Steven Kent: The Clone Betrayal

“They’re out at the base.”

“Some of them survived?” I asked, feeling both glad and lonely. “Do they know I’m here? None of them have come to see me, not even Thomer.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you any of this,” Ava said. “If Doctor Feeney knew I was doing this, he’d kick me out of the hospital.” She wanted to tell me something, but she was fighting the urge. I could see it in her face. She looked nervous. For a professional actress, she was awfully easy to read.

“I was here when one of your men came to see you,” she whispered, looking back toward the door to make sure no one was near.

“Was it Thomer? Did you see him?”

“Hollingsworth,” she said. “Doctor Feeney says he was the one who brought you here.”

“Hollingsworth,” I repeated. At least he was alive.

“He left when he saw me,” Ava said, and immediately a thousand fractured pieces fit into one ugly picture. I had a girl. It would not matter whether I had smuggled her to Terraneau on the ship or met her on the job. I had some scrub hidden away while they were confined to the ship. They had a right to hate me. Just like a natural-born officer, I ignored their needs because my needs were met.

That was how Hollingsworth would see it.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the highest-ranking officer on Terraneau, that makes me king,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

I didn’t look fit for command. The doctor would not check me out of the hospital unless I left in a wheelchair, but I abandoned the wheels the moment Doctorow pulled out of the parking lot. Now I was on crutches. My head spinning, my legs weak, sweat forming on my face and running down my back, I tried to pretend like I was healthy. It was a good thing I had the crutches to lean on. I could not stand for more than a few moments at a time.

Hollingsworth shook his head, and said, “Go home. We don’t want you here.”

The showdown took place just outside the door to the administration building, both Hollingsworth and I glaring at each other in frosty silence. Several gawkers had come to see what would happen.

For a moment I thought it might come down to a fight. That would have been bad. Hollingsworth looked young and strong, and I felt about ready to faint. All I wanted to do at the moment was go into the admin building and sit down; but Hollingsworth was in my way, and he showed no inclination to let me pass.

Until that moment, I had never realized what life would be like without a combat reflex. I was staring into a fight and the only thing running through my veins was blood. I missed the shock of testosterone and adrenaline pumping through me giving me mingled feelings of comfort and invincibility. I should have felt strength and hate and calm. Instead, I felt weak and scared. If my arm and leg never healed, I would learn to live with it, but I wanted that gland to heal on the spot.

Summoning everything I had, I said, “Step aside, Hollingsworth. That is an order.”

And he did.

He looked at the crowd that had gathered around us, then he lowered his head and stepped out of my way. Respect for authority was in his programming. He even held the door open for me as I hobbled up the stairs.

“What the speck do you assholes want?” Hollingsworth asked the people who had come, expecting a fight. Then he followed me into the building.

I made it to the empty reception desk, then dropped into the empty chair. My head swimming, my eyes watering, I turned to watch Hollingsworth coming in behind me.

“You look like shit, Harris.”

“Don’t be fooled, I’m running a double marathon this weekend.”

Hollingsworth did not laugh. He did not even smile.

“I heard you brought me to the hospital,” I said. “Were you the one who hauled me out of the parking garage as well?”

Hollingsworth hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Was that really Ava Gardner in your hospital room?”

I wanted to tell him it was not what he thought, but my relationship with her was exactly what he thought it was. “That’s her,” I said.

“So the whole time you were telling us to keep it zipped, you were already getting yours. Fahey was right about you. You’re worse than any of the natural-borns. You’re a traitor to clones.”

He waited for me to say something, but I had nothing to say. He was right.

“How long have you had her?”

“I brought her with me,” I said. “She’s a clone. They dumped her off at Clonetown.”

“Son of a bitch,” he said. I could not tell if he was calling me a son of a bitch or commenting on my luck. In Marine-speak, “son of a bitch” can be both a compliment and an insult.

“What is the situation over here?” I asked.

“We’re basically screwed,” Hollingsworth said. He sounded sullen and angry. “Most of the men blame you for everything. They think it’s your fault the Unifieds attacked. They think it’s your fault we’re stuck here.”

“You were already stuck here when I arrived,” I pointed out.

“Stuck on the planet. We’re trapped down here. They blame you.

“If you plan on running the base, you better watch your back; there are a lot of Marines who want to put a knife in it.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that the Navy would have attacked us no matter what happened. He knew. He had to.

“Have you established contact with the fleet?” I asked, hoping to derail the showdown I felt coming my way.

“There is no fleet,” Hollingsworth said. He sat there, staring at the floor as he spoke, his body unmoving, his voice devoid of emotion.

“They destroyed every last ship?” I asked.

“Maybe,” said Hollingsworth. “We can’t account for every last ship. From what we can tell, there are less than a hundred dead ships out there. Most of them are ours. Nobody knows what happened to the rest of the fleet.”

“What do you mean, ‘nobody knows’? The rest of the ships were either destroyed or they weren’t.”

“They’re not up there,” he said. “All I know is that we can’t reach them. That makes them dead in my book.”

The conversation was getting us nowhere. Hollingsworth was too angry to listen. “Where is Thomer?” I asked.

For the first time since I arrived, a flash of sympathy showed on Hollingsworth’s face. He sighed, and said, “Outer Bliss.”

The video feed was taken one week after the U.A. attack, while I was still in a coma.

The video feed shows the interrogation room in Outer Bliss as seen through the hidden camera in the ceiling. Thomer is sitting at the table when the door opens, and the guards lead Senior Chief Fahey into the room.

If I had not known that Thomer asked for Fahey, I might not have recognized the man. He is not wearing makeup. His hair is long for a sailor but not for a civilian. It hangs over his ears.

Thomer tells the guards to wait outside, but they refuse. They tell him it is against regulations to leave visitors alone with prisoners. He believes them and does not argue the point.

One of the guards leads Fahey around the table and pulls out a stool for him. Even with his hands cuffed together, he has a snakelike fierceness. He looks incensed that Thomer has come. He leers at Thomer and says nothing. Nearly a minute passes before Thomer breaks the silence.

“ A lot of good men died because of you,” he says.

Fahey laughs, and says, “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“ You’re a spy,” Thomer says. “You reported everything we did to Admiral Brocius.”

“ Was that something that Harris told you, or did you come up with it yourself?”