He stepped inside the room. The security team flanked him. The android guards remained at the door.
A too-thin man stood near the back wall. He’d clearly been sitting on the bench seat not a moment before. He was taller than Fujita expected and he looked frailer.
He was also unbelievably pale, from his hair to his skin to his eyes.
Those eyes met Fujita’s. They were alive with intelligence. Fujita hadn’t expected that. Nor had he expected the force of this man’s personality.
A voice overhead identified him:
Prisoner 99373, you are being released into the custody of Rafik Fujita, a representative of the law firm Schnable, Shishani, & Salehi. He will transport you out of the Alliance. Until you leave Alliance space, you are legal only if you remain in his custody. Do you understand?
The clone swallowed hard. He actually appeared nervous, but Fujita wasn’t sure if that was an act. “I do understand,” the clone said.
Rafik Fujita, do you accept responsibility for 99373?
“Yes,” Fujita said.
You will take him out of the Alliance and will not stop for anything except emergencies listed in the Clone Prisoner Release section of the Earth Alliance Criminal Code regarding Prison Rules and Regulations, identification number…
Fujita tuned out the legalese, allowing his own automated system to answer questions. The system was designed to notify him if the wording was different than the wording required by law.
As the voice droned on, he and the clone stared at each other. The clone was still wearing his prison garb. He had no satchel, and no personal items.
He looked older than Fujita expected.
“Do you have everything?” Fujita asked when the droning was done.
The clone actually bit his lower lip. Was the nervousness an act? Fujita couldn’t tell.
“Yes,” the clone said.
“No personal items at all?” Fujita asked.
The clone glanced around the room. “I only had ninety minutes notice, and that wasn’t time to go back to my cell.”
“My team can accompany you there if need be.” Fujita had to make the offer because it was required by law, but he was hoping that the clone would say no.
The clone gave him a slight smile. “I…everything…there’s nothing of value. Not even to me.”
Fujita felt a tug of compassion, then dismissed it. For every venal criminal he’d met, he’d met a dozen others who were good at empathy, good at compassion, and good at making others like them. Apparently, this clone could do it as well.
“Can we leave before they change their mind?” the clone asked.
Fujita almost smiled, but stopped himself just in time. Great question, also designed to evoke an emotional response. He’d had his emotional response. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel any more.
“Before we do,” Fujita said, “you heard the rules. I’m in charge. If you have a problem with that, we will imprison you until we get you out of the Alliance.”
“Where am I going?” the clone asked.
“To my ship,” Fujita said.
The clone nodded, as if he believed he did not deserve more information. Then he swept his hands down his torso. “I have to wear this?”
“Yep,” Fujita said. “We’ll find you something shipboard. Unless you want to stay…?”
“No.” The clone’s voice trembled. “I’m ready to leave. And I’ll follow your rules.”
“Good,” Fujita said. “Because the truth is, you really don’t have much of a choice.”
FORTY-FOUR
THE WIND REMAINED steady. Gomez couldn’t feel it, but it annoyed her all the same. Mostly, the continual shurr-shurr of sand across her suit annoyed her. As did the warnings the suit gave about the tiny particulates burrowing into its systems.
Nothing seemed to last long on this part of Ohksmyte, unless it was designed for that purpose.
Not that she had a lot of time to think about this. Simiaar kept her and Nuuyoma busy. It almost felt like they were disassembling the little ship.
First, Simiaar lifted the enclosure. It rose with an audible squeal. She slipped inside the old cockpit, but wouldn’t let Gomez or Nuuyoma join her. Instead, she pulled the enclosure back down, then removed the gloves she had been wearing and put on a new pair that she had kept inside her suit. With those gloves, she disassembled the remains of that cockpit, pouring the interiors of the remaining equipment into little bags that she then secreted inside her suit.
When she was done, she bagged the remaining equipment pieces and handed them, one by one, to Gomez.
Get them to Security One, Simiaar sent. Then come back for more.
Gomez did. She kept her head down against the constant wind and sand, and made her way back along the path she and the other two had created. Not that she could see the path any longer. The blowing sand had smoothed out their steps, hiding the little things they had uncovered, and making the landscape look as barren as it had before.
Security One was now coated with the sand, even though Verstraete had kept the shields up.
Verstraete lowered the shields when Gomez contacted her. The actual ship hull seemed cleaner and clearer than it had a moment before. But as Gomez opened the airlock, particulates started to cling to the metal surface.
You nearly done? Verstraete sent as Gomez deposited items in the airlock.
Looks like we’re just getting started, Gomez sent.
The ship doesn’t like it here, Verstraete sent. It’s not the sand. It’s the low-level radiation. It’s worried that we don’t have the right gear for this kind of work.
They didn’t really, but this was the only gear they had.
I’ll let Simiaar know we need to hurry, Gomez sent, even though she knew Verstraete could have let Simiaar know that herself. Verstraete did everything she could to avoid Simiaar. It wasn’t that they disliked each other; it was almost as if they couldn’t communicate well because they were too similar.
As Gomez returned, she passed Nuuyoma, who was carrying even more bagged items.
We should just bag the whole damn ship, he sent her on a private link.
Gomez smiled but didn’t respond. Simiaar had warned her this would happen, and Gomez hadn’t believed her. Of course, Simiaar hadn’t told her these marked ships even existed.
As Gomez staggered back to the skeletal remains of that ship, she checked the wind speed. It hadn’t increased, but moving in this environment was tiring her. In space, she didn’t have to push against wind as she moved. The gravity was Earth normal here, but the wind made it seem heavier.
We almost done? she sent Simiaar as she returned.
There were two people on this ship when it left Epriccom, Simiaar sent her, ignoring the question. Only one of them left this little ship alive.
What? Gomez stopped outside the enclosure. Simiaar was hunched in front of a floor panel. Gomez couldn’t see what she was doing. Simiaar did not look up.
You heard me. One of the people who escaped Epriccom died in this ship.
Before it landed? Gomez asked.
Dunno, Simiaar sent. We’ll find out when I get this stuff back to the Stanley.
She poked her head up and peered through the enclosure. She was frowning, but she wasn’t looking at Gomez. Simiaar was looking—or trying to look—for Nuuyoma.
“Listen,” Simiaar said out loud, through the message system in their suits. “This is just for you. Double-check me. Are we on a secure channel?”
Gomez double-checked. They were. “I’ll encode,” she said.
“Good.” Simiaar pulled off her gloves and bagged them. Then she grabbed yet one more pair of gloves from those magic pockets in her suit. “We got an issue here.”
“An issue? In a ship this old?”
“Yeah,” Simiaar said. “Remember I told you that the Alliance seeded these things throughout the various sectors so that they could track criminals?”
“Of course,” Gomez said, a bit annoyed that
Simiaar had to check. It had only been an hour or so since she had dropped that piece of information.
“This thing wasn’t seeded,” Simiaar said.
“What does that mean?” Gomez asked.
“It means this thing only had one owner.”
Gomez blinked, trying to figure out what Simiaar meant. “The Alliance would be the first owner, right?”
“Yeah,” Simiaar said.
“You’re telling me that the Alliance gave this ship to whoever flew this thing?”
“I’m not sure how the person who flew it got it, but this thing was never abandoned, never stolen, never given to anyone else. The first person who flew it was the last person who flew it.”
“How can you be sure?” Gomez asked.
“I can’t exactly. Not without a bunch of testing. But that’s what it looks like.”
“In the middle of a sandstorm after sitting for fifteen years,” Gomez said.
“Some of this stuff was designed to download immediately with the right access code,” Simiaar said. “The idea was that operatives would have maybe five minutes to get the information and leave the site.”
Gomez swore. At that moment, Nuuyoma joined them.
What new torture do you have for us now? he sent on the joint links.
A few more items to carry back, Simiaar sent. Judita, I’m going to need you to help me get back.
What does that mean? Gomez sent.
I’m going to wrap myself in a protective covering, Simiaar sent. I won’t be able to see anything. You’re going to guide me back.
Gomez grinned. Such trust.
Screw you, Simiaar sent. You ready to carry a few things, Elián?
I guess, he sent, then gave Gomez a confused look that basically asked, weren’t we carrying things already?
Gomez tilted her head just a little and shrugged.
I’m lifting this enclosure thing and handing you bags fast. You take them even faster. Then I’m closing the lid. Got that? Apparently, Simiaar was still talking to Nuuyoma.
How many bags? He asked.
Five. Think you can handle that?
I had ten the last time, he sent.
Okay, then. She didn’t seem to see the irony. Here goes.
He bent over the enclosure, gloved hands extended. Simiaar opened the enclosure just a little, shoving bags at him. Gomez helped him take them, holding three of them while he adjusted the first two.
Simiaar had already shut the enclosure. She had removed some kind of sheeting. Gomez recognized it. Simiaar usually used it at a crime scene to wrap a body or a crucial piece of evidence. Apparently, she considered herself that crucial piece of evidence.
I don’t have to come back, right? Nuuyoma sent both of them, but he was looking at Gomez.
Put the items in the airlock, then wait outside it, Gomez sent. I might need your help.
Okay, he sent. He adjusted the last of the bags, and then walked slowly toward Security One.
“How are we doing?” Simiaar asked on that secure channel.
“I haven’t had this much fun in years,” Gomez said.
“Cute.”
Simiaar had wrapped the sheet around her suit. The sheet adhered, coating everything. It took some special process to remove the thing in the lab. Simiaar would probably have to wear her environmental suit all the way to the Stanley.
“I’m ready,” Simiaar said. “You’re going to have to lift the damn enclosure.”
“Okay,” Gomez said. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The enclosure was latched in five different places, and the latches had to release in a particular order.
Gomez thought it odd that Simiaar had known that order.
That order also explained why more materials hadn’t been taken from that cockpit. No one wanted to stay on this part of the moon long enough to break into the ship, not when there were so many other ship pieces around to steal from.
The enclosure opened.
Gomez put her gloved hands under Simiaar’s arms and pulled her out, then staggered backwards. Simiaar seemed to weigh five times what she normally did.
Gomez couldn’t quite process how much material Simiaar had taken from the ship. Or maybe it was the weight of the equipment Simiaar had brought with her.
“You ready?” Gomez asked.
“Go slow,” Simiaar said. “I got two different maps and real-time imagery, but I still feel blind.”
Gomez could understand. She held Simiaar in place, then paused, and lowered the enclosure. It clicked closed.
It just felt wrong to leave it open, after its secrets had been intact for so long. Gomez didn’t defend her actions. She wrapped her arm around Simiaar’s waist. Simiaar put her arm around Gomez’s.
Together they walked slowly back to Security One.
Nuuyoma stood outside it. His environmental suit was black with the sand. He looked like part of the landscape.
Security One had become a mountain of sand, even though every time the shields lowered, the sand sloughed off.
Lower shields, Gomez sent Verstraete. We’re coming in.
Not a moment too soon, Verstraete sent. This stuff is insidious. I’m checking it for nanoparticles. It wouldn’t surprise me if we pick up hitchhikers.
If we do, we do, Gomez sent. We’re not getting everything off Doctor Simiaar’s suit until we get to the Stanley.
Oh, yes, we are, Simiaar sent. You’ll help me into the cargo hold of this thing. We can decontaminate me there.
Won’t it ruin the evidence? Gomez asked.
You think I didn’t plan for this? I read the specs on Ohksmyte. Did you?
Apparently not in the same kind of detail. The shields went down, and sand poured from the air to the ground. The airlock opened. Nuuyoma helped Gomez shove Simiaar into the airlock.
Gomez climbed in next, followed by Nuuyoma. The airlock’s floor was clean, even though they’d been dumping bags into it. Verstraete had done her job.
More sand fell off them. Cleansing air brushed off their suits. Only Simiaar’s remained covered.
Gomez blinked hard, realizing just how exhausted she was. She didn’t like living in atmosphere. She’d been in space too long. And she could do without wind.
The interior door opened. Verstraete stood in the corridor, also wearing an environmental suit. Cleaning bots made their way into the airlock, and Gomez felt cramped.
“So?” Verstraete asked. “Was it worthwhile?”
“We won’t know for some time,” Gomez lied.
Simiaar looked blindly at her. “Oh, hell,” Simiaar said. “Don’t listen to her. Adventure is always fun.”
I never took her to be an optimist, Nuuyoma sent Gomez on a secure link.
I never knew she could have fun, Gomez sent back. Then they grinned at each other, and joined Verstraete in the corridor.
Then she helped Simiaar out of the airlock. Together, they made their way to the lower level and the decontamination chamber, where the real evidence collection would begin.
FORTY-FIVE
SO FAR, THE clone wasn’t trouble. Fujita put him in a heavily guarded wing, in an actual suite with its own sitting area, bedroom, and bathroom. Everything in the guarded wing suites was bolted down. Anything that could possibly be a weapon was either made of a bendable material or hadn’t been put in the room at all.
The clone’s suite was heavily monitored. He stood for the longest time in the center of the suite, as if he hadn’t known what to do. Then he looked at the clothes that the crew had placed on the bed, grabbed some items, and headed to the bathroom. He opted for a real water shower, and stayed in it until the water shut off after the required eight minutes.
They had two days of travel before leaving Alliance space, then five days of travel after that. Fujita didn’t mind. The hardest part was over, based on his experience.
He also knew from experience not to let the long-time incarcerated alone for long. So he invited the clone to a captain’s dinner.
It so
unded grand and elegant, but really it was just a meal with Fujita and his senior staff. His most qualified staff for any kind of physical emergency. Even here, in the presence of five strong security personnel, the clone wouldn’t be allowed sharp utensils.
They didn’t use the main dining area, but a small room off one of the VIP suites. Fujita didn’t want former prisoners anywhere near the actual living quarters, although this level had been done up to look like living quarters. The clone was blocked from all network access and the prison had removed all of his links, so he had no way to check any information that Fujita had told him.
Angela Tamberlane, the head of Fujita’s security detail, brought the clone to the dining area. Fujita’s rules dictated that whoever was with the so-called client had two other crew members along. Tamberlane left those two crew members outside the door. The other four inside the room were the two who had gone to the prison with Fujita and the man Fujita called his ringer, a psychiatrist he always had on these transports in case the client became difficult.
Tamberlane let the clone—whom Fujita would have to force himself to call Trey—into the dining area first. The clone—Trey—came in, moving his head around as he took in everything. He walked slowly, hunched so that his torso was protected, his hands in loose fists.
Fujita recognized the posture: it was both defensive and protective, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.
On occasions like this, Fujita always played the expansive host. “Welcome to the captain’s dining room,” he said. “I figured you needed to celebrate on your first night of freedom.”
Trey lifted his head and those eyes met Fujita’s with such force that Fujita almost felt like he needed to step backwards. But he held his ground.
Trey studied him for a moment, as if trying to see if Fujita was fooling him in some way. Then Trey said solemnly, “Thank you.”
“You’ll be sitting here.” Fujita indicated a chair on the far side of the table. Trey’s back would be to the wall, and he would be sitting between two members of the security team.
Most prisoners liked that enclosed feeling, not that Fujita really cared. He was more concerned that Trey couldn’t do something impulsive and then easily escape the room.
A Murder of Clones: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel Page 29
