Munshi’s gender as male. Gomez had never been able to tell gender with the Eaufasse before, so she appreciated that.

  Mir Munshi spoke Fasse to Oaupheau, while keeping his gaze on Gomez.