Steven Kent - The Clone Betrayal

Two hundred years ago, the Unified Authority began its cloning program as part of a master plan to colonize the galaxy. For two centuries, natural-born politicians feared us and natural-born generals abused us. They sent us to fight their battles and left us to die in space. And now this.

I reread the orders for the fourth time, then checked my watch. It was 0300. I didn’t feel like sleeping on the floor, nor did I feel like turning the movie starlet out of my bed; so I climbed on the rack beside her. The pretty little kitten turned and snuggled against me without ever opening her eyes.

Ava was a practical woman, I could tell from the start. She was still on the rack when I woke up, though she had managed to put some real estate between us. She looked angry that I moved in on her, but she also knew I had not taken advantage of her during the night. I woke up to find her watching me, the stern set in those green eyes warning me not to cross her.

“Good morning,” I said.

“What are you planning to do with me?” she asked.

“What do you want me to do with you?” I asked.

She sat up. “Well, I’m going to need an apartment of my own.”

“An apartment?” I asked. “This isn’t a specking hotel, it’s a relocation camp.”

“I need to shower,” she said.

“Not as much as you will by the end of your stay,” I said.

She ignored my comment and kept speaking. “I can cook for myself if I have to.”

“Nope, no kitchens,” I said.

She stood and started walking toward the window.

“I wouldn’t get too close to the window,” I said.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. She was sweating, and her skin had turned pink. Her hair was damp at the roots, and her eyes were puffy, but she still looked pretty. Her curves showed well through the sweat-stained blouse, and the shape of her face was addictive.

“It will get a lot hotter if one of those clones out there spots you,” I said. “You’re in a camp full of men who have not seen a woman for months. What do you think will happen if one of them sees you?”

“Well, I understand you’re the commanding officer on this base. That was what Teddy said, that you were in charge here.” She sounded annoyed. This was not the weeping, wilting damsel in distress that I had seen the night before, but neither was she the haughty diva I’d met back at the party. I think she’d cried out her helplessness.

“Teddy?” I asked, then realized she meant the newly minted General Theodore Mooreland. “I’m not in command, I’m just the only officer on the premises. There’s a difference, just ask the guards. You shouldn’t have any trouble spotting them—they’re the ones with the machine guns.”

She glared at me, but she also backed away from the window. That was a good thing, it meant she was thinking. “What about showers? What about food?” she asked.

I did not have running water in my billet, just a rack, a light fixture, and a small table. “I could request a second cot,” I said, “but somebody’s bound to ask why I need it.”

“What happens when I need to use the restroom?” she asked.

“That’s going to be a problem,” I muttered, inwardly wondering what would happen if I suggested she hold it for the next few weeks. “I suppose I can bring you a bucket; I’ll just have to dump it in the latrine every night.”

“A bucket?” She started to raise her voice, then caught herself.

“Unless you have a better idea,” I said.

“Teddy said …”

“If Teddy cared so much about keeping you comfortable, you would not be here right now.”

The words hit her like a slap across the face. She backed farther away from the window and sat on the edge of my bed. I saw tears start to flow, but she didn’t crumble this time. She glared up at me, her eyes boring into mine. It was just like General Smith had said, she was a tough little scorpion. “If it gets any hotter in here, I’ll roast,” she said.

“I can bring in water.”

“What about a fan?” she asked.

“We don’t have fans.”

“How do I shower?”

“Same as going to the bathroom, do it out of a bucket. I’ll find a towel; you can sponge yourself.” She started to say something, so I added, “Or you can take your chances out there.”

She fell quiet. The expression I saw on her face most closely resembled defeat. She must have realized there was nothing more I could do for her. Had Mooreland not sent her to the camp, she might have been able to get some movie producer or Hollywood friend to take care of her; but out here, I was her only option.

A forlorn smile formed on her lips as she whispered, “Thank you.”

I started the day looking for buckets—one for water, one for excrement. I found a couple of rusty buckets around the latrine and took them to the showers to wash them out. It only took a minute of scrubbing to see that they were as clean as they were going to get, so I filled them with water, grabbed a few rolls of toilet paper, and went back to my shed.

“What are those?” Ava asked, when I lugged the buckets inside.

“One is your toilet, the other’s your sink,” I said.

“I hope you don’t expect …”

“I don’t expect anything,” I said. “Tell you what, why don’t you go tell the guards that the facilities aren’t up to your standards, and this whole thing is all one big mistake?”

She looked up at me, and I saw emotions colliding in her moist olivine eyes. Her surprise boiled itself into anger which in turn distilled into desperation. The haughtiness of her expression went stiff, then relaxed, then toppled. She stood silent and distant. Her shoulders slumped as she realized that she could no longer control the world around her.

I felt sorry for the bitch, but, “I’ll go get us some breakfast,” was all I could say.

I went to the mess hall for breakfast, slopping a double portion of oatmeal on my plate, then grabbing four pieces of toast. These I carried back to my billet. When I offered her food, she said she was not hungry; so I started eating. A minute later, she asked if I had anything to spare. I handed her the tray. She considered the food, then barely touched it.

“You really plan to keep me hidden in this tin box?” she asked.

“Some people have skeletons in their closets; I have a movie star,” I said.

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she touched me on the cheek, and said, “I’m not sure if you are my white knight or my tormentor.”

It sounded like a line from a movie. I started to tell her I was both but instead said nothing.

Our eyes met, and I read her. She needed protection, and she would give me anything I wanted if I’d just keep her safe. She was every bit as much a businesswoman as she was an actress.

Ava was beautiful, but I knew her allure would evaporate once I began hauling her shit to the latrine. She needed a shower. Smudges of dirt powdered her forehead. Her makeup had worn off, leaving her with blemishes on her cheeks and flesh-colored lips. Her hair had tangles and knots, and she needed new clothes, but in spite of all that, she still looked good.

Some mornings I woke up and looked into those green eyes and realized I could lose myself in them. There was something calming about them. If I let her, Ava could intoxicate me with her eyes.

I’d spent time with a variety of girls. In the Marines we called them scrub—girls you played with and left behind. I might even have fallen in love once; I couldn’t be sure. I knew more about fear than love.

There was no question, Master Gunnery Sergeant Kelly Thomer had recently luded up, the only question was, “When?” He sat on the warm ground in the shade of his barracks building, his eyes staring straight ahead. Twenty guys were playing a half-court game no more than ten yards from Thomer, but I doubt he noticed. One team wore tank tops, the other went skins. They swore, they fouled, two guys got in a fistfight; but Thomer sat oblivious to it all. In another couple of hours, the day would heat up, and the players would go rest. Clonetown might close down in the midday heat; but Thomer would stay seated. He was on Fallzoud, nothing mattered to him.