“Agreed,” he said.
We exited the tent and, standing outside examining his ship, was a group of men with white sashes tied neatly around their heads to keep the sun off. Their camels sat lazily in the sand, seemingly oblivious to the winds that would have torn the bare skin off the rest of us over a short time.
“Friends of yours?” Kooney asked.
“Not exactly.”
I walked closer and watched as one of them looked for an entrance to the ship. I counted six total, all armed to the teeth with blasters and shake-swords. I had seen the swords before on a group of nomads who had warned me not to be out here alone because of the roaming bandits that preyed on the tourists. A small clip attached to the blade sent micro-shocks through the sword, causing the edge to vibrate so quickly it cut like a laser.
One of them pulled out his shake-sword and thrust it into the hull of Kooney’s ship and began slicing it open like a lemon.
“Hara ardu!” I yelled.
One of them turned to another and spoke.
“What did they say?” Kooney asked.
“They said how fortunate it was that they found slaves along with their ship.”
The six encircled us. These were not men used to losing battles. A few of them had necklaces dangling on their chests and I noticed that they consisted of old bones and teeth.
“By the Gods!” Kooney shouted as he jumped back into the tent.
This caused the men to burst into laughter. They were arrogant.
While they laughed I pulled the sonic disruptor out of its holster clipped to my lower back and fired a single shot at the tallest in the group. The circular blast of sound hit him in the forehead and his eyes rolled back into his head as he was thrown off his feet and to his back.
Blaster shots began to ring through the air and echoed off the great tombs meters away. It turned into a volley and I sprinted for the tent and ducked behind. A blaster shot cut through the tent and scraped my face and I remembered why you don’t hide behind tents.
I dug into the sand with my arms and legs as deep as I could. The shots kept ringing through the air but none hit the ground. I looked up to the tent and it was on fire. I took a deep breath, and jumped to my feet.
I rolled out from behind the tent and fired three shots. One connected to the closest man’s chest and he stumbled backward but didn’t fall. I fired again and it hit him in the groin and he toppled over.
A single blaster shot hit my chest and I flew so far backward I could have had wings. I hit the sand, my breath knocked out of my lungs, and I didn’t move. The man ran at me to finish the job and I fired three quick bursts. He spun like a top and I aimed and fired into his head, causing him to vomit and collapse.
The chestplate armor I was wearing underneath my clothing was boiling hot and smoking. But I let it burn and held my pistol up, aimed at the next man’s head. The blasters were all fixed on me. They would kill me, but I might be able to take one, perhaps two, of them with me.
“Hala me rado. Ghani ko ine fudeagi,” one of them shouted.
They glanced at each other and lowered their weapons as I did the same. They gathered their fallen men, only one of whom had been killed, and climbed atop their camels and began their trek to the next victim, one who they hoped wouldn’t fight back. Soon, they disappeared into a distant sandstorm.
I looked into the tent and as I did so a smoking and burnt Raymond Kooney sprinted out. I quickly threw him on the ground and rolled him in the sand, putting out the flames on his uniform.
“I hate Earth,” he said.
I sat up, out of breath, and leaned my arms against my knees. “It could’ve been worse. You could’ve ended up their slave. There’s no women out here so they use their slaves for … well, you know. Are you badly burnt?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to get to the medical bay in E1.” He rose slowly and I stood with him. I could see his tender red flesh through the scorched holes in his uniform. “Meet me at the spaceport when you’re ready, Marshal.”
He stumbled back to his ship, mumbling something about never coming back to this damned planet again.
2
I packed up camp as best I could, boarded my small personal ship, and then headed to the E1 spaceport outside the Earth’s orbit. The spaceport was cylindrical with a massive circle around it above the center, giving it the appearance of a moon-sized children’s top. I flew in past the circle before the tractor beam locked on and began to haul me to one of the stalls. Tractor beams were a relatively new invention and one I was not accustomed to. But a rash of drunken fool pilots crashing into the station had convinced security that they were the only option.
I was barely off my ship when one of the security personnel approached me and saluted.
“Marshal, we’re here to escort you to your office.”
“I have an office already?”
“Yessir. Per Administrator Kooney’s orders, we are to provide you with anything that you need.”
“Okay, I would like a Port Ellen bottle of scotch and a glass with ice.” He looked as if he was about to soil himself. No doubt someone had told him that I had better be pleased. “Don’t worry, only kidding.”
He exhaled loud enough for me to hear. Alcohol had been banned nearly forty years ago. Possession itself was punishable by nearly five years imprisonment. Odd though, because opium was not only legal but encouraged. I had seen grade school teachers pass it out before naptime. The government certainly liked its calming narcotics.
I followed him through the spaceport landing docks and up a glass elevator that seemed to go for an hour. When we finally stepped off, my server-bot behind me with a few items of luggage, we walked to a large room at the end of a corridor.
The office was plush. Far nicer than anything I had in my time as a marshal on Earth. The carpets were imported Tamerian silk and sank like a cloud when you stepped on them. The walls were all transparent hemlight steel, looking out at the stars, except for the one that faced inside the facility. Outside, the gleaming blue stone I had been born on still took my breath away, as it did every time I saw it from this high.
“I believe everything will be to your satisfaction, Marshal. Please let us know if it is not.”
“I will. Thanks.”
I settled in to a comfy chair in front of a large glass desk. The desktop itself was a monitor and on the screen was a photo of my family on the front porch of our old house. I stared at it a long while and then put my feet up on the desk and clicked the monitor on by placing my hand on the control pad in the lower right section.
“Welcome, Marshal.”
An A.I. Shell—what people had colloquially termed Ghosts—rose from the desktop and appeared to stand on top of it. It was small, no larger than half a meter tall, and in the shape of a female. Nearly transparent, the only thing visible was a faint glow of a red outline. I could see why people called them ghosts.
Her proportions were ideal and I guessed she had been modeled on someone quite attractive.
“Thank you,” I said.
“My name is Monica and I am assigned to your investigation. A ship has been provided for you in port Y26-5 and I am accessible there as well. You will also find a monitor in the shape of a wristwatch in the closet to your left to which I have access. The wristwatch has been designed for your comfort and to meet the latest fashions of Jenalia 3.”
“Very thoughtful of you, Monica. You shouldn’t have.”
“It was my pleasure, Marshal. What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to read the official incident reports and take a look at the holovid of the subject we’re investigating. I believe it was taken on Helron 5.”
“Of course, one moment….”
The video fluttered back to life. I read through all the reports and then watched the clone’s movements on the holovid. The video was shot from some distance.
“Monica, enhance the cockpit.”
The video zoomed in and I could s
ee the clone openly. She was breathtaking. Her outline was as perfect as Monica’s.
She moved with an economy of motion I had never seen. Not a single wasted movement. Not a sole muscle contracted that didn’t need to be. Her hand was placed just at the right spot underneath the chin of the fat man before she snapped his neck. The straps were placed over the co-pilot’s throat in just the correct angle to crush his windpipe. It was perfection.
The other ship to which she had jumped was an old freighter, clearly not meant for battle. The laser cannon on the belly of the ship appeared high-grade, a modification. The only people that would bother modifying an old freighter with a cannon more expensive than the ship were people who didn’t want to be noticed, but who wanted to be ready for a scuffle should they get noticed.
Smugglers.
At the end of the video, as the ship pointed upward and its thrusters exploded in a cloud of burnt fuel and flame, I caught a glimpse of the pilot.
“Monica, freeze and enhance the fourth quadrant … identify pilot.”
“Just a moment, Marshal … the pilot has been identified through Naval Command Registration as Larso Daniel Moore. Born April 3, 2412 in the People’s Republic of America, Capital City, to Diane and Thomas Moore. No known siblings or next of kin.”
“Any criminal history?”
“One charge for Unauthorized Control of Another’s Hover-Craft on September 23, 2427. No other charges found.”
“Has he docked anywhere since this incident?”
“No records found.”
“Update me whenever he or his ship dock anywhere.”
“Of course. If I may make a suggestion, Marshal?”
“Certainly.”
“Ship specifications indicate smuggling operations. He will not check in under his own name at any port.”
“I was thinking the same thing. What do you suggest?”
“The H-12 laser cannon modification is quite unique. There are only nine known ships in the quadrant with such a modification. I suggest we notify all ports to alert us upon identification of such a modification.”
“Agreed.”
I rose and stretched my back. “I’m going to take a steam bath, Monica. Then we’re heading to Helron 5. Please let Kooney know that I require help for this investigation should it turn physical.”
“Of course. If I may, I see minor blackening underneath your eyes and a slight sag to your eyelids. I would suggest a brief sleep before your bath.”
“They did design you to take care of everything, didn’t they?”
“Have a good nap, Marshal.”
“Thanks.”
3
I woke up to the banging of steel against steel. I reached under my pillow and pulled out my sonic disruptor pistol and spun off the bed. I lay flat on the floor, the pistol pointed to the door. The banging grew louder until it was outside my door, and then it stopped suddenly.
“Monica,” I whispered.
She flickered on above the desktop. “Yes, Marshal?”
“Who’s outside the door?”
“It’s your assistance, Marshal.”
“What assistance?”
“Administrator Kooney has assigned you one war-bot, Series 8.”
I stood up and lowered the pistol. “Lights up,” I said, before walking over to the desk. “Series 8? I thought they had been discontinued?”
“They were, Marshal. Only five remain in the quadrant. Four of them are at the disposal of the Administrator.”
“Well, let him in I guess. And you don’t have to call me marshal. Nephi is fine.”
“As you wish, Nephi.”
The door slid open and a bulky hunk of black metal in the shape of a human stepped into the room. The feet were flat circles attached to steel tubing that were hooked to the main body. Though he appeared inflexible, each limb had a corresponding series of joints and he moved smoothly, at least more smoothly than I had ever seen from a war-bot. His face, if you could call it that, was black and lifeless with the exception of one red cycloptic eye.
“War-bot, please take a seat over there,” I said.
The war-bot moved over to the chair and sat down, bending the plastic and metal legs. It sat completely upright and stared off in the distance with its one eye.
“He looks bulky. You sure he can fight?”
“Series 8 were discontinued precisely because of their efficacy in battle. The parliament felt that too many in the hands of a single individual or group was far too much of a risk to public safety.”
The war-bot sat perfectly still and it gave me a creepy feeling. Some of the newer models were equipped with voice simulators.
“War-bot, can you speak?” The noise that screamed out of him was a mix of grinding metal and an animal being kicked. “Stop, stop. That’s enough. Monica, is this the only assistance I’m getting?”
“Yes, Nephi. If you would like I could put in a request to the Office of—”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve had my fill of bureaucrats for a while. The tin can will have to do.”
My assigned personal vessel was a sleek gleaming steel ship in the shape of an arrow, a stealth cruiser meant to observe but never be noticed. It fit only four passengers and had a small cargo department. The weapons systems consisted of two short-range plasma projectors tucked nicely into holding spaces on either side of the ship. It was, as far as I could tell, a ship meant for wealthy travelers.
Monica appeared on the dash and I glanced back to the war-bot, which was sitting in one of the rear seats with his hands on his lap. His one red eye was glowing fiercely in the dim light of the cockpit.
“War-bot, please sit in the cargo hold.”
The screeching came from him again and ended abruptly.
“Did he say something?”
“Yes,” Monica said, “he stated the proper form of address for him is Series 8.”
“You understand him?”
“His language is rudimentary but it is a form of digital code.”
“Ok, Eight, will you please go to the cargo hold?”
As Eight moved to the back of the ship I could see Monica giving me a sideways look. The A.I.’s were much more expressive now than even a few years ago.
“What is it, Monica?”
“He has been programmed to serve you. There is nothing to fear from him.”
“Yeah, well, there’s this little thing called human intuition and mine is telling me I can’t trust that thing.”
“As you wish. Shall I input the coordinates for Helron 5?”
“Yes.”
It was a long journey and I mostly slept, leaving the navigation to Monica. FTL travel could get extremely boring as the view outside was purely black and I was unable to see even the sparkle of stars. I tried to occupy my mind by reading the history of cloning and of Helron 5’s role. Apparently the planet had been founded for the purpose of ice mining but so many miners died that everyone pulled out. Only two cities remained on the surface of the entire planet and one of them was little more than a camp for the miners. In the first year of ice mining, sixty thousand miners had been brought in. By year’s end, over fifty-five thousand of them were dead.
The harsh environment inspired some official somewhere to set the quadrant’s largest mental institution for the criminally insane on the surface. It was mostly filled with clones, the rejects that had been thrown away.
“We will reach Helron 5’s orbit in one standard galactic hour, Nephi. You may wish to prepare yourself.”
“Prepare myself how?”
“Administrator Kooney suspected you would be going to the surface. You will find thermalrobes in the cargo hold along with some of the local currency.”
“Are they necessary?”
“Outside of Gamni, you will survive for approximately eleven minutes and twelve point three seconds in your current dress.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I rose and walked back to the cargo hold. It was dark and
stunk of mildew, something I hadn’t smelled in ages. Eight sat on a metal bench, staring at the floor. I found a compartment near the back and opened it; inside were red silk robes and gloves. I began to take off my travel clothing, and when I looked back I saw Eight was staring at me.
“Eight, please turn your head.”
His head twisted 180 degrees without his body moving. Creepy.
Monica took care of the landing codes as we approached orbit. The space outside of the cockpit suddenly blurred and glowed a dark red around the edges of the viewports as we became a fiery dart falling through the atmosphere. The ship didn’t rattle or shake or even divert off course, which happened with most ships I’d been on. It was top quality engineering of a type I hadn’t seen before.
We broke through the planet’s atmosphere and I watched the landscape speeding by, thousands of kilometers of pure white. The only variable was whether there were mountain ranges or flat valleys. Then in the distance I saw a gray blip, and as we approached I could make out the towers and square buildings of Gamni. It was covered in a type of mesh shield and had the appearance of a large jail cell.
We flew underneath the mesh and docked on a landing pad jutting out of the tallest building in the city. The pad was barely larger than the ship. I strapped on the wristwatch. It began to glow a translucent blue.
“So I just communicate with you through this, Monica?”
“Not quite.”
The wristwatch flashed and instantly a person appeared. It was Monica but she was slightly taller than me, her proportions still perfect. Her outline of red had turned to a soft skin-colored hue and I glanced away from her nude body.
“Um, we’re going to attract a lot of attention this way.”
“How about this?”
I turned back and she was clothed in a tight pearl jumpsuit.
“Much better.”
I walked to the steps leading off the ship and stood there looking out at the city. Monica drifted through the hull and onto the landing pad. I followed and instantly an icy gust of wind hit my face, causing my nose to itch from the cold.
Clone Hunter (A Science-Fiction Thriller) Page 4
