Starbase Human

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “The benefits are simple. Best case, we stop them from cloning our families. But like you, I doubt that will happen. Also best case, we destroy those who are making the assassin clones. I also doubt that will happen.”

  “See?” Mycenae’s bravado had returned. “No benefit.”

  “However, if we succeed, we will slow them down. If the attacks on the Moon are being caused by a rogue element inside the Alliance, then that rogue element will be on notice. They’ll know we’re after them. The Alliance itself might think the attacks on the Moon have moved to other parts of the Alliance—”

  “And they’ll come after us,” Mycenae said. “You don’t know what that’s like. They took out half my family—”

  “Correction, little girl,” Eto said quietly. “You took out half your family. The Alliance may have killed your mother, although I doubt it.”

  He looked at Deshin and raised his eyebrows. Deshin got the message: Don’t trust Mycenae. As if he were dumb enough to trust her at all.

  “You just want to continue killing,” Ibori said to Mycenae, “and we’re going to take away your excuse.”

  Deshin liked the we’re.

  “To go on with your list,” Eto said as if Mycenae hadn’t spoken up at all, “we might force the Alliance’s hand. They might have to stop the clone infiltration of our businesses.”

  “At least the way they’re doing it now,” Robuchon muttered.

  Deshin shrugged a shoulder. “I think if we work together and strike at them, we’ll accomplish a lot.”

  “Count me out.” Mycenae slid her chair back and stood up. “I’m leaving this dump. You people are crazy.”

  She stomped her way to the door and walked through it.

  “Are you going to let her go?” Kee asked quietly.

  “We all decide that,” Deshin said. “I can prevent her ship from leaving if we believe it necessary. But if we come up with a good plan to go after that clone factory, she might be useful.”

  “What makes you think that, Deshin?” Palone asked.

  Deshin smiled. “She’ll tell them who attacked them. And why.”

  “And they’ll come after us,” Kee said.

  “They’re already after us,” Eto said. “We just make sure the press and the rest of the Alliance know that we’re doing this for noble reasons, right, Deshin? We make it clear we’re going after the assassin clones because the Alliance lacks the will.”

  “And because the Alliance made them,” Cyzewski said, grinning. “Suddenly, we’re the good guys.”

  Everyone laughed. They knew they wouldn’t be the good guys. But they also knew that distrust for the Alliance ran deep in many circles, and this plan might strengthen their standing in those circles.

  Only Kee didn’t laugh.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Deshin,” she said.

  “I always have, Layla,” Deshin said quietly. “I always have.”

  FORTY-TWO

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Odgerel had just arrived at the Hall of Imperial Peace when she received a message along her links. She tried not to think of the irony. If she got a message through her links before she got to work, it often meant there was some kind of threat to peace—at least to her peace.

  On lovely days like this one, with the sun whispering through the trees, she left her apartment early so that she could walk through the Imperial Garden on her way to the office. The Imperial Garden, which always seemed so rejuvenating to her after she walked through Tiananmen Square and into the Forbidden City. The garden was different every day—new flowers blooming, new plants pruned—and yet it had a feeling of eternity that eased her troubled spirit.

  She thought of ignoring the message, but did not feel as if she had the luxury on the way to work. Everyone knew that she ignored all but the most important emergency during lunch, but very few knew about her walk to the office on days like this.

  She stopped near an ancient cypress tree. The crowd was thin at this time of the morning, mostly locals and no tourists, but she didn’t want to monitor the aliens and tour guides while she was responding to a potential crisis.

  She opened the message.

  I would like to speak with you outside of the office about my assignment. The message came from Mitchell Brown.

  She sighed and sent him her location. She understood his caution.

  He appeared near her, breathing hard. He had run again, and apparently slowed down as he entered the Gate of Heavenly Unity. Someone had probably reminded him to show respect.

  She thought of taking him to the statues of the Xiezhi. The mythological creature had been a symbol not just of justice and law, but of civil service. She doubted Brown knew any of that, so the reminder would be wasted on him.

  He stopped beside her, his clothing mussed, his face covered with sweat.

  “Sorry,” he said, beginning that annoying apology again. “I’m just finding all kinds of strange stuff. You wanted proof that the Alliance is in danger, and I don’t really have that, but—”

  She put a finger to her lips.

  He stopped talking.

  “Speak slowly and quietly,” she said.

  He nodded, then took a deep breath.

  “What I have,” he said, speaking slower than he had before, but still not slowly, “are some strange coincidences. Like the only place that the DNA for both mass murderers exists, as far as I can tell, is in Special DNA Collections of our own forensic wing. An accusation from a reputable law firm that Alliance ships fired on a transport that housed a Frémont clone that had been imprisoned during the years of planning for the first Armstrong attack, and—”

  “You are saying that you find suggestions that within the Alliance, forces are gathering that would destroy the Alliance.” She raised her head, and gazed at the nearby rockery, plants poking their ambitious heads through openings in the stone.

  Breathe, she reminded herself. Remain calm.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” he said, “and that’s with just a quick search. I also found a lot of dissident groups and some long-standing political groups from within the Alliance that believe all kinds of dumb things, like—”

  “I’m aware of the levels of stupidity that can exist in any governmental endeavor,” she said. “None of this is proof positive, like I asked for.”

  “Sir, forgive me,” he said. “But my gut sense is that something is happening, and it’s happening with the help of a branch of the Alliance.”

  “You mentioned the Special DNA Collections Unit in the Forensic Wing,” she said. “You realize that is under the Security Division’s auspices.”

  “I do, sir,” he said. “That, plus the fact that this Frémont clone died the moment he was released from prison by a judge’s order, sends some suspicion toward the Security Division.”

  “If that is the case,” she asked, “how do you know you can trust me?”

  His look was almost comical in its surprise. “Sir?”

  “I lead the Human Coordination Department of the entire Security Division. You are implying that I do not know what happens under my watch?”

  Brown swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She could see the calculation in his face. Did he say what he truly believed and insult his new boss? Did he risk his entire career by making a wild, unsubstantiated claim that might harm thousands of jobs? Or did he bob and weave and make nice until he had some kind of verifiable information?

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” he said, and she felt a deep disappointment. So much for finding an employee who would face her head on. “But I think we need the help of all the other divisions and we need it fast. What I’m finding makes me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t give us the proof you want. I’m not sure the proof would be easy to find. I mean, you’re making an assumption here.”

  She tried not to smile. He was taking her on, and in a way that she approved of. She let him continue.

  “You’re assuming that we’re up against the usual stupid types, the folks who don’t underst
and how government works or why the Alliance exists or what benefit it brings. I learned something when I was chasing criminals. The folks at the bottom—the thieves, the murderers, the thugs—they were often stupid. But the people who ran the networks? They were usually twice as smart as those of us pursing them. Our arrogance led to many mistakes. Once we stopped thinking of ourselves as superior, we actually made progress.”

  “That is the second time you have used the word ‘arrogance’ around me,” she said.

  “Yes, sir.” If there had been a moment when he should have apologized, this was it. And he did not.

  “You believe we are making the mistakes of the arrogant,” she said.

  “Yes, sir.” He kept his gaze on her. The only thing that betrayed his nervousness was a visible, rapid heartbeat in his neck.

  “You believe that we have missed a lot of opportunities to solve or prevent these crimes—”

  “Acts of war, sir, I truly think they are acts of war.”

  “To prevent these acts, criminal or warlike,” she said. “We have missed the opportunities not because they were impossible to find, but because in our arrogance, we did not look for them. We are, in your words, being diligent against enemies we do not have while failing to protect our Alliance from the ones we do have.”

  “Yes, sir. Exactly, sir.”

  She made a soft sound. She had been thinking of that since she saw him the day before. That was one reason she had taken the long walk this morning, hoping to find peace in the Imperial Garden.

  She had found tranquility here, but no peace. Peace was not something she could simply command into being, no matter how much she wanted to.

  “Please, sir,” he said, “I’d love to have more help on this. Not just from within our division, but from the other intelligence and investigative units.”

  “And if our division is as corrupt as you say, then what is the point?” she asked.

  He suddenly seemed less agitated than he had a moment ago.

  “The point, sir, is that we make this top-secret, need-to-know, high clearance. We choose the people we know we can trust and we do the investigative work quickly and quietly.”

  “And if we find traitors in our midst, Mitchell?”

  He swallowed again. “I don’t know. I guess we either use them to find more traitors or we prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “The fullest extent of the law,” she said, “Alliance law, is draconian, put into place after the Disty joined the Alliance.”

  “Vengeance killings?” he asked, surprised.

  She shook her head. “Vengeance killings look tame in comparison. We haven’t applied the fullest extent of the law to treason and traitors in hundreds of years for a good reason. Are you still certain you want to pursue this?”

  Brown ran a hand through his hair, then looked over at the Hall of Imperial Peace. He probably had no idea what the building was or what it stood for.

  “If I’m right, sir,” he said slowly, “then these traitors are the masterminds of attacks that have cost millions of human and alien lives. Disty Vengeance Killings are brutal, yes, but perhaps, when facing this type of organized mass murder, we leave all options on the table. Including whatever it is that’s worse than slaughtering a single murderer for revenge.”

  Brown was much more bloodthirsty than she had expected. Her respect for him went up again.

  “So be it, Mitchell,” she said. “We’ll do this your way. Let us hope that what we find is something less dramatic than what you envision. Because if you’re right, then we will be making examples of these traitors, and the next two years inside the Alliance will be some of the most controversial this organization has ever seen.”

  His gaze met hers. His expression seemed calm for the first time.

  “Not if we handle this right, sir,” he said. “Not if we handle it right.”

  FORTY-THREE

  TWO HOURS LATER, the rest of the group left the dinner meeting. They had decided on a strategy to attack the clone factory on Hétique, and they had agreed upon a plan to deal with Mycenae. She would leave after the rest of them did.

  Deshin moved to his apartment inside the convention center. Before he made certain his staff had heard the conversation in the private dining room, he wanted to be in the safest part of the center. Like the private dining room, Deshin’s apartment was set up so that no one could hack into it.

  Still, he set up extra protections as he walked, knowing that Mycenae, among others, might try.

  He opened the door to the apartment to find Keith Jakande waiting for him in the center of the entry. Jakande was a strong man who looked bigger than he was. He was also Deshin’s head of security—the best person Deshin had ever had in the job.

  Deshin trusted him just a bit more than he probably should have.

  As Deshin entered, Jakande said, “We got—”

  Deshin held up a finger to silence Jakande, then double-checked to make certain the door was not only closed but all of its protections were turned on.

  Then Deshin moved Jakande through the large living area, past the kitchen, and into a corridor. There, Deshin opened a panel, revealing one of six secret rooms inside the apartment.

  The room smelled faintly of old air. Deshin turned on the room’s environmental controls, put a hand inside so that his security chip could measure the quality of the air, and then, when it turned out to be fine, stepped inside.

  Jakande joined him.

  This room was small, barely big enough for the two of them. Deshin had designed this part of the apartment before he met Gerda and before they had Paavo. This was a one-man room, built for survival. There were features Jakande didn’t need to know about, features only Deshin’s old friend Garner had known, features that—since Garner was dead—only Deshin knew.

  The panel closed, and a dull gold light turned on. It cast an unfortunate glow over Jakande, turning his dark skin sallow.

  “Well?” Deshin asked.

  Jakande grinned. “We checked. Eto was right: there is a cloning facility on Hétique, right near Hétique City. That crazy Mycenae girl might also be right. There’s no evidence of alien clones anywhere near that facility, at least now. But decades ago, when those Peyti clones were designed? The facility was handling some Peyti work.”

  Deshin nodded. “Good work. I want to see all you have on the facility before we join in this little parade I started.”

  Jakande looked surprised. “I thought we were leading this.”

  Deshin shrugged. “We might. We might not. It depends on what our informants find. I assume we already have some ships in the area…?”

  “Yes,” Jakande said. “We’ll have information shortly.”

  “Good,” Deshin said.

  “Why wouldn’t we want to participate?” Jakande asked.

  Deshin smiled. “There’s organizing and then there’s participating. I value our people, Keith. It might be too risky to get deeply involved.”

  “Your nasty friends will notice if you don’t send a ship or two,” Jakande said.

  “I know,” Deshin said. “I never said we wouldn’t send a ship. I said we might not participate.”

  Jakande grinned. “You can be pretty devious, sir.”

  If Deshin hadn’t been devious, he wouldn’t have built a business that spanned the known universe. But he didn’t say that.

  Instead, he said, “It’s always best to not only know who is useful, but what they’re useful at, and whether or not you’re better using, or leading.”

  “You’d rather use,” Jakande said.

  “Oh, no,” Deshin said. “I’ve spent all day leading this small group. It might just be time for the troops to take over.”

  Jakande’s smile faded. “You’re anticipating a large loss of life.”

  Deshin suppressed the urge to nod. “We’ll contain the attack to the cloning facility, and we’ll do it when the human work force is at its lowest daily point.”

  “Still
,” Jakande said. “There might be hundreds working in some place like that.”

  “Yeah,” Deshin said quietly. “They make and discard clones. We’ll show this little group that we value life as much as they do.”

  Jakande shuddered. Then he asked, “Is that everything?”

  “For the moment,” Deshin said. “Let me know when the images come in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jakande said, and let himself out.

  Deshin kept the panel door open, feeling a cool breeze and fresher air enter the small space.

  He had forgotten: Jakande hadn’t worked with Deshin as Deshin set up his business. Jakande was used to a more genteel Deshin, the Deshin who had a stable, long-time marriage to a good woman. The Deshin who loved his son.

  Jakande knew that Deshin had a dark history, but a dark history was easy to ignore when it was only history.

  Deshin would keep an eye on Jakande. If the man got squeamish about any of this, he could be replaced. Or left behind.

  Or forgotten.

  Deshin had done a lot of forgetting in the past.

  There was nothing to stop him from doing it again.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ZAGRANDO HAD JUST crossed into Earth’s solar system when the space yacht jerked and then stopped. The stop—a full stop—lasted less than five seconds, but the state-of-the-art cockpit informed him, not just with little holographic warning signs rising off all of the boards, but across his internal links as well.

  Oddly enough, Zagrando felt a thread of relief. He’d been expecting something like this for more than a week. He hadn’t been stupid enough to think that, just because he had reached the center of the Earth Alliance, he would be safe.

  If anything, he was in even more danger.

  Zagrando tapped one of the warning signs that appeared above the board. It flared, which meant he could send a message to it.

  What the hell is going on? he sent.

  The yacht didn’t respond.

  He had never called her by name, although she had a name: Day’s Reach. He had no idea what the name meant, and he didn’t care. He had scrubbed it from the yacht’s exterior—which was not a hard task. The name Day’s Reach only appeared when some port pinged the yacht or needed additional information.