When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  “I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” she said kindly. “But your toes are badly infected—and at least some of them will have to be removed. We’ll take care of that as soon as we arrive wherever it is we’re going.”

  Now there was fear in the boy’s eyes. His voice quavered when he spoke. “Will I be able to walk afterwards?”

  “Yes, you will,” Kelly said gently. “But it will be diffi?cult at fi?rst—and it’s going to hurt.”

  Two adults were summoned to help the boy—and Kelly told them that a stretcher would be required to transport him. Then, just as they were about to carry the teenager away, he cleared his throat. “Doctor?”

  Kelly looked up. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Kelly said, “You’re welcome,” and watched the other Ortovs carry the lad away. It must be strange to live with people so similar to yourself yet not have parents, Kelly thought to herself. But with more potential patients waiting to be seen, there was no opportunity to consider the complexities of clone society.

  Kelly was still screening the Ortovs when a visibly angry Colonel Six appeared fi?fteen minutes later. Snow went crunch under his combat boots, and his breath jabbed the air in front of him. “There you are!” Six said accusingly, as if Kelly had been trying to hide from him. “What’s this I hear about a stretcher? The Ortovs can’t carry each other around on stretchers. Who will haul the supplies?”

  Kelly was disinfecting a cut and didn’t bother to look up. The truth was that Six frightened her—but she was determined not to show it. “Beats me. It looks like you have me confused with someone who gives a shit.”

  Blood rose to suffuse the clone’s face. “I rate a sir!”

  “Not in my book you don’t,” Kelly replied matter-offactly, as she secured a dressing over the small laceration.

  “You’re the one who wanted a doctor, and here I am. Please feel free to turn us loose anytime you want to.”

  What Colonel Six really wanted had nothing to do with Kelly’s status as a doctor, but the Seebo couldn’t say that, so there was very little for him to do but turn and stomp away. Kelly watched him go out of the corner of her eye, let her breath out, and was surprised to learn that she’d been holding it. She was afraid of the clone, and appalled by his ruthlessness, yet strangely fascinated by the man as well. That frightened her all the more.

  Even with some two dozen fi?res, tarps to keep the worst of the snow off, and some high-quality clone-issue mummy bags, it was a long, cold night. When morning fi?nally came, each member of the party was given a large portion of mush, along with a mug of unsweetened tea. Once breakfast was over, it was time to reshoulder the heavy packs and follow the soldiers into the silent, snow-shrouded forest. Kelly made a point of checking to ensure that the boy with the gangrenous toes was being transported on a stretcher and was pleased to discover that he was. Could that be interpreted as a peace offering from Six? And if so, why did she care? It wasn’t a subject Kelly wanted to think about, so she pushed it away.

  The trail wound between stands of three-hundred-yearold trees, and crossed a dozen icy creeks and streams, before eventually coming to an end at the foot of a fl?at-topped butte. That seemed strange since all the other hills and mountains in the area had rounded if not jagged tops. The mystery deepened as Colonel Six led the column up a slanted walkway that ran along the west face of the butte. A uniform walkway that was far too wide, and far too well engineered, to have been created recently. What might have been round windows appeared at regular intervals. Many were open, but some had been sealed, using a variety of materials. So there was no telling what the structure was. Kelly had some friends by that time—one of whom was the Ortov female who had been assigned to carry about a third of the doctor’s medical equipment. The clone explained that the complex was believed to be contemporaneous with similar ruins found on about 10 percent of the planets that had been surveyed so far, which suggested it was the work of the mysterious civilization generally referred to as “the Forerunners.”

  Regardless of its origins, the butte offered local civilians a place to take shelter after their town had been destroyed, which was why Six had decided to take his troops, hostages, and stolen supplies there to rest and regroup. When the people in front of her came to a sudden stop, Kelly was forced to do likewise, and took the opportunity to look around. The sky was pewter gray, and her breath fogged the air before a light breeze blew it away. Now that she was standing still, Kelly could feel her body temperature start to drop as sweat cooled her skin—a phenomenon that could lead to hypothermia unless the column began to move again. Kelly’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden fl?urry of gunshots, distant yelling, and a physical response as the entire line recoiled in response to whatever was taking place at the top of the incline. Some of the Ortovs stood on tiptoe, trying to see what was going on, but none of the clones ran. Moments later a Seebo appeared, skidded to a stop, and waved Kelly forward. “Come on! They shot Three-Three!”

  Kelly had no idea who “they” were, but followed the Seebo up past the long line of Ortovs, with Sumi bringing up the rear. Two minutes later they arrived on a landing, where a Seebo lay sprawled on the bloodstained snow. Six was there, pistol in hand, kneeling beside the fallen soldier. Other clones, weapons at the ready, were clustered in front of a metal door. “Hurry!” Six said urgently, as he waved Kelly over. “They shot Three-Three in the chest!”

  Kelly was struck by the obvious angst in the offi?cer’s voice—and the expression of concern on his normally stern face. He was clearly upset, and even though the doctor disagreed with the Seebo’s approach to almost everything, she felt sorry for him. And a little bit pleased to discover that there was something the cold-blooded bastard cared about. Even if it was an exact replica of himself! Yet this same man was responsible for killing more than a dozen marines. . . . So liking him was wrong. Very wrong.

  “Get out of the way,” Kelly said, as both she and Sumi moved in to displace Colonel Six. “It’s a sucking chest wound,” Kelly said, as she removed a blood-soaked battle dressing and heard the characteristic hissing sound. “Where is this man’s body armor?”

  “The idiot left it unzipped,” Six replied darkly. “Can you save him?”

  “Of course I can,” Kelly answered confi?dently, as Sumi handed her a sterile patch. Three of the edges bore adhesive, so that when the dressing was placed over the purple-edged hole, air could escape the chest cavity. But air couldn’t enter the chest cavity when the Seebo inhaled. Which was important because the bullet had passed through the Seebo’s lung and caused it to collapse. It was a life-threatening injury if not treated immediately.

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “Let’s get him inside, where it’s warmer. We’ll put the chest tube in there.”

  “They won’t let us in,” Six responded angrily. “A group of revolutionaries took control of the complex.”

  Kelly stood. “Revolutionaries, as in people who want to overthrow the government?”

  “Yes!” Six answered emphatically. “And when I ordered them to let us in, they shot Three-Three!”

  “Did you try asking instead of telling?”

  “I don’t have to ask!” the soldier insisted loudly. “They are required to obey me!”

  “Let me give it a try,” Kelly said reasonably, as she approached the door. The metal was dimpled where bullets had struck it, but the door was otherwise intact. A small portal located about chest high was closed at the moment, but could obviously be opened. Kelly felt sure that someone was standing just beyond the door listening and perhaps peering through a crack. “This is Lieutenant Kira Kelly,” the physician said loudly. “I’m a navy doctor. . . . You don’t trust the Seebos, and I understand that. But it doesn’t alter the fact that we have a wounded man out here—and he’s going to die unless you let us in! So, here’s what I propose. . . . Colonel Six and three of his men will offer themselves up as hostages against the good behavior of everyone else. Then, when the Seebos are ready to lea
ve, you’ll let them go.”

  “What?” Six objected. “I never agreed to that!”

  “No,” Kelly said reasonably, as she turned to look at him.

  “But you should. . . . Unless you want Three-Three to die.”

  “Damn you!” Six said fervently. “I should never have brought you!”

  “On that we can agree,” the doctor said sweetly. “So what’s your answer? Yes? Or no?”

  “Yes, blast you,” the Seebo said disgustedly. “Did you hear that?” Kelly inquired, as she turned back toward the door. “The offer stands.”

  There was a long pause, as if some sort of debate might be taking place within. Then came a clang as the smaller portal opened, and a bland-faced Fisk appeared. “Tell the hostages to put their hands on top of their heads,” the anarchist said brusquely. “And no funny business.”

  The larger door opened moments later and was quickly slammed shut after Six and three of his Seebos went inside. A long, agonizing fi?ve minutes passed before the door swung open for a second time. A Fisk armed with a submachine gun motioned for them to enter. “There’s a room down the hall on the right. All weapons must be placed there, but two Seebos can stay to monitor them.”

  Kelly looked at Lieutenant-790,444, who nodded in agreement. “Okay,” the doctor said as she turned back toward the door. “It will be as you say.”

  “Good,” the Fisk said. “Welcome to the Sanctuary.”

  The Forerunner complex was so huge that the approximately fi?ve hundred clones who had taken refuge in it occupied less than 5 percent of the available space. But given the bitterly cold weather, there was no incentive to spread out since doing so would require more fuel for the makeshift fi?replaces.

  There was no heat source in the cell-like room that Six had been placed in, however. Just a built-in bench made out of the same material as the butte itself. So the Seebo was sitting on the bench, huddled inside his sleeping bag, when he heard the sound of voices. The door rattled and opened to admit Kelly. She was holding a brown ceramic bowl, a spoon, and a tubby thermos bottle. Even though Kelly was a bit grubby, and clearly tired, she was still beautiful. That’s what Six thought anyway, as one of guards pulled the door closed, and Kelly presented him with the bowl. “Here, hold on to that while I serve you some soup. It’s actually quite good.”

  Six held the bowl with both hands while the doctor opened the thermos and poured a generous serving of chunky soup into the waiting container. It was steaming hot, and the rich odor made Six realize how hungry he really was. “Dig in,” Kelly said understandingly. “And have some of this.” So saying, Kelly removed a big chunk of crusty bread from a cargo pocket and brushed some lint off it. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Bon appétit!”

  Six said, “Thank you,” as he accepted the bread. “For the food and for coming. How is Three-Three?”

  “He’s going to be fi?ne,” Kelly assured him, as she took a seat on the other end of the bench. “We reinfl?ated his lung, closed his wounds, and gave him a broad-spectrum antibiotic. The Ortov boy is doing well, too. . . . Although it’s going to take him some time to recover.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Six said, as he paused between spoonfuls. “So what’s going on?” he wanted to know. “Will the rebels let us leave? Or was that a lie?”

  “The sooner the better is the impression I get,” Kelly responded. “I know very little about Hegemony politics, but if I understand correctly, the revolutionaries want to overthrow the Alpha Clones in favor of a democracy. And they see the Seebo line as part of the problem.”

  “They’re wrong,” Six said sternly. “Dr. Hosokowa’s plan is perfect. All we need to do is follow it.”

  “Well, it’s good to see that you have an open mind,” Kelly replied lightly. “No wonder they want to get rid of you!”

  “They’re free breeders,” Six said accusingly. “And there’s no place for free-breeder children in the plan! So what they want won’t work.”

  “It will if you change plans,” Kelly said mildly, as she came to her feet. “And let people be whatever they want to be. Or are capable of being. My father is an accountant, my mother is a teacher, and I’m a doctor. That may not be all neat and tidy, but it works! Sorry,” she said, “but they want me to return the bowl.”

  Six gave her the bowl but kept what remained of the bread. “Tell me something. . . .”

  Kelly raised her eyebrows. “What?”

  “In your society, where people choose each other, can a soldier be with a doctor?”

  Suddenly Kelly knew something she should have understood all along. In spite of all his straightlaced posturing, the Seebo was as horny as all the other men she knew, but he felt guilty about it! The schoolboy crush might have been endearing except that she had been abducted. Yet where was her anger? And why had she come to visit him? She felt guilty, confused, and strangely compassionate all at the same time. “Yes,” she answered soberly. “A soldier can be with a doctor. But only if both people want to be together.” And with that she left.

  Kira Kelly was thousands of light-years away, sailing her father’s boat across a sparkling lake, when a hand shook her shoulder. “Wake up,” Six said urgently. “Get dressed! We have to leave.”

  Kelly looked at her watch and groaned. It was 0126.

  “Why? It’s dark outside.”

  “Because a battalion of Seebos is trying to get in! I’m not sure yet, but it’s my guess that at least one of the radios we stole has a tracking device in it, which revealed our location. The rebels claim that government forces want to arrest me.”

  Kelly struggled to kick the sleeping bag off. “Arrest you? Why?”

  “Because I chose to fi?ght the Ramanthians my way instead of their way.”

  “But what about the perfect plan?” the doctor wanted to know. “If it’s perfect, you should follow it.”

  “The plan is perfect,” Six replied defensively. “But some of the people who are supposed to implement the plan aren’t. General-453 is an idiot.”

  “So you’re a revolutionary,” Kelly said, as she fastened her boots. “Just like the people you detest.”

  “Don’t you ever stop talking?” Six demanded. “Hurry up.”

  “No,” Kelly said fi?rmly, as she stood. “There’s no need for me to hurry since I’m staying here.” It wasn’t what the doctor wanted to do, but it was what she should do, and Kelly was determined to take a stand.

  “We have Sumi,” Six replied evenly. “And the revolutionaries want you to leave in spite of what you did for them. So get ready.”

  Kelly felt a strange sense of relief knowing that the situation was beyond her control and went off to pack her things. Twenty minutes later a Fisk led the soldiers plus twentyfi?ve heavily laden Ortovs through a maze of passageways, down what seemed like endless fl?ights of stairs, and out into the freezing cold. The pursuing Seebos were on the other side of the butte, and the chase was on.

  PLANET ALPHA-001, THE CLONE HEGEMONY

  Consistent with Founder Hosokowa’s master plan, every city of any size had an elaborate water-recovery and purifi?cation system designed to take advantage of rainfall and runoff, thereby reducing the need for dams, wells, and expensive pipelines. Once collected, the water had to be stored, which was why the lake-sized reservoir had been constructed before the city was built above it, and had subsequently been capped with a one-foot-thick duracrete lid. That, for lack of a better location, was where the Revolutionary Council was about to hold its fi?rst and possibly last public meeting. Even though the space wasn’t intended for such gatherings the high-arched ceiling, and the lights that twinkled like distant stars, gave the place a majestic feeling. Folding chairs had been placed on top of the lid, a temporary PA system was up and running, and a ring of pole-mounted spots threw light onto the seats.

  Security was extremely tight. Having been given only an hour’s notice prior to the meeting, the attendees were subjected to DNA analysis as they entered and were processed thro
ugh a receiving area. The precaution was intended to make sure none of the attendees were surgically altered Romos or Nerovs. Once that formality was out of the way, the representatives were funneled into twelve cleaning stations, where dozens of tiny robots were removed from each delegate and they were given new clothes. Then, and only then, were the men and women who had been chosen to represent the various lines allowed to fi?le out onto the concrete lid and take their seats.

  Christine Vanderveen hated the cleaning process, but was willing to go through it, in order to be present at the very start of the revolution. Assuming Alan and the rest of the Council could muster the votes necessary to start a revolt. Because in order to succeed, the would-be revolutionaries knew they would need support from all of the genetic lines, and at least 70 percent of the overall population. Many of whom were satisfi?ed with their lot in life—or too afraid to oppose authority. Still, Alan believed suffi?cient support was available, and the Council did as well. So once Vanderveen had clothes back on, she was in a hopeful frame of mind as she walked out onto the lid. Because if the revolution was a success, and the Council kept its word, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings would have a new member. Which would be qualitatively different from the lukewarm alliance currently in place. Could that impact the battle for Earth? Vanderveen certainly hoped so, because her mother, and billions of other humans, were in desperate need of help.

  Speed was of the essence, lest the Romos and Nerovs get wind of the gathering, so the last of the incoming delegates were still getting dressed when the meeting was called to order. Vanderveen, who was the only foreign dignitary present, had been given a seat in the fi?rst row, where she had a good view of the seven-person council. Though not allowed to record the proceedings or take notes, Vanderveen did the best she could to memorize what went on for inclusion in the report she planned to write later. But would anyone be willing to read a document authored by a renegade diplomat? Yes, Vanderveen thought they would, but only if the revolution was successful. Because at that point Nankool and his senior staff would be desperate for an “in.”