The Clone Republic (Clone 1)

by Steven L. Kent

  I could not smell the outside world through my helmet. I sometimes smelled my own sweat after a long march or battle, but that was about it. Walking across the bunker’s concrete floors, I thought I smelled death. It did not smell like burned meat. The dry and dusty scent of ash filled my helmet. Looking back, I am sure that I imagined the smell, of course I imagined it; but at the time, it seemed very real to me. The floor was littered with the cinder remains of wooden beams. It wasn’t until we got deeper into the bunker that we discovered the bodies.

  The charred remains of hundreds of men covered the floor in the center of the compound. There was no way to identify the bodies; they were scorched beyond recognition. They looked mummified, with all traces of hair burned away and skin that looked like parched leather. The fleshy, loose skin around their lips had shrunk, leaving their mouths with toothy grins. When one of my men accidentally stepped on a body, it crumbled into dust and bone beneath his boot.

  “Think they’re Japanese?” Vince asked, as we left a room in which four bodies had fallen on top of each other as if stacked.

  “How could you possibly tell?” I asked. “What could these people have done to deserve this?”

  Vince did not answer. That was the only reasonable response.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Harris, you’re on guard duty,” Lector said, as I climbed the ladder out of the bunkers.

  “Aye,” I answered, fighting back the urge to say more. I watched Lector swagger back to the front of the platoon, then switched interLink frequencies. “Lee, you there?”

  “Sure,” Lee said.

  “Lector just gave me guard duty.”

  “That should be dull,” Lee said. “Yamashiro will be light-years from here by now.”

  “If he was ever here,” I said.

  “Of course he was here,” Lee said. He clipped his syllables as he spoke, something he did when he felt irritated. I knew better than to argue.

  Thick forest covered the foothills ahead of us. Trees with green and orange leaves, so brightly colored they looked like gigantic flowers, blanketed the countryside. “Gather up,” I called to my men, as we started for the forest.

  The foothills stretched for miles. Beyond the hills, I could see the vague outline of tall mountains against the horizon. Somewhere between the forested hills and the mountains we would catch our enemy. “Let’s roll,” I said, after organizing my men.

  Our course took us through the forest. The trees and boulders would have provided the right kind of cover for guerilla attacks. I scanned the landscape for heat signatures, but the trunks of the trees were ten feet in diameter. The rocks were thick and made of granite. I could not read a heat signature through such barriers. The light played against us, too.

  Rays of sunlight filtered in through the trees. Bright, hot, and straight as searchlights, the beams of light looked like pillars growing out of the floor of the forest. And they were hot, as hot as a human body—nearly a hundred degrees. When I looked at one of the rays of light with my heat vision, it showed orange with a yellow corona on my visor, the same signature as an enemy soldier.

  I pinged for snake shafts and found nothing, but that did little to calm my nerves. Fortunately, our scouts located enemy tracks. Hundreds of people had fled the bunkers, trampling ferns and shrubs as they rushed through the trees. Tracking the escapees posed little challenge, but the wilderness gave us other headaches. The overgrowth slowed our ATVs. Obviously, Harriers and gunships were out of the question. We had to send scouts ahead on foot. Five of our scouts did not return when we broke for camp that evening.

  We stopped in a mile-wide clearing that would be easy to guard. At night, Little Man cooled to a comfortable sixtyfive degrees. When I scanned the serrated tree line with heat vision, it seemed to hold no secrets. I saw the orange signatures of forest animals moving around the trees.

  Every few hours, at uneven intervals, a gunship traveled around the perimeter of the clearing. I sat at my guard post, hidden behind a hastily built lean-to made of logs, clods of grass, and rocks, peering out across the flatlands at the trees. The night sky had so many layers of stars that it shone milky white. I realized that not all of the stars were in our galaxy. We were at the edge of known space.

  A gunship rumbled over the treetops, its twin tail engines firing blue-white flames. Moonlight glinted on the ship’s dull finish as it circled slowly across my field of vision. Traveling at a mere twenty miles per hour, it moved with the confidence of a shark circling for food. Switching the lens in my visor to heat vision, I watched animals flee as the gunship approached. A stubby bird, built a bit like an owl but with a seven-foot wingspan, launched from the trees and flew toward me. I could not see the color of its plumage with heat vision, and I could not see the bird at all when I switched to standard view.

  Guard duty left me with plenty of time to roll evidence over in my mind. I did not think we were there to massacre Japanese refugees from Ezer Kri. They would not have had time to build the complicated bunker system on the beach.

  The Morgan Atkins Separatists seemed a more likely target. I did not know how the Japanese could have gotten off Ezer Kri. They never could have traveled this far. I did not know what the Mogats would want on a planet like Little Man, but I knew they had transportation. They had their own damn fleet. Still, why would the Mogats colonize a planet that was so far from civilization? As I understood it, the Mogats never populated their own planets. They sent missionaries to colonize planets and attracted converts. But there was nobody to convert in the extreme frontier.

  Just like Lee predicted, the night passed slowly.

  We found three of our missing scouts early the next morning.

  Packing quickly before sunrise, we continued through the woods. The trees in that part of the forest stood hundreds of feet tall. They stood as smooth and straight as ivory posts, with only a few scraggly branches along their lower trunks. Perhaps that was what made the scene so terrible—the almost unnatural symmetry of the primeval woods.

  Walking in a broad column, we turned a bend and saw two dwarf trees with thick, low-hanging branches that crisscrossed in an arch. These trees stood no more than forty feet tall, but the spot where their branches met was considerably lower. A wide stream of sunlight filtered in around them, bathing them with brilliant glare and shadows.

  Three shadowy figures dangled from the branches like giant possums. A quick scan of the forest floor told us that the bodies were our missing scouts. Each man’s armor and weapon sat in a neat pile beneath his lifeless carcass.

  We knew our scouts had died by hanging even before we cut their bodies down. The enemy had captured them, stripped them of their armor, and summarily executed them as war criminals.

  “I want those trees destroyed,” a major ordered, as we cut down the bodies. A demolitions man strapped explosives around the trunks. As we left, I heard a grand explosion and turned to watch as the forty-foot trees collapsed into each other.

  The enemy had time to leave trackers along the trail, but trackers were ineffective in such rough terrain. They also left mines and a few snipers behind. The mines were useless; we spotted them easily. The snipers, however, used effective hit-and-run tactics as they targeted our officers. We began our march with fifteen majors and three colonels. By nightfall, two of the colonels and six of the majors were dead. When I saw McKay late that afternoon, he was surrounding himself with enlisted men.

  “You holding up okay after that all-nighter?” Vince’s voice hummed over the interLink.

  “Bet I’m asleep before anyone else tonight,” I said, unable to stifle a yawn.

  Regrettably, Lee had not contacted me on a direct frequency. “You’d lose that bet,” Lector interrupted. “You’re on guard duty tonight.”

  “Sergeant, you cannot send a man on guard duty two nights in a row,” Lee said.

  “Are you running the show now, Lee?” Lector asked. I heard hate in his voice.

  “Back off, Vince,” I said.


  “Wayson . . .”

  “Stay out of this,” I hissed.

  On a private channel, Lee said, “I hate specking Liberators.”

  So did I.

  We reached the edge of the forest in the late afternoon. There we discovered that our air support had been busy.

  The still-unidentified squatters had built a town large enough for a few thousand residents just beyond the woods. It had paved roads and prefabricated Quonset-style buildings. If they had put up flags, the place would have looked like a military base.

  Our fighters struck during the night, shredding the town. I saw shattered windows, collapsed roofs, and melted walls. What I did not see was bodies.

  “Sarge, do you think this was their capital city?” one of my men asked.

  I did not answer. “Fall in,” I said over the platoon frequency. “Get ready. If we’re going to run into more resistance on this planet, it’s going to start here.”

  The town was also a likely place to find out the “squatters’ ” identity. We would find computers in the buildings. Perhaps we would find more. With our guns drawn and ready, we organized into a long, tactical column with riflemen and grenadiers from Lector’s platoon guarding our flanks.

  We waded toward town. Lee’s squad took point, moving cautiously in a group that included a rifleman, a grenadier, and a man with an automatic rifle. They moved in slowly, pausing by fences and hiding behind overturned cars. With every step it became clearer that the enemy had abandoned the city before our fighters attacked.

  Most of the cars lay flipped on their sides, their front ends scorched from missile hits or fuel explosions. Smoke and fire had blackened the windows of several vehicles. I kicked my boot through one car’s windshield in search of bodies but found none.

  The first building we passed was a two-story cracker box with only two windows on its fascia. The facade was untouched, but a laser blast had melted a ten-foot chasm in a sidewall. Metal lay melted around the gaping hole like the wax bleeding from a candle. The heat from the laser must have caused an explosion. The windows of the building had burst outward, spraying glass on the street. Though I could not feel the glass through my boots, I heard it splinter as I walked over it.

  The firefight began with a burst of three shots. Bullets struck the ground as Lee and his rifleman stepped around a derelict car. The bullets missed. Lee and his rifleman dropped back for cover and returned fire.

  The enemy had taken position in the ruins of a building that might have been a latrine. Pipes wrapped the sides of the small structure, and its walls were thick. The gunmen opened fire. I could see muzzle flashes.

  “Harris, report,” Captain McKay ordered.

  “We’re under fire, sir,” I said. “It seems like it’s just a few men hidden in a latrine. We should have the situation under control shortly.”

  “Pockets of resistance,” McKay said. “They’re trying to slow us down. I’m getting reports of small firefights on every street. Let me know when you have the situation handled.”

  “Aye, sir,” I said.

  “Lee, how are you doing up there?” I asked, changing frequencies.

  “These guys can’t shoot for shit,” Lee said. “Twenty yards away, tops, and . . .” He stopped talking as a long volley of shots ricocheted off the ground around him.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Five distinct reports, single shots from an M27 that cut right through the clatter of machine-gun fire. Lector’s riflemen had flanked the enemy, slipped into the building behind them, and shot them in their hiding holes. One of the riflemen walked to a window and signaled that all was clear. His strategy was a textbook tactical advance.

  “Enemy contained,” Lector called in, over the interLink.

  I spotted a stairwell that ran below ground on the other side of the street. “Lee, take my position.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked as he let his squad walk ahead.

  “I see a door that needs opening,” I said as I peeled off from the column with two of my men in tow. We ran across the street and took cover behind a brick wall.

  The stairwell looked like it might lead to a bomb shelter or a subway station. It was wide enough for three men to run side by side. One of my men did a run by, peering down the stairs, then rolling out of range. He stood and took a position at the top of the stairs, signaling that the entry was clear.

  There were no windows in the concrete walls lining the stairs, just a seven-foot iron door with an arched top. I ran down the stairs and hid by the hinged side of the door. One of my men took the other side. As I pulled the door open, he counted to five then swung in, sweeping the scene with the muzzle of his rifle.

  “Clear,” he said.

  I followed him through the door.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the third man in my party said as he followed us into the structure. We had entered a tactical command room. File cabinets lined the walls. Several maps lay open on a table in a corner of the room. I checked the maps for traps, then leafed through the stack.

  The first map showed the names and locations of every military base in the Scutum-Crux Arm. The next map showed a complex system of dots and lines overlaying a map of the galaxy. A sidebar showed an enlarged view of the Sol System. When I saw a red circle surrounding Mars, I realized that it was a map of the broadcast network.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I said to my men. It was too rich a trove. It had to be rigged. We would leave it for the experts in Intelligence.

  Captain McKay told me to nap while the rest of the men set up camp. I found a shaded corner between a tree and a stone wall. Removing my helmet, I lay on my side in the cool grass and let my mind wander.

  I thought about that underground map room with its diagram of the broadcast network. There was nothing top secret about the disc locations, but seeing them charted in an enemy bunker made me nervous. Those discs served as the Unified Authority’s nervous system. An attack on them could bring the Republic to its knees.

  But why would anybody want to bring the Republic to its knees? The Senate allowed member states tremendous latitude. Breaking up U.A. infrastructure would end the ties of humanity that connected the various territories. Take away the Unified Authority, and the outer worlds would be forced to survive on their own.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw myself walking along a long corridor. Imagination turned into fitful dreams as I reached the first door.

  Night had fallen by the time Lee woke me for guard duty. He led me to the edge of town and pointed to an overturned truck. “That’s your station for the night,” he said. He slipped me a packet of speed tabs. “I borrowed these from the medic. Don’t use them unless you need them,” he said.

  I took my position hiding behind a crumpled-up bumper. Though I needed more sleep, I liked the solitary feel of guard duty. It gave me a chance to consider the day and play with ideas in my head. I had been on duty for two hours when Lector came to check on me. “See anything, Harris?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Keep alert,” he said. He lit a cigarette as he turned to leave.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. I was tired and angry. I heard myself speaking foolish words and knew that I would later regret them; but at that moment, I no longer cared. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  Lector listened to my question without turning to look at me. Then he whirled around. “You were made, Harris. That’s reason enough,” Lector said coldly. “Just the fact that you exist was enough to get Marshall, Saul, and me transferred to this for-shit outfit.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” I said.

  “You had everything to do with it,” Lector said. “You think this is a real mission? You think we are going to capture this entire planet with twenty-three hundred Marines? Is that what you think?”

  I did not know what to say.

  “They’d forgotten about us,” Lector said. “Saul, Marshall, me . . . Nobody in Washington knew that there were any Liberators left. The
brass knew about Shannon, but there was nothing anybody could do about him. Klyber kept him nearby, kept a watchful eye on him. Nobody could touch Shannon with Klyber guarding him. As far as everybody knew, Shannon was the last of us.

  “Then you came along, Harris—a brand-new Liberator. You weren’t alone, you know. Klyber made five of you. We found the others. Marshall killed one in an orphanage. I killed three of them myself. But Klyber hid you . . . sent you to some godforsaken shit hill where no one would find you. By the time I did locate you, you were already on the Kamehameha .

  “I . . .” I started to speak.

  “Shut up, Harris. You asked what’s bothering me, now I’m going to tell you. And you, you are going to shut your rat’s ass mouth and listen, or I will shoot you. I will shoot you and say that the goddamn Japanese shot you.”

  I believed him and did not say a word. I also slipped my finger over the trigger of my M27.

  “The government hated Liberators. Congress wanted us dead. As far as anyone knew, we were all dead. Then you showed up. I heard about that early promotion and wanted to fly out and cap you on that shit hill planet. I would have framed Crowley, but Klyber transferred you before I could get there.

  “Next thing I know, you’re running missions for that asshole Huang. Shit! Huang was the reason we were in hiding in the first place. As soon as I heard that you’d met Huang, I knew we were all dead. Once he got a whiff of a Liberator, he would go right back to the Pentagon and track down every last one of us.

  “And here we are, trying to take over a planet with twenty-three hundred Marines. This isn’t a mission, Harris, this is a cleansing. This is the last march of the Liberators; and if they need to kill off twenty-three hundred GI clones to finish us, it all works out fine on their balance sheets. Clones are expendable.