The Clone Republic (Clone 1)

by Steven L. Kent

There were three more fights. Each took about fifteen minutes. Each had men who looked to be near death, then came back to health and performed Herculean feats of strength. I did not believe a moment of it, but it was fun to watch.

  When the last fight ended, the audience filed out quickly. Lee, however, still lay sprawled on the bleachers massaging the sides of his head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Honolulu was a city on an island called Oahu, which was part of the Hawaiian Islands, which was a state of the former United States on the planet Earth. Perhaps I should have known all of that. I studied geography in the orphanage; but consider, the galaxy had six arms. Each of which had thirty member planets. There were one hundred eighty member planets in the Republic.

  Before serving aboard the Kamehameha, I had never heard of Ezer Kri or Ronan Minor. Hell, I had never heard of the Templar System before landing on Hubble.

  My education was lacking in more than geography. The retired officers running the orphanage had left the term “transvestite” out of my education. They also neglected to mention professional wrestling.

  Our small villa had a common kitchen, dining room, and den. It had two bungalows for bedrooms. Lee remained in his room late into the morning. Still hungover from that fruit drink concoction, Lee slept until 1000. I could hear him snoring as I drank a cup of coffee in the courtyard.

  I fixed myself a small breakfast of fruit and fish and went back to the courtyard to eat it. Mynx came over and joined me. She curled up in my lap and made herself comfortable. As I scooped meat out of pineapple, the sneaky cat filched my fish and ran off with it. The slice was nearly as big as her head, but that did not stop her.

  “Hey!” I yelled, for all the good it did me. Mynx hopped off the table, my fish hanging from her mouth, and paused to look at me. If I’d had my pistol, I might have shot that cat. Instead, I watched her leave with her tail sticking straight up in the air. I laughed and enjoyed a moment of complete relaxation.

  That moment ended when I put on my media shades and searched for stories. A coalition from the House of Representatives was calling for the Linear Committee to reduce the military budget. “We have an unprecedented stockpile of weapons,” said Speaker of the House Gordon Hughes, who represented Olympus Kri, a thriving colony a few hundred light-years from Earth in the Orion Arm. “We have more than twenty million clones on active duty, and the government keeps churning out nearly one and a half million more every year. The cost of supporting this build-up will pull our entire economy down.”

  Gordon Hughes of Olympus Kri appeared on the news quite often in those days. He wanted lower taxes, less military, greater territorial autonomy. He questioned the need of a U.A. Naval base on Olympus Kri and asked for a direct disc link with trading partners in the Sagittarius and Perseus Arms. In the House, Hughes was widely praised for his bold initiatives. In the Senate, they talked about the million-member march that the Atkins Separatists made to his planet’s capital.

  In a small sidebar, I read that the congressman from Ezer Kri challenged Hughes’s ideas. No surprise there. Ever since the invasion, Ezer Kri had supported the Linear Committee on every issue. Had the Linear Committee called for a ban on oxygen, the honorable congressman from Ezer Kri would have supported it.

  In another story out of Washington, DC, the Senate unanimously approved a bill calling for two hundred new orphanages. Open war between the House and Senate was nothing new. The Senate would naturally spin the request to sound like an attempt to help homeless children, but that would not fool anybody. The Speaker of the House called for fewer orphanages and the Senate unanimously thumbed its nose at him. Isn’t that how it goes? As a product of the New Order orphanage system, and a military clone, I shared the Senate’s view on the issue. So did somebody else.

  I looked at the visual feed that accompanied the story. As the Senate leader announced that the vote had been unanimous, the camera swept the gallery to show senators and onlookers giving a standing ovation. The camera panned the VIP box. Most of the men in the picture wore civilian clothing; but there was a tall, skeletal man dressed in Navy whites. I stopped the feed. The picture was blurred, but the face was unmistakable. “What are you doing in DC?” I asked out loud. “I thought you were on the Kamehameha .”

  Klyber could have flown to DC quickly enough. Had he flown in for an important vote, or was there something else going on, I wondered.

  “I don’t feel so good,” said Lee as he slid open the glass door of his bungalow. He did not look so good either. He stood in the doorway rubbing his head. His dark hair stood up in spikes, and he had huge sallow bags under badly bloodshot eyes.

  “You cannot possibly feel as bad as you look,” I said.

  “I don’t remember much. Did I do anything stupid last night?” Lee walked to his chair, then stood and stared at it as if deciding whether he was physically capable of sitting. He turned and dropped into the chair.

  “Whatever you drank . . .”

  “That fruit thing!” Lee interrupted. “I remember. That goddamn fruit thing.” He groaned and rubbed his head.

  “You got sick on a bus,” I said.

  “I don’t remember a bus,” Lee said.

  “We went to wrestling matches,” I said. “There was this place called Sad Sam’s Palace, where they have fake wrestling matches in a boxing ring.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Lee said. He spent most of the morning moping around the house, trying to get his head straight. He seldom drank anything stronger than beer. Now I knew why.

  By early afternoon, Lee became restless and wanted to drive into town. Neither of us had eaten lunch, and the idea of ordering a burger sounded good. The sun was up and hot, and I wanted to walk, but Lee insisted on driving.

  The ocean glistened as we drove down to Waikiki. Lee wanted to put the top up and use the air-conditioning, but I vetoed him on that one. I wanted the heat of the sun on my head, and I liked the warmth, though I could have done without the humid air.

  We left the car by a beach park and started to walk the last few blocks into town, but I heard the roar of the waves. “Let’s check out the beach,” I said.

  “How about after lunch?” Lee asked.

  “It’s right over there,” I said. I turned and started for the beach without waiting for Lee to answer. He followed, muttering words to himself that did not sound happy.

  I took off my shoes when I reached the beach; the hot sand burned the soles of my feet. That part of the beach was almost empty. Sprinting past sunbathers, I wrapped my shoes and wallet into my shirt and dropped the wad in an empty spot, and trotted into the water.

  The water was cold, but my body adjusted quickly. I loped forward through the shallows until the water was up to my waist, then I dived in. Lee followed me as far as the water’s edge, but his willingness to continue vanished the moment he felt the water. He walked back to my shirt and shoes and sat down beside the pile.

  The water was clear and bitter to the taste. The salt burned my eyes when I dived down for a look, but I kept my eyes open. There were fish all around me. I swam up for air, then dived to the bottom for a closer view. I saw small, silver fish and bright yellow fish that were about the size of my hand. A gentle current swept me farther out, and when I dived again, I could no longer reach the bottom.

  The fish knew no fear. Thousands of red, green, blue, and yellow fish huddled together in a lazy cloud that barely parted when I swam too close. Even when I grabbed at them, they sped out of my reach but did not swim away. I stayed down too long and my lungs burned when I swam to the surface and gulped for air.

  Back on the beach, Lee stood on the shore and waved at me. The current had pulled me a few hundred feet from shore. I needed to get back.

  I took a deep breath and dived for another look at the fish. What I saw was far more exciting. A white silhouette passed sleekly along the ocean floor deep below me. At first I did not realize what I was looking at, but only for a moment. It was a very trim woman with short
blond hair trailing behind her in a silky web. This woman had long tanned legs and she cut through the water with otterlike grace. She wore swim fins and a diver’s mask, and with a kick from her perfectly toned thighs, she sprang forward over the coral reef.

  The woman’s face mask must have had an air supply because she held her breath for a very long time. In the time that she admired the coral shelf, I had come up for air twice and was about to swim up a third time. I would never have caught up to her had she swum away. Fortunately, she turned, looked at me, and came up with me. She broke through the surface just a few feet from me. She pulled off her mask and smiled. “And they said there was nothing dangerous in these waters.”

  We finished the preliminaries that quickly.

  Kasara swam to shore with me. As we waded out of the water, I saw Lee. Still sitting by my shirt and shoes, his expression was a mixture of jealousy and hate. He picked up my shirt and trotted out to meet us.

  I turned to Kasara. “I want you to meet Vince,” I said.

  Kasara smiled at Vince. She had a slightly mischievous smile—the big, unabashed smile of a child. I looked at her smile and her blue eyes and knew that my leave had unalterably changed.

  She was about six inches shorter than I—about five-foot-ten. She wore a bright red bikini that contrasted sharply against her tanned skin. She had a flat stomach with just a hint of visible ribs and muscular definition. I had to concentrate to keep from staring.

  “Vince, this is . . .”

  “Kasara,” she said in a soft voice.

  “You don’t happen to have a roommate?” Lee asked.

  “As a matter of fact . . .” Kasara laughed. She looked embarrassed. “I’d better get back to her.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” I asked.

  “What do you want me to do tonight?” she asked.

  Clearly she was used to more experienced players than me. I pulled my shirt over my head and shoulders. “We just got here last night. Maybe you and your friend could show us the better spots.”

  “Show you around?” Kasara said with a grin. “That sounds fun.” She pointed up toward the street. “See that two-story building over there?”

  We were on the outskirts of Waikiki, well away from the luxurious towers and glossy hotels. The two- and three-story buildings that lined the far side of the street were wedged together like books on a crowded shelf. “Which one do you mean?” I asked.

  She moved even closer until our bodies touched. In a moment, I would need to dive back into the cold water. Wrapping one hand around my waist, she pulled me so that I could see exactly where she was pointing. “You see that pink two-story building?”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling my legs go numb. I felt the side of her breast rub against my arm.

  “Think you can meet us there at seven o’clock?” she asked, her voice sounding husky.

  “Seven it is,” I said.

  “Don’t be late,” Kasara said, releasing me. I could barely stand. She, on the other hand, walked away down the beach as if nothing had happened.

  “Not bad, Harris,” Lee said. “I hope her roommate looks that good.”

  The sun set as we arrived at Kasara’s hotel, but the sky remained bright for another two hours. The warm night air, so pleasant compared to the burdensome humidity of the day, was filled with the smell of the ocean.

  Kasara stayed in a rattrap hotel with pink adobe walls and stubby, Moorish archways. The manager had plastered the walls of the lobby with advertisements for car rentals and island tours. “How much do you think they charge per night?” I asked Lee.

  Lee was not listening. “Wayson,” he said excitedly, “if the roommate is as good-looking as Kasara, I’ll really owe you, pal.”

  Kasara and her roommate came gliding down the steps into the lobby. Kasara wore a short, white dress that stopped at the very tops of her thighs. Jennifer, her roommate, wore a green sundress. Kasara was the prettier of the two, but Jennifer was not off by much. I liked her dark brown hair and green eyes. So did Lee. He and Jennifer matched up well and started chatting almost immediately.

  “You look beautiful,” I said to Kasara.

  “Thank you,” Kasara purred, and gave me that young girl smile. As we turned to leave, she moved very close to me, and I felt an urge to put my arm around her waist. She rubbed up against me, and my hand seemed to slide around her of its own accord. She looked at me and beamed.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Let’s walk around,” Kasara said. By that time, the street vendors had rolled their carts out along the sidewalk. A couple with two young boys was looking at a cart covered with toys. Vince and Jennifer paused in front of that cart, and he bought her a surfer doll. They seemed happy.

  “I could get you one of those,” I offered.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Harris,” she said. From then on, I let Kasara do most of the talking. She told me about her job. She worked as a cocktail waitress on Olympus Kri. When I asked her what she thought about the row in Congress, she did not know what I meant. I asked her if she voted for Gordon Hughes, but she did not know the name.

  She was just a girl who worked in a bar saving up tips for an annual vacation on Earth. She hated her job. She had a boyfriend back home, but did not like him much, either. We quickly established that she did not care about politics, professional sports, or novels. Movies and dancing, on the other hand, she talked about endlessly.

  Kasara did not ask many questions, not even which branch Lee and I served in. I suppose she already knew my basic story. She might not have known if I was in the Army or the Navy, but she knew I was military and probably guessed that I grew up in an orphanage.

  A little way down the road, I saw a familiar stand surrounded by flaming torches. “Hey, Vince,” I called back. “This is where you bought that papaya thing last night.” A crowd had already lined up around the stand.

  “I want to try one,” Kasara said, sounding excited.

  “It practically killed Vince,” I said. “He was still getting over it when we went to the beach this afternoon.”

  “Did you try it?” Kasara asked.

  “I think it’s mostly Sagittarian Crash,” I said.

  “Wayson, I work in a bar, remember? I can handle it. It’s for tourists, probably half fruit syrup and ice cream. Let’s get one.”

  I gave in and Kasara smiled and nuzzled her head against my shoulder. It reminded me a bit of Mynx, purring on my lap as she grabbed the fish from my breakfast. But Kasara was exactly the right height to fit against my chest, and I felt the warmth of her body. “Do too much of that, and we may have to make it an early night,” I warned her.

  She flushed. “Don’t be too sure of yourself, Harris,” she said, with a sheepish smile.

  I wasn’t. My heart was beating so hard, I expected my Liberator glands to start filling my blood with endorphins and adrenaline like they did in battle.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Lee gasped as we approached the fruit stand. “That thing wiped me out last night.”

  “We’re going to split one,” I said.

  “It’s your funeral, Harris,” said Vince. “Jennifer and I are going to walk around a bit. Maybe we will run into you again later.” Jennifer gave Kasara a friendly peck on the cheek, then Lee and Jennifer vanished into the crowd.

  “How many?” the man running the cart barked as we approached.

  “One,” I said, then seeing Kasara’s disappointed expression, I corrected myself. “Two.”

  “Four dollars,” the man said, holding out his hand.

  I paid.

  Crash loses a bit of its bite when diluted with sugar. The fruit juice and ice cream might have made this drink sweet, but I still felt the nearly toxic alcohol in my blood. Kasara worked away at her drink slowly, taking little sips and talking cheerfully. The more she sipped, the more she rubbed against me as we walked. I would have proposed going back for seconds, but I was afraid it would kill her.

&n
bsp; “This is so good,” she said. “We make these at the bar, but it’s not the same without fresh papaya.”

  By that time the sky had gone completely dark. Tourists of all descriptions now filled the streets. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  Kasara laughed. “Are you kidding? I just drank enough for two meals.” As we walked toward the beach, we passed a bin with an open fire. Kasara tossed her half-finished fruit into the flames, and we both jumped when we heard the explosion.

  “You want to sit and talk?” I asked.

  “Talk?” she asked suspiciously, though I doubt she would have minded if I proved her suspicions correct.

  We walked across the beach and sat down near the water. Waves rolled in stopping just short of where we sat. A cold breeze came in off the ocean. Leaning back on my elbows, I looked into a sky brimming with stars. Somewhere out there was the Kamehameha .

  She placed her hand on my thigh and I knew that I did not know what was ahead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I looked over at Kasara sleeping beside me and did not know what to do. I wanted more of what we had done last night, but I also wanted to get away from her. It might have been unknown territory for me, but it was certainly nothing new for her. I did not know if I had embarrassed myself.

  She slept so soundly, and she looked like an angel as she slept. Her hair, straight and golden, was spread across the pillow. With her eyes shut and a slight smile playing on her lips, she looked sweet . . . almost innocent. She barely stirred, and I did not want to wake her.

  I climbed out of bed and looked around my room. I would not describe myself as a naturally neat person, but as a military orphan and a Marine, I had been forced to maintain orderly quarters. From childhood up to the moment I set foot on Gobi, I had been subjected to weekly and sometimes daily inspections. If my bed was not made just right, if I did not fold my clothing properly in my locker, if the floor around my rack was not spotless, I was virtually assured KP duty or time cleaning the latrine. Kasara, apparently, did not have the same discipline.

  Her dress was tossed over a chair in the corner of the room. Her shoes and socks were in two separate piles. Her bra hung from the top of my dresser. We had taken off our clothes pretty quickly the night before, but how had she managed to scatter everything like that? I thought about picking up after her, then decided against it.