Steven Kent - Rogue Clone

Crazy driver that he was, I expected the corporal to race up to the front gate and screech to a stop. He showed more common sense than that. With the base on alert and armed guards all around the entrance, the corporal slowed to a crawl and coasted to the gate.

The guard who approached the jeep did not draw his M27, but I could sense a dozen other weapons pointed in our direction.

“Corporal,” the guard said.

“Just bringing you one of your own,” the corporal said, nodding toward me.

I handed the guard my ID. “I brought in a local thug named Jimmy Callahan about a week ago. Your MPs have been keeping him and a couple of buddies in the brig for safekeeping,” I said.

The guard walked around the jeep for a better look at me. He read my ID, considered it, and reread. “Wait here, sir,” he said and went into his booth to phone command. When he hung up the phone, he handed me my card and saluted. A moment later the gate went up, and the other guards saluted as we drove by.

The corporal may have been Army, but he knew his way around this Marine base. He skirted the motor pool and the barracks and brought me right to the administration building. I thanked the man and he saluted me, then he drove off.

Jimmy Callahan and his two bodyguards sat in an interrogation room. Both of Callahan’s stooges smoked, he didn’t. The three of them sat without speaking to each other. Callahan did not even look in the other boys’ direction. He occasionally reached up to smooth his hair as he considered his various options.

I watched this scene on a security screen in the chief ’s office hoping for a clue about Callahan’s general mood. The man was a sphinx for nearly five minutes, then he gave me a clear insight by staring into a supposedly hidden camera and sticking his middle finger out at it.

Two MPs escorted me to the interrogation room and locked the door behind me.

“You’re a colonel now?” Callahan asked as he turned to look at me. “You must have run away from something really big this time. Know what I mean?” He bobbed his head in that arrogant way as he spoke. Behind him, Silent Tommy and Limping Eddie, the two bodyguards I maimed right before the explosions, stubbed out their cigarettes and sat like statues. They did not seem as happy to see me as their boss was.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“Allow me to explain. You run away from the battle at Little Man and they make you lieutenant. Now, in two short weeks, you’re a specking colonel. What did you do, run away from New Gibraltar?”

It became very apparent that there were two Jimmy Callahans. The first, the one speaking to me at this moment, was a petulant prick who thought he had the world by the balls. The other was a scared little kid.

“That’s clever,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s clever?” I asked Silent Tommy. He did not answer. “How about you, Eddie? Don’t you think Jimmy’s joke is clever?”

“See, now, Harris, they don’t want to answer because they’re scared of you. They don’t have anything you want. Me …I have information you want, so I’m not scared. In fact, I think it’s about time you did me some favors.”

“Really?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the table in the center of the room. “You don’t think saving your ass from Patel was enough?”

Callahan’s mouth bent in a comical frown that took the corners of his lips halfway down his chin. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I don’t think Patel was after me. I think he was after you. Know what I mean? I never did anything to Billy. What would he have against me?”

“Well, there is this little issue about you fingering him to the Marines.” I said.

“You cannot possibly be talking about yourself, Harris? You’re not the Marines. Hell, you’re a specking deserter.” Callahan smiled at his own joke and flexed his biceps. “And as for saving my ass, who says that you saved it? Tommy and Eddie were there. They came out just fine ’cept what you did to them.”

Tommy’s jaw was wired shut and mending. Eddie was on crutches. Both my doing.

“And where did I end up?” Callahan continued. “I ended up in Fort frigging Washington, the biggest shithole on New Columbia. I figure you did nothing for me. The way I figure it, you owe me.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out,” I said. I hopped off of the table and started for the door.

“Where are you going?” Callahan asked.

“Didn’t you hear?” I asked. “Your buddies from the Confederate Arms are getting ready to bag this planet. Should be quite a reunion. Their fleet will bombard this base until it’s defenseless, then they’ll probably send down commandoes to nuke it. That’s what they did on Gateway. Of course, Billy the Butcher probably didn’t have an old pal like you that he wanted to bust out of Gateway Outpost.

“You did know that they evacuated New Columbia?” I asked.

“So I hear,” Callahan said.

“If I were you, Jimmy, I’d be thinking about how I might get off this planet. They planted hot bombs around the base on Gateway,” I said. “You know what that means? It means that most of the jarheads who were in that building are alive and melting at this very moment. Mop them with a sponge and you’ll pull off their skin. And those boys were wearing radiation-proof armor.

“The lucky ones got cooked on the spot. They weren’t wearing armor, just like you’re not wearing armor. Lucky you. You will probably die just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “One moment you’re praying, ‘God, please don’t let them nuke me.’ The next minute, you’re face to face with God and he says, ‘About that prayer …’”

“What do you want?” Callahan asked, all humor drained from his voice.

“Where is the GC Fleet?”

“How the speck should I know?” Callahan said.

“You said you knew.”

“I asked what I would get if I led you to that fleet,” Callahan said. “I didn’t say I knew where it was. I just wanted to know what it would be worth to me.”

“You wanted to show off.”

“What?” Callahan thought about this. “Yeah …maybe.”

“What is the Hinode Fleet?” I asked.

“Never heard of it,” Callahan said.

“Right before the attack on New Gibraltar, the Intelligence Network intercepted signals referring to the Hinode Fleet. Is that what your Mogat buddies call the Galactic Central Fleet?”

“I don’t know,” Callahan said.

“How do the Japanese figure into this?” I asked, feeling more than a little frustrated. “Are they in with the Mogats?”

“Who the speck are the Japanese?” Callahan asked.

“Refugees from Ezer Kri,” I said. “Are they part of the Confederate Arms?”

“How should I know?” Callahan asked. He sounded frustrated and his face turned red.

“How about your pal Billy the Butcher?” I asked. By this time I was yelling. The mood in the room was thick with anger, and I wanted to hit Callahan. “Where is Patel?”

“I don’t know,” Callahan shouted. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “Someone else always arranged our meetings.”

Finally I was getting somewhere. “Who was that?”

Callahan sat slumped in his chair when Limping Eddie mumbled, “Tell him how to find the supply guy.”

Callahan looked at him and a smile stretched across his face. “I like that.” Then he turned back to me. “You could visit Batt, he’s your best bet. If anyone can answer your questions, it’s Batt.”

“Who is Batt?” I asked, the calm returning to my voice.

“Batt is Bartholomew Wingate,” Callahan said. “He introduced me to Patel.”

“Mogat or Confederate?” I asked.