* * *
In the first pink rays of dawn, Trixie sat on the low wall surrounding the flat roof, holding her rifle like a crutch, trembling like a feather in the wintry breeze. The adrenaline that had kept her alert all night suddenly vanished, leaving her weak. Every muscle in her body ached and screamed for rest. But there would be no rest today.
The Zerkers had quickly retreated toward the higher citadel, under heavy fire, taking with them most of their dead, and the women they'd abducted from their homes. The Godds had been right when they said the natives never attacked during the day. Did they fear sunlight?
Finally, certain the Zerkers were gone, Trixie took a deep breath, then staggered down the stairs, stepping over a dead Zerker on her way to her downstairs quarters. There, she washed up and composed herself, then she stepped out into the early morning glow and flipped up her radio.
“Tom, Cheng, Tabor, Kostas,” she broadcast. “Assess the losses and give me a damage report.”
Her crew and garrison officers reported one by one on the air waves, except Tabor who reported in person.
“Glad to see you are safe, and just as beautiful as ever, after a sleepless night and a battle.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “How may I be of help?”
Trixie could only think of getting rid of him. “Could you alert the council members of an emergency meeting in an hour?”
“Of course.” His dark eyes glittered, and his grin widened. “I will see you in council in an hour, then.”
After he left, the sirens from the mine sounded lugubriously, calling the early morning shift. Wraith!
The settlers, in the midst of carrying their wounded to the Healing Hall, looked at her in confusion.
“We can't get to work this morning of all times!” a woman wailed.
But Trixie knew if the shift didn't get to the mine on time, the Godds would use that as an excuse to void their contract.
“Listen,” Trixie said, projecting her voice. “I know this is difficult, but if we do not honor our word, life in the citadel will become much worse. Remember the cold, remember the weapons the Godds can bring to bear upon us.”
The stunned settlers nodded, but many had tears in their eyes.
“We all have to do our part,” Trixie added. “Those of the morning shift who are able to work should go. Thank you for understanding.”
The workers reluctantly set out on foot toward the northern gate, where the lifts would take them underground. She noticed Kostas among them. He glanced at her. She knew he was the one who'd saved her from the Zerkers, but she could not read anything into that. As a military clone, it was his function to serve and protect.
The ribbon of workers, already tired from a sleepless night, stumbled toward their six-hour mandatory shift under the wail of the sirens. Trixie noticed their diminished numbers. They'd have to work faster to make up for the missing, the dead, and the wounded.
Shortly, the graveyard shift returned from the mine to learn of the tragic attack. In the eerily silent streets, the smoke had cleared. Trixie found a grim determination on the faces of the settlers clearing the enemy bodies left behind.
“What should we do with those, Captain?” asked a young man in ship uniform, directing the cleaning crew.
“Throw that garbage over the ramparts into the gorge... to feed the rats.” Trixie couldn't help the disgust in her voice.
Her order met with agreeing nods.
By the time Trixie ascended the stairs to the capitol building to meet the council, she knew what needed to be done. She took a deep breath as she neared the second floor, then entered the vast room and took her place at the head of the council table with a heavy heart, but she could not sit.
She remained standing and nodded to the unusually silent men and women. “Witnesses attest to the death of at least five men, killed by Zerkers during the night raid, and a hundred wounded. But most of the dead bodies vanished when the enemy retreated.”
“Only five settlers dead?” Tabor seemed surprised.
“Apparently, they didn't come to kill us, but to steal our women. Still, half of the wounded are in critical condition. The medics at the Healing Hall are doing what they can with limited medical supplies.”
“What will happen to the women they took?” This from a woman in her forties, her voice trembling with concern. Trixie remembered seeing her with a younger woman. Was her daughter among the missing?
“Fifty-four women are unaccounted for.” Trixie cleared her clenching throat. “From what we gathered from the witnesses, the women were not harmed and were very much alive when they were taken.” She stared at her audience, unwilling to reveal the primitive way they were dragged out, kicking and screaming, their skirts over their heads, without any regard for their humanity... but their aggressors weren't Human. “Since we have no bodies to cremate, there will be no state funeral. The settlers can grieve in the privacy of their tribes.”
Tabor nodded. “Whatever Zerker bodies remained in the streets after the battle are now being thrown from the rampart into the gorge, left for whatever wildlife will eat them.”
Trixie could not deal with the emotional trauma of these people. All she could do was give them focus, point out what needed to be done. “Kostas has provided us with the scans he took during the attack.”
Tom's dark face looked grave under the red beret and beaded dreadlocks. He set a tablet on the table and tabbed it. A blue holographic picture of the citadel rose in a three-dimensional plane.
“Now.” Tom said, “The three red dots show the precise locations of the accesses the Zerkers used to enter the citadel. We believe they came through underground tunnels.”
A worried murmur hovered above the council members.
Trixie cleared her voice and silence resumed. “We have to condemn these entrances once and for all. We have explosive charges. We can collapse the access points. I'd like to believe these are the only access points the Zerkers can use into the citadel. Otherwise, they would have no doubt chosen an exit closer to the populated areas.”
Expecting questions, Trixie paused, but she only met somber faces with pressed lips. “According to our estimations, our volunteer garrison, as small as it is, has killed several hundred Zerkers, but just as many returned to their lair unharmed, with their Human loot.”
Trixie shuddered at the thought of what these women must be going through right now. What did the Zerkers have in store for them? Rape? Slow death? Would they keep them alive to eat them later?
She shook away the thought. “Now, we also have to come up with a warning system, an alarm to wake the population in case of a future attack. We should also have a contingency plan, safe places of refuge, a defense strategy.”
“Each household, each tribe should be armed,” Tabor suggested.
The council members nodded gravely.
Trixie hid her overwhelming urge to collapse into a heap and sob. Instead, she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “I welcome all your suggestions.”
Chapter Thirteen
The iris door opened upon the pristine, white conference room on the Goddian ship. In the center, stood a small white table where the two Godds sat in deep conversation. McLure took a deep breath. He needed a favor from the two powerful Godds, and he hoped it wouldn't compromise their collaboration. He couldn't let a soulless clone break the most sacred laws of man and nature. He just couldn't.
Although McLure knew they had noticed his entrance, neither Prince Ktal, the blue-haired Godd, nor Kuhr, with gold skin and red hair, acknowledged his presence. Finally, Kuhr, with an emphatic sweep of his wide crimson sleeves, faced him with a hard expression.
McLure bowed slightly. There was no chair for him to sit at the small round table. “My Prince, Lord Kuhr.”
“Why ask for this meeting?” Prince Ktal asked briskly, in the characteristic booming voice of the Godds. He never wasted time in polite conversation.
“I have a favor to ask.” McLure cleared his throat. �
��I am very grateful you told me our council leader's bodyguard is a clone. I was able to verify his identity in our database, but I also need irrefutable physical proof of his intrinsic nature to present to our council.”
“Why do you need proof, McLure?” Kuhr's voice held a dangerous edge. “Isn't the word of a Godd enough for you?”
“I do believe you wholeheartedly.” McLure felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. “But such a grave accusation cannot be acted upon without the backing of science.”
Prince Ktal brushed an imaginary speck on his turquoise robe. “Acted upon? What do you mean?”
“I mean, My Prince, a clone cannot be allowed to continue impersonating a Human being. It breaks fundamental laws and could endanger the entire structure of our community.”
“Impersonating?” Ktal's brow rose. He glanced at Kuhr sideways. “That clone is not that different from anyone else in your group.”
“Oh, but he is.” How could such evolved beings not know the difference? “He's a soulless drone, programmed for a specific function and grown in a vat, little more than a sensitive, sophisticated machine.”
“I hear disdain in your voice.” Prince Ktal obviously disapproved of his opinion of clones.
“Yes. Why is that?” Kuhr sounded more curious.
McLure steepled his fingers and pursed his lips. He hated having to explain. “You see, in our culture, clones are not recognized as citizens. Impersonating a Human being is a grave offense, and the consequences are severe.”
“What consequences?” Ktal glared down at him with his piercing turquoise gaze. Although McLure was standing, the seated Godds still towered over him.
“Death, of course. In every case, My Prince.”
Both Goddian giants frowned and stared at him with narrowed eyes.
Then Prince Ktal spoke. “In many cultures, cloning is considered the only acceptable means of reproduction.”
“You do not understand...” McLure was running out of patience. “Clones cannot be allowed to blend with the general population. They can only be subservient.”
“Like slaves? Why?” Kuhr, still curious.
“They are not Human!” McLure immediately regretted his loud tone.
Prince Ktal inclined his head. “And this is based, according to your beliefs, upon scientific facts?”
“Absolutely.” McLure hated dense minds.
Kuhr snorted, a strange, low rumble.
“I see...” Ktal's intense squinting made McLure uncomfortable.
“Did I say something wrong?” McLure struggled not to squirm on his feet.
“Wrong, indeed. Except for the replicated DNA marker, this clone of yours is Human in every way, actually much better suited for life than the other members of your expedition.”
Duh! That was the whole point of growing clones. “But he has no soul.”
“A soul?” Ktal glanced at Kuhr. “Some kind of self-awareness with a conscience, and spiritual aspirations?”
McLure nodded. Finally. “That's what makes us Human.”
“Since Lord Kuhr and I are not Human, must I assume that we have no soul either?” Ktal's striking turquoise eyes stared accusingly. “We do have self-awareness, a conscience, and spiritual aspirations, though. Don't you agree?”
Taken aback, McLure faltered. “I... I... I wouldn't know.”
“How can you tell whether or not someone has a soul?” Kuhr pressed on.
“I can't.” Damn the stupid Godds.
“So how can you tell this Kostas has no soul?” Prince Ktal drummed long fingers on the white table. Too many fingers.
McLure furtively wiped his brow. “One can't tell from looking at him. But, since I know he was artificially created, I can state with certainty that he doesn't have a soul.”
“Are you sure?” Ktal frowned. “What if he has one and you do not know it?”
This conversation wasn't going the way McLure hoped. Frustration swelled like a growing glob inside his chest. “This is a Human matter and none of your concern. Just give me the goddamned physical proof, and we can leave it at that.”
Kuhr's eyebrows rose. “Goddamned? Is that an insult to our race?”
“No, it is not.” McLure bit his tongue and tasted the coppery tang of blood. These oversized clowns really tried his patience. Did they enjoy driving him crazy? “I wouldn't dream of insulting your highly evolved race, of course. But trust me, I do need this proof.”
Prince Ktal nodded emphatically. “Since you have no way of determining whether a clone has a soul or not, we cannot allow you to make a mistake.”
Kuhr smiled. A scary thing on a golden face with large black eyes and very small white teeth. “As a superior race, it is our responsibility to watch out for the purity of your own... what did you call it… soul?”
The Goddian prince gave McLure a dismissive wave of his six-fingered hand. “Now stop wasting our precious time. You may go!”
Fuming, McLure barely nodded then turned away. On his way to the door, however, he realized that although he didn't get what he wanted from the Godds, he had gleaned enough information. Ktal had reminded him of the DNA marker. If McLure could use the lab onboard the Goddian ship to analyze a sample of Kostas' DNA, he'd have all the proof he needed.
* * *
Trixie glanced furtively right and left into the shadows as she directed her steps toward the refectory by the light of her torch. She wasn't afraid of Zerkers. With their access tunnels blocked, that particular danger had passed. She just didn't want to run into Kostas.
She couldn't stand to look at him anymore, he looked too Human, too hurt, too sad, especially when he stared at her from afar. Since the council meetings took place in the morning during his shift at the mine, she didn't have to see him there. She also stopped going to his classes and avoided him as much as possible. But she couldn't avoid him forever.
She felt confident, however, that Kostas would not come tonight. Not that he was afraid. Clones didn't know fear, but he probably didn't want to face McLure. A public confrontation could only end badly for him. One word could start a rumor, and rumors could be as dangerous as proofs.
McLure hadn't yet provided confirmation Kostas was a clone. Trixie didn't know whether the scientist had any proof at all, or he was too busy with his project to take precious time away from it. In any case, McLure hadn't attended a single meeting since his denunciation. Even McLure's supporters strongly suspected his accusations were false, and his motivations for defaming Kostas purely political.
Trixie, however, knew the truth from the source. Of course, she hadn't told a soul. She would not be the one to unmask Kostas, not unless he became a threat to the community. And so far, he'd only helped and saved lives.
If he were unmasked, Trixie didn't think she could deal with the consequences. The idea of his perfect body lynched, stoned, burned, quartered, or hung on the marketplace just made her want to retch. And that's what would happen if the settlers knew.
No matter how many sacred laws he'd broken, or how much his secret had hurt her, Trixie didn't want Kostas to die. Besides, she owed him her life, and that counted for something. No one else had ever risked life and limb to save hers.
She quickened her steps along the cobbled streets. As the council leader, she had to preside at all important events, and tonight was the first celebration since they'd come to the citadel. Fedora, the ship's cook had surpassed herself, probably using more food supplies than they could afford. But the morale of the settlers, especially after what they'd been through lately, justified the extravagance. Hope was something to celebrate, and tonight there was new hope.
Trixie straightened her back as she turned the corner. Torches burned brightly in the sconces on both sides of the refectory doors, casting festive shadows into the street. Lively folkloric music and the aroma of roasting meat escaped through the open windows. The settlers had butchered a few beasts. This first celebration would be a special treat indeed.
She scanned the hall
as she entered and left her torch in a sconce by the door. No sign of Kostas. Good. With the late shift still at work, it seemed the rest of the population was gathered in this very spot. Close to a thousand people. Even the wounded from the attack a few days ago, recognizable by their bandages, seemed happy.
Trixie walked around crowded tables, several of which had been pushed away to clear a large square space in the center. The delicious aromas, now more powerful, assailed her senses and made her stomach rumble.
In one corner, musicians played on ancient instruments that needed no power packs. The precious batteries were now exclusively reserved for weapons. Trixie could hear drums, string instruments, tambourines, a flute, and a short metallic stick called a harmonica. Although no artificial means amplified the sound, the chords resonated joyfully throughout the refectory.
Trixie saluted and smiled at those who waved at her as she made her way to the head table. It now stood on a raised platform at the far end of the hall, so the settlers could see their leaders, and the leaders could see everyone. She also noticed the new individual chairs at the head table, rather than benches. The wood workers had been busy.
Although she didn't care for such distinction, Trixie understood it may be reassuring for the settlers to gaze upon the faces of those making the decisions that affected their lives. They should feel free to approach and bring up their concerns during collective meals. It gave them a chance of being heard. It gave the illusion of transparency.
Trixie now understood that, in order to keep peace and harmony, many facts should remain secret... like the origins of a certain soldier who was conspicuously absent from the head table. Trixie hoped the council members wouldn't interpret his empty seat as guilt. Since Kostas worked tirelessly on important projects, however, they might shuck it all to his workload.
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